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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/14460-0.txt b/14460-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dfe4efb --- /dev/null +++ b/14460-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6712 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14460 *** + +FAUST + + +A TRAGEDY + +TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN + +OF + +GOETHE + + +WITH NOTES + +BY + +CHARLES T BROOKS + + +SEVENTH EDITION. + +BOSTON +TICKNOR AND FIELDS + +MDCCCLXVIII. + + + +Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, +by CHARLES T. BROOKS, +In the Clerk's Office of the District Court +of the District of Rhode Island. + +UNIVERSITY PRESS: +WELCH, BIGELOW, AND COMPANY, +CAMBRIDGE. + + + + +TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. + + +Perhaps some apology ought to be given to English scholars, that is, those +who do not know German, (to those, at least, who do not know what sort of +a thing Faust is in the original,) for offering another translation to the +public, of a poem which has been already translated, not only in a literal +prose form, but also, twenty or thirty times, in metre, and sometimes with +great spirit, beauty, and power. + +The author of the present version, then, has no knowledge that a rendering +of this wonderful poem into the exact and ever-changing metre of the +original has, until now, been so much as attempted. To name only one +defect, the very best versions which he has seen neglect to follow the +exquisite artist in the evidently planned and orderly intermixing of +_male_ and _female_ rhymes, _i.e._ rhymes which fall on the last syllable +and those which fall on the last but one. Now, every careful student of +the versification of Faust must feel and see that Goethe did not +intersperse the one kind of rhyme with the other, at random, as those +translators do; who, also, give the female rhyme (on which the vivacity of +dialogue and description often so much depends,) in so small a proportion. + +A similar criticism might be made of their liberty in neglecting Goethe's +method of alternating different measures with each other. + +It seems as if, in respect to metre, at least, they had asked themselves, +how would Goethe have written or shaped this in English, had that been his +native language, instead of seeking _con amore_ (and _con fidelità _) as +they should have done, to reproduce, both in spirit and in form, the +movement, so free and yet orderly, of the singularly endowed and +accomplished poet whom they undertook to represent. + +As to the objections which Hayward and some of his reviewers have +instituted in advance against the possibility of a good and faithful +metrical translation of a poem like Faust, they seem to the present +translator full of paradox and sophistry. For instance, take this +assertion of one of the reviewers: "The sacred and mysterious union of +thought with verse, twin-born and immortally wedded from the moment of +their common birth, can never be understood by those who desire verse +translations of good poetry." If the last part of this statement had read +"by those who can be contented with _prose_ translations of good poetry," +the position would have been nearer the truth. This much we might well +admit, that, if the alternative were either to have a poem like Faust in a +metre different and glaringly different from the original, or to have it +in simple and strong prose, then the latter alternative would be the one +every tasteful and feeling scholar would prefer; but surely to every one +who can read the original or wants to know how this great song _sung +itself_ (as Carlyle says) out of Goethe's soul, a mere prose rendering +must be, comparatively, a _corpus mortuum._ + +The translator most heartily dissents from Hayward's assertion that a +translator of Faust "must sacrifice either metre or meaning." At least he +flatters himself that he has made, in the main, (not a compromise between +meaning and melody, though in certain instances he may have fallen into +that, but) a combination of the meaning with the melody, which latter is +so important, so vital a part of the lyric poem's meaning, in any worthy +sense. "No poetic translation," says Hayward's reviewer, already quoted, +"can give the rhythm and rhyme of the original; it can only substitute the +rhythm and rhyme of the translator." One might just as well say "no +_prose_ translation can give the _sense and spirit_ of the original; it +can only substitute the _sense and spirit of the words and phrases of the +translator's language_;" and then, these two assertions balancing each +other, there will remain in the metrical translator's favor, that he may +come as near to giving both the letter and the spirit, as the effects of +the Babel dispersion will allow. + +As to the original creation, which he has attempted here to reproduce, the +translator might say something, but prefers leaving his readers to the +poet himself, as revealed in the poem, and to the various commentaries of +which we have some accounts, at least, in English. A French translator of +the poem speaks in his introduction as follows: "This Faust, conceived by +him in his youth, completed in ripe age, the idea of which he carried with +him through all the commotions of his life, as Camoens bore his poem with +him through the waves, this Faust contains him entire. The thirst for +knowledge and the martyrdom of doubt, had they not tormented his early +years? Whence came to him the thought of taking refuge in a supernatural +realm, of appealing to invisible powers, which plunged him, for a +considerable time, into the dreams of Illuminati and made him even invent +a religion? This irony of Mephistopheles, who carries on so audacious a +game with the weakness and the desires of man, is it not the mocking, +scornful side of the poet's spirit, a leaning to sullenness, which can be +traced even into the earliest years of his life, a bitter leaven thrown +into a strong soul forever by early satiety? The character of Faust +especially, the man whose burning, untiring heart can neither enjoy +fortune nor do without it, who gives himself unconditionally and watches +himself with mistrust, who unites the enthusiasm of passion and the +dejectedness of despair, is not this an eloquent opening up of the most +secret and tumultuous part of the poet's soul? And now, to complete the +image of his inner life, he has added the transcendingly sweet person of +Margaret, an exalted reminiscence of a young girl, by whom, at the age of +fourteen, he thought himself beloved, whose image ever floated round him, +and has contributed some traits to each of his heroines. This heavenly +surrender of a simple, good, and tender heart contrasts wonderfully with +the sensual and gloomy passion of the lover, who, in the midst of his +love-dreams, is persecuted by the phantoms of his imagination and by the +nightmares of thought, with those sorrows of a soul, which is crushed, but +not extinguished, which is tormented by the invincible want of happiness +and the bitter feeling, how hard a thing it is to receive or to bestow." + + + + +DEDICATION.[1] + +Once more ye waver dreamily before me, +Forms that so early cheered my troubled eyes! +To hold you fast doth still my heart implore me? +Still bid me clutch the charm that lures and flies? +Ye crowd around! come, then, hold empire o'er me, +As from the mist and haze of thought ye rise; +The magic atmosphere, your train enwreathing, +Through my thrilled bosom youthful bliss is breathing. + +Ye bring with you the forms of hours Elysian, +And shades of dear ones rise to meet my gaze; +First Love and Friendship steal upon my vision +Like an old tale of legendary days; +Sorrow renewed, in mournful repetition, +Runs through life's devious, labyrinthine ways; +And, sighing, names the good (by Fortune cheated +Of blissful hours!) who have before me fleeted. + +These later songs of mine, alas! will never +Sound in their ears to whom the first were sung! +Scattered like dust, the friendly throng forever! +Mute the first echo that so grateful rung! +To the strange crowd I sing, whose very favor +Like chilling sadness on my heart is flung; +And all that kindled at those earlier numbers +Roams the wide earth or in its bosom slumbers. + +And now I feel a long-unwonted yearning +For that calm, pensive spirit-realm, to-day; +Like an Aeolian lyre, (the breeze returning,) +Floats in uncertain tones my lisping lay; +Strange awe comes o'er me, tear on tear falls burning, +The rigid heart to milder mood gives way! +What I possess I see afar off lying, +And what I lost is real and undying. + + + + +PRELUDE + +IN THE THEATRE. + + + _Manager. Dramatic Poet. Merry Person._ + +_Manager_. You who in trouble and distress +Have both held fast your old allegiance, +What think ye? here in German regions +Our enterprise may hope success? +To please the crowd my purpose has been steady, +Because they live and let one live at least. +The posts are set, the boards are laid already, +And every one is looking for a feast. +They sit, with lifted brows, composed looks wearing, +Expecting something that shall set them staring. +I know the public palate, that's confest; +Yet never pined so for a sound suggestion; +True, they are not accustomed to the best, +But they have read a dreadful deal, past question. +How shall we work to make all fresh and new, +Acceptable and profitable, too? +For sure I love to see the torrent boiling, +When towards our booth they crowd to find a place, +Now rolling on a space and then recoiling, +Then squeezing through the narrow door of grace: +Long before dark each one his hard-fought station +In sight of the box-office window takes, +And as, round bakers' doors men crowd to escape starvation, +For tickets here they almost break their necks. +This wonder, on so mixed a mass, the Poet +Alone can work; to-day, my friend, O, show it! + +_Poet_. Oh speak not to me of that motley ocean, +Whose roar and greed the shuddering spirit chill! +Hide from my sight that billowy commotion +That draws us down the whirlpool 'gainst our will. +No, lead me to that nook of calm devotion, +Where blooms pure joy upon the Muses' hill; +Where love and friendship aye create and cherish, +With hand divine, heart-joys that never perish. +Ah! what, from feeling's deepest fountain springing, +Scarce from the stammering lips had faintly passed, +Now, hopeful, venturing forth, now shyly clinging, +To the wild moment's cry a prey is cast. +Oft when for years the brain had heard it ringing +It comes in full and rounded shape at last. +What shines, is born but for the moment's pleasure; +The genuine leaves posterity a treasure. + +_Merry Person_. Posterity! I'm sick of hearing of it; +Supposing I the future age would profit, +Who then would furnish ours with fun? +For it must have it, ripe and mellow; +The presence of a fine young fellow, +Is cheering, too, methinks, to any one. +Whoso can pleasantly communicate, +Will not make war with popular caprices, +For, as the circle waxes great, +The power his word shall wield increases. +Come, then, and let us now a model see, +Let Phantasy with all her various choir, +Sense, reason, passion, sensibility, +But, mark me, folly too! the scene inspire. + +_Manager_. But the great point is action! Every one +Comes as spectator, and the show's the fun. +Let but the plot be spun off fast and thickly, +So that the crowd shall gape in broad surprise, +Then have you made a wide impression quickly, +You are the man they'll idolize. +The mass can only be impressed by masses; +Then each at last picks out his proper part. +Give much, and then to each one something passes, +And each one leaves the house with happy heart. +Have you a piece, give it at once in pieces! +Such a ragout your fame increases; +It costs as little pains to play as to invent. +But what is gained, if you a whole present? +Your public picks it presently to pieces. + +_Poet_. You do not feel how mean a trade like that must be! +In the true Artist's eyes how false and hollow! +Our genteel botchers, well I see, +Have given the maxims that you follow. + +_Manager_. Such charges pass me like the idle wind; +A man who has right work in mind +Must choose the instruments most fitting. +Consider what soft wood you have for splitting, +And keep in view for whom you write! +If this one from _ennui_ seeks flight, +That other comes full from the groaning table, +Or, the worst case of all to cite, +From reading journals is for thought unable. +Vacant and giddy, all agog for wonder, +As to a masquerade they wing their way; +The ladies give themselves and all their precious plunder +And without wages help us play. +On your poetic heights what dream comes o'er you? +What glads a crowded house? Behold +Your patrons in array before you! +One half are raw, the other cold. +One, after this play, hopes to play at cards, +One a wild night to spend beside his doxy chooses, +Poor fools, why court ye the regards, +For such a set, of the chaste muses? +I tell you, give them more and ever more and more, +And then your mark you'll hardly stray from ever; +To mystify be your endeavor, +To satisfy is labor sore.... +What ails you? Are you pleased or pained? What notion---- + +_Poet_. Go to, and find thyself another slave! +What! and the lofty birthright Nature gave, +The noblest talent Heaven to man has lent, +Thou bid'st the Poet fling to folly's ocean! +How does he stir each deep emotion? +How does he conquer every element? +But by the tide of song that from his bosom springs, +And draws into his heart all living things? +When Nature's hand, in endless iteration, +The thread across the whizzing spindle flings, +When the complex, monotonous creation +Jangles with all its million strings: +Who, then, the long, dull series animating, +Breaks into rhythmic march the soulless round? +And, to the law of All each member consecrating, +Bids one majestic harmony resound? +Who bids the tempest rage with passion's power? +The earnest soul with evening-redness glow? +Who scatters vernal bud and summer flower +Along the path where loved ones go? +Who weaves each green leaf in the wind that trembles +To form the wreath that merit's brow shall crown? +Who makes Olympus fast? the gods assembles? +The power of manhood in the Poet shown. + +_Merry Person_. Come, then, put forth these noble powers, +And, Poet, let thy path of flowers +Follow a love-adventure's winding ways. +One comes and sees by chance, one burns, one stays, +And feels the gradual, sweet entangling! +The pleasure grows, then comes a sudden jangling, +Then rapture, then distress an arrow plants, +And ere one dreams of it, lo! _there_ is a romance. +Give us a drama in this fashion! +Plunge into human life's full sea of passion! +Each lives it, few its meaning ever guessed, +Touch where you will, 'tis full of interest. +Bright shadows fleeting o'er a mirror, +A spark of truth and clouds of error, +By means like these a drink is brewed +To cheer and edify the multitude. +The fairest flower of the youth sit listening +Before your play, and wait the revelation; +Each melancholy heart, with soft eyes glistening, +Draws sad, sweet nourishment from your creation; +This passion now, now that is stirred, by turns, +And each one sees what in his bosom burns. +Open alike, as yet, to weeping and to laughter, +They still admire the flights, they still enjoy the show; +Him who is formed, can nothing suit thereafter; +The yet unformed with thanks will ever glow. + +_Poet_. Ay, give me back the joyous hours, +When I myself was ripening, too, +When song, the fount, flung up its showers +Of beauty ever fresh and new. +When a soft haze the world was veiling, +Each bud a miracle bespoke, +And from their stems a thousand flowers I broke, +Their fragrance through the vales exhaling. +I nothing and yet all possessed, +Yearning for truth and in illusion blest. +Give me the freedom of that hour, +The tear of joy, the pleasing pain, +Of hate and love the thrilling power, +Oh, give me back my youth again! + +_Merry Person_. Youth, my good friend, thou needest certainly +When ambushed foes are on thee springing, +When loveliest maidens witchingly +Their white arms round thy neck are flinging, +When the far garland meets thy glance, +High on the race-ground's goal suspended, +When after many a mazy dance +In drink and song the night is ended. +But with a free and graceful soul +To strike the old familiar lyre, +And to a self-appointed goal +Sweep lightly o'er the trembling wire, +There lies, old gentlemen, to-day +Your task; fear not, no vulgar error blinds us. +Age does not make us childish, as they say, +But we are still true children when it finds us. + +_Manager_. Come, words enough you two have bandied, +Now let us see some deeds at last; +While you toss compliments full-handed, +The time for useful work flies fast. +Why talk of being in the humor? +Who hesitates will never be. +If you are poets (so says rumor) +Now then command your poetry. +You know full well our need and pleasure, +We want strong drink in brimming measure; +Brew at it now without delay! +To-morrow will not do what is not done to-day. +Let not a day be lost in dallying, +But seize the possibility +Right by the forelock, courage rallying, +And forth with fearless spirit sallying,-- +Once in the yoke and you are free. + Upon our German boards, you know it, +What any one would try, he may; +Then stint me not, I beg, to-day, +In scenery or machinery, Poet. +With great and lesser heavenly lights make free, +Spend starlight just as you desire; +No want of water, rocks or fire +Or birds or beasts to you shall be. +So, in this narrow wooden house's bound, +Stride through the whole creation's round, +And with considerate swiftness wander +From heaven, through this world, to the world down yonder. + + + + + PROLOGUE + + + IN HEAVEN. + + +[THE LORD. THE HEAVENLY HOSTS _afterward_ MEPHISTOPHELES. +_The three archangels_, RAPHAEL, GABRIEL, _and_ MICHAEL, _come forward_.] + +_Raphael_. The sun, in ancient wise, is sounding, + With brother-spheres, in rival song; +And, his appointed journey rounding, + With thunderous movement rolls along. +His look, new strength to angels lending, + No creature fathom can for aye; +The lofty works, past comprehending, + Stand lordly, as on time's first day. + +_Gabriel_. And swift, with wondrous swiftness fleeting, + The pomp of earth turns round and round, +The glow of Eden alternating + With shuddering midnight's gloom profound; +Up o'er the rocks the foaming ocean + Heaves from its old, primeval bed, +And rocks and seas, with endless motion, + On in the spheral sweep are sped. + +_Michael_. And tempests roar, glad warfare waging, + From sea to land, from land to sea, +And bind round all, amidst their raging, + A chain of giant energy. +There, lurid desolation, blazing, + Foreruns the volleyed thunder's way: +Yet, Lord, thy messengers[2] are praising + The mild procession of thy day. + +_All Three_. The sight new strength to angels lendeth, + For none thy being fathom may, +The works, no angel comprehendeth, + Stand lordly as on time's first day. + +_Mephistopheles_. Since, Lord, thou drawest near us once again, +And how we do, dost graciously inquire, +And to be pleased to see me once didst deign, +I too among thy household venture nigher. +Pardon, high words I cannot labor after, +Though the whole court should look on me with scorn; +My pathos certainly would stir thy laughter, +Hadst thou not laughter long since quite forsworn. +Of sun and worlds I've nought to tell worth mention, +How men torment themselves takes my attention. +The little God o' the world jogs on the same old way +And is as singular as on the world's first day. +A pity 'tis thou shouldst have given +The fool, to make him worse, a gleam of light from heaven; +He calls it reason, using it +To be more beast than ever beast was yet. +He seems to me, (your grace the word will pardon,) +Like a long-legg'd grasshopper in the garden, +Forever on the wing, and hops and sings +The same old song, as in the grass he springs; +Would he but stay there! no; he needs must muddle +His prying nose in every puddle. + +_The Lord_. Hast nothing for our edification? +Still thy old work of accusation? +Will things on earth be never right for thee? + +_Mephistopheles_. No, Lord! I find them still as bad as bad can be. +Poor souls! their miseries seem so much to please 'em, +I scarce can find it in my heart to tease 'em. + +_The Lord_. Knowest thou Faust? + +_Mephistopheles_. The Doctor? + +_The Lord_. Ay, my servant! + +_Mephistopheles_. He! +Forsooth! he serves you in a famous fashion; +No earthly meat or drink can feed his passion; +Its grasping greed no space can measure; +Half-conscious and half-crazed, he finds no rest; +The fairest stars of heaven must swell his treasure. +Each highest joy of earth must yield its zest, +Not all the world--the boundless azure-- +Can fill the void within his craving breast. + +_The Lord_. He serves me somewhat darkly, now, I grant, +Yet will he soon attain the light of reason. +Sees not the gardener, in the green young plant, +That bloom and fruit shall deck its coming season? + +_Mephistopheles_. What will you bet? You'll surely lose your wager! +If you will give me leave henceforth, +To lead him softly on, like an old stager. + +_The Lord_. So long as he shall live on earth, +Do with him all that you desire. +Man errs and staggers from his birth. + +_Mephistopheles_. Thank you; I never did aspire +To have with dead folk much transaction. +In full fresh cheeks I take the greatest satisfaction. +A corpse will never find me in the house; +I love to play as puss does with the mouse. + +_The Lord_. All right, I give thee full permission! +Draw down this spirit from its source, +And, canst thou catch him, to perdition +Carry him with thee in thy course, +But stand abashed, if thou must needs confess, +That a good man, though passion blur his vision, +Has of the right way still a consciousness. + +_Mephistopheles_. Good! but I'll make it a short story. +About my wager I'm by no means sorry. +And if I gain my end with glory +Allow me to exult from a full breast. +Dust shall he eat and that with zest, +Like my old aunt, the snake, whose fame is hoary. + +_The Lord_. Well, go and come, and make thy trial; +The like of thee I never yet did hate. +Of all the spirits of denial +The scamp is he I best can tolerate. +Man is too prone, at best, to seek the way that's easy, +He soon grows fond of unconditioned rest; +And therefore such a comrade suits him best, +Who spurs and works, true devil, always busy. +But you, true sons of God, in growing measure, +Enjoy rich beauty's living stores of pleasure! +The Word[3] divine that lives and works for aye, +Fold you in boundless love's embrace alluring, +And what in floating vision glides away, +That seize ye and make fast with thoughts enduring. + +[_Heaven closes, the archangels disperse._] + +_Mephistopheles. [Alone.]_ I like at times to exchange with him a word, +And take care not to break with him. 'Tis civil +In the old fellow[4] and so great a Lord +To talk so kindly with the very devil. + + + + + FAUST. + + + _Night. In a narrow high-arched Gothic room_, + FAUST _sitting uneasy at his desk_. + +_Faust_. Have now, alas! quite studied through +Philosophy and Medicine, +And Law, and ah! Theology, too, +With hot desire the truth to win! +And here, at last, I stand, poor fool! +As wise as when I entered school; +Am called Magister, Doctor, indeed,-- +Ten livelong years cease not to lead +Backward and forward, to and fro, +My scholars by the nose--and lo! +Just nothing, I see, is the sum of our learning, +To the very core of my heart 'tis burning. +'Tis true I'm more clever than all the foplings, +Doctors, Magisters, Authors, and Popelings; +Am plagued by no scruple, nor doubt, nor cavil, +Nor lingering fear of hell or devil-- +What then? all pleasure is fled forever; +To know one thing I vainly endeavor, +There's nothing wherein one fellow-creature +Could be mended or bettered with me for a teacher. +And then, too, nor goods nor gold have I, +Nor fame nor worldly dignity,-- +A condition no dog could longer live in! +And so to magic my soul I've given, +If, haply, by spirits' mouth and might, +Some mysteries may not be brought to light; +That to teach, no longer may be my lot, +With bitter sweat, what I need to be taught; +That I may know what the world contains +In its innermost heart and finer veins, +See all its energies and seeds +And deal no more in words but in deeds. + O full, round Moon, didst thou but thine +For the last time on this woe of mine! +Thou whom so many a midnight I +Have watched, at this desk, come up the sky: +O'er books and papers, a dreary pile, +Then, mournful friend! uprose thy smile! +Oh that I might on the mountain-height, +Walk in the noon of thy blessed light, +Round mountain-caverns with spirits hover, +Float in thy gleamings the meadows over, +And freed from the fumes of a lore-crammed brain, +Bathe in thy dew and be well again! + Woe! and these walls still prison me? +Dull, dismal hole! my curse on thee! +Where heaven's own light, with its blessed beams, +Through painted panes all sickly gleams! +Hemmed in by these old book-piles tall, +Which, gnawed by worms and deep in must, +Rise to the roof against a wall +Of smoke-stained paper, thick with dust; +'Mid glasses, boxes, where eye can see, +Filled with old, obsolete instruments, +Stuffed with old heirlooms of implements-- +That is thy world! There's a world for thee! + And still dost ask what stifles so +The fluttering heart within thy breast? +By what inexplicable woe +The springs of life are all oppressed? +Instead of living nature, where +God made and planted men, his sons, +Through smoke and mould, around thee stare +Grim skeletons and dead men's bones. + Up! Fly! Far out into the land! +And this mysterious volume, see! +By Nostradamus's[5] own hand, +Is it not guide enough for thee? +Then shalt thou thread the starry skies, +And, taught by nature in her walks, +The spirit's might shall o'er thee rise, +As ghost to ghost familiar talks. +Vain hope that mere dry sense should here +Explain the holy signs to thee. +I feel you, spirits, hovering near; +Oh, if you hear me, answer me! + [_He opens the book and beholds the sign of the Macrocosm.[_6]] +Ha! as I gaze, what ecstasy is this, +In one full tide through all my senses flowing! +I feel a new-born life, a holy bliss +Through nerves and veins mysteriously glowing. +Was it a God who wrote each sign? +Which, all my inner tumult stilling, +And this poor heart with rapture filling, +Reveals to me, by force divine, +Great Nature's energies around and through me thrilling? +Am I a God? It grows so bright to me! +Each character on which my eye reposes +Nature in act before my soul discloses. +The sage's word was truth, at last I see: +"The spirit-world, unbarred, is waiting; +Thy sense is locked, thy heart is dead! +Up, scholar, bathe, unhesitating, +The earthly breast in morning-red!" + [_He contemplates the sign._] +How all one whole harmonious weaves, +Each in the other works and lives! +See heavenly powers ascending and descending, +The golden buckets, one long line, extending! +See them with bliss-exhaling pinions winging +Their way from heaven through earth--their singing +Harmonious through the universe is ringing! + Majestic show! but ah! a show alone! +Nature! where find I thee, immense, unknown? +Where you, ye breasts? Ye founts all life sustaining, +On which hang heaven and earth, and where +Men's withered hearts their waste repair-- +Ye gush, ye nurse, and I must sit complaining? + [_He opens reluctantly the book and sees the sign of the earth-spirit._] +How differently works on me this sign! +Thou, spirit of the earth, art to me nearer; +I feel my powers already higher, clearer, +I glow already as with new-pressed wine, +I feel the mood to brave life's ceaseless clashing, +To bear its frowning woes, its raptures flashing, +To mingle in the tempest's dashing, +And not to tremble in the shipwreck's crashing; +Clouds gather o'er my head-- +Them moon conceals her light-- +The lamp goes out! +It smokes!--Red rays are darting, quivering +Around my head--comes down +A horror from the vaulted roof +And seizes me! +Spirit that I invoked, thou near me art, +Unveil thyself! +Ha! what a tearing in my heart! +Upheaved like an ocean +My senses toss with strange emotion! +I feel my heart to thee entirely given! +Thou must! and though the price were life--were heaven! + [_He seizes the book and pronounces mysteriously the sign of the spirit. + A ruddy flame darts out, the spirit appears in the flame._] + +_Spirit_. Who calls upon me? + +_Faust. [Turning away.]_ Horrid sight! + +_Spirit_. Long have I felt the mighty action, +Upon my sphere, of thy attraction, +And now-- + +_Faust_. Away, intolerable sprite! + +_Spirit_. Thou breath'st a panting supplication +To hear my voice, my face to see; +Thy mighty prayer prevails on me, +I come!--what miserable agitation +Seizes this demigod! Where is the cry of thought? +Where is the breast? that in itself a world begot, +And bore and cherished, that with joy did tremble +And fondly dream us spirits to resemble. +Where art thou, Faust? whose voice rang through my ear, +Whose mighty yearning drew me from my sphere? +Is this thing thou? that, blasted by my breath, +Through all life's windings shuddereth, +A shrinking, cringing, writhing worm! + +_Faust_. Thee, flame-born creature, shall I fear? +'Tis I, 'tis Faust, behold thy peer! + +_Spirit_. In life's tide currents, in action's storm, +Up and down, like a wave, +Like the wind I sweep! +Cradle and grave-- +A limitless deep--- +An endless weaving +To and fro, +A restless heaving +Of life and glow,-- +So shape I, on Destiny's thundering loom, +The Godhead's live garment, eternal in bloom. + +_Faust_. Spirit that sweep'st the world from end to end, +How near, this hour, I feel myself to thee! + +_Spirit_. Thou'rt like the spirit thou canst comprehend, +Not me! [_Vanishes._] + +_Faust_. [_Collapsing_.] Not thee? + Whom then? + I, image of the Godhead, + And no peer for thee! + [_A knocking_.] +O Death! I know it!--'tis my Famulus-- +Good-bye, ye dreams of bliss Elysian! +Shame! that so many a glowing vision +This dried-up sneak must scatter thus! + + [WAGNER, _in sleeping-gown and night-cap, a lamp in his hand._ + FAUST _turns round with an annoyed look_.] + +_Wagner_. Excuse me! you're engaged in declamation; +'Twas a Greek tragedy no doubt you read? +I in this art should like initiation, +For nowadays it stands one well instead. +I've often heard them boast, a preacher +Might profit with a player for his teacher. + +_Faust_. Yes, when the preacher is a player, granted: +As often happens in our modern ways. + +_Wagner_. Ah! when one with such love of study's haunted, +And scarcely sees the world on holidays, +And takes a spy-glass, as it were, to read it, +How can one by persuasion hope to lead it? + +_Faust_. What you don't feel, you'll never catch by hunting, +It must gush out spontaneous from the soul, +And with a fresh delight enchanting +The hearts of all that hear control. +Sit there forever! Thaw your glue-pot,-- +Blow up your ash-heap to a flame, and brew, +With a dull fire, in your stew-pot, +Of other men's leavings a ragout! +Children and apes will gaze delighted, +If their critiques can pleasure impart; +But never a heart will be ignited, +Comes not the spark from the speaker's heart. + +_Wagner_. Delivery makes the orator's success; +There I'm still far behindhand, I confess. + +_Faust_. Seek honest gains, without pretence! +Be not a cymbal-tinkling fool! +Sound understanding and good sense +Speak out with little art or rule; +And when you've something earnest to utter, +Why hunt for words in such a flutter? +Yes, your discourses, that are so refined' +In which humanity's poor shreds you frizzle, +Are unrefreshing as the mist and wind +That through the withered leaves of autumn whistle! + +_Wagner_. Ah God! well, art is long! +And life is short and fleeting. +What headaches have I felt and what heart-beating, +When critical desire was strong. +How hard it is the ways and means to master +By which one gains each fountain-head! +And ere one yet has half the journey sped, +The poor fool dies--O sad disaster! + +_Faust_. Is parchment, then, the holy well-spring, thinkest, +A draught from which thy thirst forever slakes? +No quickening element thou drinkest, +Till up from thine own soul the fountain breaks. + +_Wagner_. Excuse me! in these olden pages +We catch the spirit of the by-gone ages, +We see what wisest men before our day have thought, +And to what glorious heights we their bequests have brought. + +_Faust_. O yes, we've reached the stars at last! +My friend, it is to us,--the buried past,-- +A book with seven seals protected; +Your spirit of the times is, then, +At bottom, your own spirit, gentlemen, +In which the times are seen reflected. +And often such a mess that none can bear it; +At the first sight of it they run away. +A dust-bin and a lumber-garret, +At most a mock-heroic play[8] +With fine, pragmatic maxims teeming, +The mouths of puppets well-beseeming! + +_Wagner_. But then the world! the heart and mind of man! +To know of these who would not pay attention? + +_Faust_. To know them, yes, as weaklings can! +Who dares the child's true name outright to mention? +The few who any thing thereof have learned, +Who out of their heart's fulness needs must gabble, +And show their thoughts and feelings to the rabble, +Have evermore been crucified and burned. +I pray you, friend, 'tis wearing into night, +Let us adjourn here, for the present. + +_Wagner_. I had been glad to stay till morning light, +This learned talk with you has been so pleasant, +But the first day of Easter comes to-morrow. +And then an hour or two I'll borrow. +With zeal have I applied myself to learning, +True, I know much, yet to know all am burning. + [_Exit_.] + +_Faust_. [_Alone_.] See how in _his_ head only, hope still lingers, +Who evermore to empty rubbish clings, +With greedy hand grubs after precious things, +And leaps for joy when some poor worm he fingers! + That such a human voice should dare intrude, +Where all was full of ghostly tones and features! +Yet ah! this once, my gratitude +Is due to thee, most wretched of earth's creatures. +Thou snatchedst me from the despairing state +In which my senses, well nigh crazed, were sunken. +The apparition was so giant-great, +That to a very dwarf my soul had shrunken. + I, godlike, who in fancy saw but now +Eternal truth's fair glass in wondrous nearness, +Rejoiced in heavenly radiance and clearness, +Leaving the earthly man below; +I, more than cherub, whose free force +Dreamed, through the veins of nature penetrating, +To taste the life of Gods, like them creating, +Behold me this presumption expiating! +A word of thunder sweeps me from my course. + Myself with thee no longer dare I measure; +Had I the power to draw thee down at pleasure; +To hold thee here I still had not the force. +Oh, in that blest, ecstatic hour, +I felt myself so small, so great; +Thou drovest me with cruel power +Back upon man's uncertain fate +What shall I do? what slum, thus lonely? +That impulse must I, then, obey? +Alas! our very deeds, and not our sufferings only, +How do they hem and choke life's way! + To all the mind conceives of great and glorious +A strange and baser mixture still adheres; +Striving for earthly good are we victorious? +A dream and cheat the better part appears. +The feelings that could once such noble life inspire +Are quenched and trampled out in passion's mire. + Where Fantasy, erewhile, with daring flight +Out to the infinite her wings expanded, +A little space can now suffice her quite, +When hope on hope time's gulf has wrecked and stranded. +Care builds her nest far down the heart's recesses, +There broods o'er dark, untold distresses, +Restless she sits, and scares thy joy and peace away; +She puts on some new mask with each new day, +Herself as house and home, as wife and child presenting, +As fire and water, bane and blade; +What never hits makes thee afraid, +And what is never lost she keeps thee still lamenting. + Not like the Gods am I! Too deep that truth is thrust! +But like the worm, that wriggles through the dust; +Who, as along the dust for food he feels, +Is crushed and buried by the traveller's heels. + Is it not dust that makes this lofty wall +Groan with its hundred shelves and cases; +The rubbish and the thousand trifles all +That crowd these dark, moth-peopled places? +Here shall my craving heart find rest? +Must I perchance a thousand books turn over, +To find that men are everywhere distrest, +And here and there one happy one discover? +Why grin'st thou down upon me, hollow skull? +But that thy brain, like mine, once trembling, hoping, +Sought the light day, yet ever sorrowful, +Burned for the truth in vain, in twilight groping? +Ye, instruments, of course, are mocking me; +Its wheels, cogs, bands, and barrels each one praises. +I waited at the door; you were the key; +Your ward is nicely turned, and yet no bolt it raises. +Unlifted in the broadest day, +Doth Nature's veil from prying eyes defend her, +And what (he chooses not before thee to display, +Not all thy screws and levers can force her to surrender. +Old trumpery! not that I e'er used thee, but +Because my father used thee, hang'st thou o'er me, +Old scroll! thou hast been stained with smoke and smut +Since, on this desk, the lamp first dimly gleamed before me. +Better have squandered, far, I now can clearly see, +My little all, than melt beneath it, in this Tophet! +That which thy fathers have bequeathed to thee, +Earn and become possessor of it! +What profits not a weary load will be; +What it brings forth alone can yield the moment profit. + Why do I gaze as if a spell had bound me +Up yonder? Is that flask a magnet to the eyes? +What lovely light, so sudden, blooms around me? +As when in nightly woods we hail the full-moon-rise. + I greet thee, rarest phial, precious potion! +As now I take thee down with deep devotion, +In thee I venerate man's wit and art. +Quintessence of all soporific flowers, +Extract of all the finest deadly powers, +Thy favor to thy master now impart! +I look on thee, the sight my pain appeases, +I handle thee, the strife of longing ceases, +The flood-tide of the spirit ebbs away. +Far out to sea I'm drawn, sweet voices listening, +The glassy waters at my feet are glistening, +To new shores beckons me a new-born day. + A fiery chariot floats, on airy pinions, +To where I sit! Willing, it beareth me, +On a new path, through ether's blue dominions, +To untried spheres of pure activity. +This lofty life, this bliss elysian, +Worm that thou waft erewhile, deservest thou? +Ay, on this earthly sun, this charming vision, +Turn thy back resolutely now! +Boldly draw near and rend the gates asunder, +By which each cowering mortal gladly steals. +Now is the time to show by deeds of wonder +That manly greatness not to godlike glory yields; +Before that gloomy pit to stand, unfearing, +Where Fantasy self-damned in its own torment lies, +Still onward to that pass-way steering, +Around whose narrow mouth hell-flames forever rise; +Calmly to dare the step, serene, unshrinking, +Though into nothingness the hour should see thee sinking. + Now, then, come down from thy old case, I bid thee, +Where thou, forgotten, many a year hast hid thee, +Into thy master's hand, pure, crystal glass! +The joy-feasts of the fathers thou hast brightened, +The hearts of gravest guests were lightened, +When, pledged, from hand to hand they saw thee pass. +Thy sides, with many a curious type bedight, +Which each, as with one draught he quaffed the liquor +Must read in rhyme from off the wondrous beaker, +Remind me, ah! of many a youthful night. +I shall not hand thee now to any neighbor, +Not now to show my wit upon thy carvings labor; +Here is a juice of quick-intoxicating might. +The rich brown flood adown thy sides is streaming, +With my own choice ingredients teeming; +Be this last draught, as morning now is gleaming, +Drained as a lofty pledge to greet the festal light! + [_He puts the goblet to his lips_. + +_Ringing of bells and choral song_. + +_Chorus of Angels_. Christ hath arisen! + Joy to humanity! + No more shall vanity, + Death and inanity + Hold thee in prison! + +_Faust_. What hum of music, what a radiant tone, +Thrills through me, from my lips the goblet stealing! +Ye murmuring bells, already make ye known +The Easter morn's first hour, with solemn pealing? +Sing you, ye choirs, e'en now, the glad, consoling song, +That once, from angel-lips, through gloom sepulchral rung, +A new immortal covenant sealing? + +_Chorus of Women_. Spices we carried, + Laid them upon his breast; + Tenderly buried + Him whom we loved the best; + + Cleanly to bind him + Took we the fondest care, + Ah! and we find him + Now no more there. + +_Chorus of Angels_. Christ hath ascended! + Reign in benignity! + Pain and indignity, + Scorn and malignity, + _Their_ work have ended. + +_Faust_. Why seek ye me in dust, forlorn, +Ye heavenly tones, with soft enchanting? +Go, greet pure-hearted men this holy morn! +Your message well I hear, but faith to me is wanting; +Wonder, its dearest child, of Faith is born. +To yonder spheres I dare no more aspire, +Whence the sweet tidings downward float; +And yet, from childhood heard, the old, familiar note +Calls back e'en now to life my warm desire. +Ah! once how sweetly fell on me the kiss +Of heavenly love in the still Sabbath stealing! +Prophetically rang the bells with solemn pealing; +A prayer was then the ecstasy of bliss; +A blessed and mysterious yearning +Drew me to roam through meadows, woods, and skies; +And, midst a thousand tear-drops burning, +I felt a world within me rise +That strain, oh, how it speaks youth's gleesome plays and feelings, +Joys of spring-festivals long past; +Remembrance holds me now, with childhood's fond appealings, +Back from the fatal step, the last. +Sound on, ye heavenly strains, that bliss restore me! +Tears gush, once more the spell of earth is o'er me + +_Chorus of Disciples_. Has the grave's lowly one + Risen victorious? + Sits he, God's Holy One, + High-throned and glorious? + He, in this blest new birth, + Rapture creative knows;[9] + Ah! on the breast of earth + Taste we still nature's woes. + Left here to languish + Lone in a world like this, + Fills us with anguish + Master, thy bliss! + +_Chorus of Angels_. Christ has arisen + Out of corruption's gloom. + Break from your prison, + Burst every tomb! + Livingly owning him, + Lovingly throning him, + Feasting fraternally, + Praying diurnally, + Bearing his messages, + Sharing his promises, + Find ye your master near, + Find ye him here![10] + + + + + BEFORE THE GATE. + + _Pedestrians of all descriptions stroll forth_. + +_Mechanics' Apprentices_. Where are you going to carouse? + +_Others_. We're all going out to the Hunter's House. + +_The First_. We're going, ourselves, out to the Mill-House, brothers. + +_An Apprentice_. The Fountain-House I rather recommend. + +_Second_. 'Tis not a pleasant road, my friend. + +_The second group_. What will you do, then? + +_A Third_. I go with the others. + +_Fourth_. Come up to Burgdorf, there you're sure to find good cheer, +The handsomest of girls and best of beer, +And rows, too, of the very first water. + +_Fifth_. You monstrous madcap, does your skin +Itch for the third time to try that inn? +I've had enough for _my_ taste in that quarter. + +_Servant-girl_. No! I'm going back again to town for one. + +_Others_. Under those poplars we are sure to meet him. + +_First Girl_. But that for me is no great fun; +For you are always sure to get him, +He never dances with any but you. +Great good to me your luck will do! + +_Others_. He's not alone, I heard him say, +The curly-head would be with him to-day. + +_Scholar_. Stars! how the buxom wenches stride there! +Quick, brother! we must fasten alongside there. +Strong beer, good smart tobacco, and the waist +Of a right handsome gall, well rigg'd, now that's my taste. + +_Citizen's Daughter_. Do see those fine, young fellows yonder! +'Tis, I declare, a great disgrace; +When they might have the very best, I wonder, +After these galls they needs must race! + +_Second scholar_ [_to the first_]. +Stop! not so fast! there come two more behind, +My eyes! but ain't they dressed up neatly? +One is my neighbor, or I'm blind; +I love the girl, she looks so sweetly. +Alone all quietly they go, +You'll find they'll take us, by and bye, in tow. + +_First_. No, brother! I don't like these starched up ways. +Make haste! before the game slips through our fingers. +The hand that swings the broom o' Saturdays +On Sundays round thy neck most sweetly lingers. + +_Citizen_. No, I don't like at all this new-made burgomaster! +His insolence grows daily ever faster. +No good from him the town will get! +Will things grow better with him? Never! +We're under more constraint than ever, +And pay more tax than ever yet. + +_Beggar_. [_Sings_.] Good gentlemen, and you, fair ladies, + With such red cheeks and handsome dress, + Think what my melancholy trade is, + And see and pity my distress! + Help the poor harper, sisters, brothers! + Who loves to give, alone is gay. + This day, a holiday to others, + Make it for me a harvest day. + +_Another citizen_. +Sundays and holidays, I like, of all things, a good prattle +Of war and fighting, and the whole array, +When back in Turkey, far away, +The peoples give each other battle. +One stands before the window, drinks his glass, +And sees the ships with flags glide slowly down the river; +Comes home at night, when out of sight they pass, +And sings with joy, "Oh, peace forever!" + +_Third citizen_. So I say, neighbor! let them have their way, +Crack skulls and in their crazy riot +Turn all things upside down they may, +But leave us here in peace and quiet. + +_Old Woman_ [_to the citizen's daughter_]. +Heyday, brave prinking this! the fine young blood! +Who is not smitten that has met you?-- +But not so proud! All very good! +And what you want I'll promise soon to get you. + +_Citizen's Daughter_. Come, Agatha! I dread in public sight +To prattle with such hags; don't stay, O, Luddy! +'Tis true she showed me, on St. Andrew's night, +My future sweetheart in the body. + +_The other_. She showed me mine, too, in a glass, +Right soldierlike, with daring comrades round him. +I look all round, I study all that pass, +But to this hour I have not found him. + +_Soldiers_. Castles with lowering + Bulwarks and towers, + Maidens with towering + Passions and powers, + Both shall be ours! + Daring the venture, + Glorious the pay! + + When the brass trumpet + Summons us loudly, + Joy-ward or death-ward, + On we march proudly. + That is a storming! + + Life in its splendor! + Castles and maidens + Both must surrender. + Daring the venture, + Glorious the pay. + There go the soldiers + Marching away! + + + FAUST _and_ WAGNER. + +_Faust_. Spring's warm look has unfettered the fountains, +Brooks go tinkling with silvery feet; +Hope's bright blossoms the valley greet; +Weakly and sickly up the rough mountains +Pale old Winter has made his retreat. +Thence he launches, in sheer despite, +Sleet and hail in impotent showers, +O'er the green lawn as he takes his flight; +But the sun will suffer no white, +Everywhere waking the formative powers, +Living colors he yearns to spread; +Yet, as he finds it too early for flowers, +Gayly dressed people he takes instead. +Look from this height whereon we find us +Back to the town we have left behind us, +Where from the dark and narrow door +Forth a motley multitude pour. +They sun themselves gladly and all are gay, +They celebrate Christ's resurrection to-day. +For have not they themselves arisen? +From smoky huts and hovels and stables, +From labor's bonds and traffic's prison, +From the confinement of roofs and gables, +From many a cramping street and alley, +From churches full of the old world's night, +All have come out to the day's broad light. +See, only see! how the masses sally +Streaming and swarming through gardens and fields +How the broad stream that bathes the valley +Is everywhere cut with pleasure boats' keels, +And that last skiff, so heavily laden, +Almost to sinking, puts off in the stream; +Ribbons and jewels of youngster and maiden +From the far paths of the mountain gleam. +How it hums o'er the fields and clangs from the steeple! +This is the real heaven of the people, +Both great and little are merry and gay, +I am a man, too, I can be, to-day. + +_Wagner_. With you, Sir Doctor, to go out walking +Is at all times honor and gain enough; +But to trust myself here alone would be shocking, +For I am a foe to all that is rough. +Fiddling and bowling and screams and laughter +To me are the hatefullest noises on earth; +They yell as if Satan himself were after, +And call it music and call it mirth. + + [_Peasants (under the linden). Dance and song._] + +The shepherd prinked him for the dance, +With jacket gay and spangle's glance, +And all his finest quiddle. +And round the linden lass and lad +They wheeled and whirled and danced like mad. +Huzza! huzza! +Huzza! Ha, ha, ha! +And tweedle-dee went the fiddle. + +And in he bounded through the whirl, +And with his elbow punched a girl, +Heigh diddle, diddle! +The buxom wench she turned round quick, +"Now that I call a scurvy trick!" +Huzza! huzza! +Huzza! ha, ha, ha! +Tweedle-dee, tweedle-dee went the fiddle. + +And petticoats and coat-tails flew +As up and down they went, and through, +Across and down the middle. +They all grew red, they all grew warm, +And rested, panting, arm in arm, +Huzza! huzza! +Ta-ra-la! +Tweedle-dee went the fiddle! + +"And don't be so familiar there! +How many a one, with speeches fair, +His trusting maid will diddle!" +But still he flattered her aside-- +And from the linden sounded wide: +Huzza! huzza! +Huzza! huzza! ha! ha! ha! +And tweedle-dee the fiddle. + +_Old Peasant._ Sir Doctor, this is kind of you, +That with us here you deign to talk, +And through the crowd of folk to-day +A man so highly larned, walk. +So take the fairest pitcher here, +Which we with freshest drink have filled, +I pledge it to you, praying aloud +That, while your thirst thereby is stilled, +So many days as the drops it contains +May fill out the life that to you remains. + +_Faust._ I take the quickening draught and call +For heaven's best blessing on one and all. + + [_The people form a circle round him._] + +_Old Peasant._ Your presence with us, this glad day, +We take it very kind, indeed! +In truth we've found you long ere this +In evil days a friend in need! +Full many a one stands living here, +Whom, at death's door already laid, +Your father snatched from fever's rage, +When, by his skill, the plague he stayed. +You, a young man, we daily saw +Go with him to the pest-house then, +And many a corpse was carried forth, +But you came out alive again. +With a charmed life you passed before us, +Helped by the Helper watching o'er us. + +_All._ The well-tried man, and may he live, +Long years a helping hand to give! + +_Faust._ Bow down to Him on high who sends +His heavenly help and helping friends! + [_He goes on with_ WAGNER.] + +_Wagner._ What feelings, O great man, thy heart must swell +Thus to receive a people's veneration! +O worthy all congratulation, +Whose gifts to such advantage tell. +The father to his son shows thee with exultation, +All run and crowd and ask, the circle closer draws, +The fiddle stops, the dancers pause, +Thou goest--the lines fall back for thee. +They fling their gay-decked caps on high; +A little more and they would bow the knee +As if the blessed Host came by. + +_Faust._ A few steps further on, until we reach that stone; +There will we rest us from our wandering. +How oft in prayer and penance there alone, +Fasting, I sate, on holy mysteries pondering. +There, rich in hope, in faith still firm, +I've wept, sighed, wrung my hands and striven +This plague's removal to extort (poor worm!) +From the almighty Lord of Heaven. +The crowd's applause has now a scornful tone; +O couldst thou hear my conscience tell its story, +How little either sire or son +Has done to merit such a glory! +My father was a worthy man, confused +And darkened with his narrow lucubrations, +Who with a whimsical, though well-meant patience, +On Nature's holy circles mused. +Shut up in his black laboratory, +Experimenting without end, +'Midst his adepts, till he grew hoary, +He sought the opposing powers to blend. +Thus, a red lion,[11] a bold suitor, married +The silver lily, in the lukewarm bath, +And, from one bride-bed to another harried, +The two were seen to fly before the flaming wrath. +If then, with colors gay and splendid, +The glass the youthful queen revealed, +Here was the physic, death the patients' sufferings ended, +And no one asked, who then was healed? +Thus, with electuaries so satanic, +Worse than the plague with all its panic, +We rioted through hill and vale; +Myself, with my own hands, the drug to thousands giving, +They passed away, and I am living +To hear men's thanks the murderers hail! + +_Wagner._ Forbear! far other name that service merits! +Can a brave man do more or less +Than with nice conscientiousness +To exercise the calling he inherits? +If thou, as youth, thy father honorest, +To learn from him thou wilt desire; +If thou, as man, men with new light hast blest, +Then may thy son to loftier heights aspire. + +_Faust._ O blest! who hopes to find repose, +Up from this mighty sea of error diving! +Man cannot use what he already knows, +To use the unknown ever striving. +But let not such dark thoughts a shadow throw +O'er the bright joy this hour inspires! +See how the setting sun, with ruddy glow, +The green-embosomed hamlet fires! +He sinks and fades, the day is lived and gone, +He hastens forth new scenes of life to waken. +O for a wing to lift and bear me on, +And on, to where his last rays beckon! +Then should I see the world's calm breast +In everlasting sunset glowing, +The summits all on fire, each valley steeped in rest, +The silver brook to golden rivers flowing. +No savage mountain climbing to the skies +Should stay the godlike course with wild abysses; +And now the sea, with sheltering, warm recesses +Spreads out before the astonished eyes. +At last it seems as if the God were sinking; +But a new impulse fires the mind, +Onward I speed, his endless glory drinking, +The day before me and the night behind, +The heavens above my head and under me the ocean. +A lovely dream,--meanwhile he's gone from sight. +Ah! sure, no earthly wing, in swiftest flight, +May with the spirit's wings hold equal motion. +Yet has each soul an inborn feeling +Impelling it to mount and soar away, +When, lost in heaven's blue depths, the lark is pealing +High overhead her airy lay; +When o'er the mountain pine's black shadow, +With outspread wing the eagle sweeps, +And, steering on o'er lake and meadow, +The crane his homeward journey keeps. + +_Wagner._ I've had myself full many a wayward hour, +But never yet felt such a passion's power. +One soon grows tired of field and wood and brook, +I envy not the fowl of heaven his pinions. +Far nobler joy to soar through thought's dominions +From page to page, from book to book! +Ah! winter nights, so dear to mind and soul! +Warm, blissful life through all the limbs is thrilling, +And when thy hands unfold a genuine ancient scroll, +It seems as if all heaven the room were filling. + +_Faust_. One passion only has thy heart possessed; +The other, friend, O, learn it never! +Two souls, alas! are lodged in my wild breast, +Which evermore opposing ways endeavor, +The one lives only on the joys of time, +Still to the world with clamp-like organs clinging; +The other leaves this earthly dust and slime, +To fields of sainted sires up-springing. +O, are there spirits in the air, +That empire hold 'twixt earth's and heaven's dominions, +Down from your realm of golden haze repair, +Waft me to new, rich life, upon your rosy pinions! +Ay! were a magic mantle only mine, +To soar o'er earth's wide wildernesses, +I would not sell it for the costliest dresses, +Not for a royal robe the gift resign. + +_Wagner_. O, call them not, the well known powers of air, +That swarm through all the middle kingdom, weaving +Their fairy webs, with many a fatal snare +The feeble race of men deceiving. +First, the sharp spirit-tooth, from out the North, +And arrowy tongues and fangs come thickly flying; +Then from the East they greedily dart forth, +Sucking thy lungs, thy life-juice drying; +If from the South they come with fever thirst, +Upon thy head noon's fiery splendors heaping; +The Westwind brings a swarm, refreshing first, +Then all thy world with thee in stupor steeping. +They listen gladly, aye on mischief bent, +Gladly draw near, each weak point to espy, +They make believe that they from heaven are sent, +Whispering like angels, while they lie. +But let us go! The earth looks gray, my friend, +The air grows cool, the mists ascend! +At night we learn our homes to prize.-- +Why dost thou stop and stare with all thy eyes? +What can so chain thy sight there, in the gloaming? + +_Faust_. Seest thou that black dog through stalks and stubble roaming? + +_Wagner_. I saw him some time since, he seemed not strange to me. + +_Faust_. Look sharply! What dost take the beast to be? + +_Wagner_. For some poor poodle who has lost his master, +And, dog-like, scents him o'er the ground. + +_Faust_. Markst thou how, ever nearer, ever faster, +Towards us his spiral track wheels round and round? +And if my senses suffer no confusion, +Behind him trails a fiery glare. + +_Wagner_. 'Tis probably an optical illusion; +I still see only a black poodle there. + +_Faust_. He seems to me as he were tracing slyly +His magic rings our feet at last to snare. + +_Wagner_. To me he seems to dart around our steps so shyly, +As if he said: is one of them my master there? + +_Faust_. The circle narrows, he is near! + +_Wagner_. Thou seest! a dog we have, no spectre, here! +He growls and stops, crawls on his belly, too, +And wags his tail,--as all dogs do. + +_Faust_. Come here, sir! come, our comrade be! + +_Wagner_. He has a poodle's drollery. +Stand still, and he, too, waits to see; +Speak to him, and he jumps on thee; +Lose something, drop thy cane or sling it +Into the stream, he'll run and bring it. + +_Faust_. I think you're right; I trace no spirit here, +'Tis all the fruit of training, that is clear. + +_Wagner_. A well-trained dog is a great treasure, +Wise men in such will oft take pleasure. +And he deserves your favor and a collar, +He, of the students the accomplished scholar. + + [_They go in through the town gate._] + + + + + STUDY-CHAMBER. + + _Enter_ FAUST _with the_ POODLE. + + +I leave behind me field and meadow +Veiled in the dusk of holy night, +Whose ominous and awful shadow +Awakes the better soul to light. +To sleep are lulled the wild desires, +The hand of passion lies at rest; +The love of man the bosom fires, +The love of God stirs up the breast. + +Be quiet, poodle! what worrisome fiend hath possest thee, +Nosing and snuffling so round the door? +Go behind the stove there and rest thee, +There's my best pillow--what wouldst thou more? +As, out on the mountain-paths, frisking and leaping, +Thou, to amuse us, hast done thy best, +So now in return lie still in my keeping, +A quiet, contented, and welcome guest. + +When, in our narrow chamber, nightly, +The friendly lamp begins to burn, +Then in the bosom thought beams brightly, +Homeward the heart will then return. +Reason once more bids passion ponder, +Hope blooms again and smiles on man; +Back to life's rills he yearns to wander, +Ah! to the source where life began. + +Stop growling, poodle! In the music Elysian +That laps my soul at this holy hour, +These bestial noises have jarring power. +We know that men will treat with derision +Whatever they cannot understand, +At goodness and truth and beauty's vision +Will shut their eyes and murmur and howl at it; +And must the dog, too, snarl and growl at it? + +But ah, with the best will, I feel already, +No peace will well up in me, clear and steady. +But why must hope so soon deceive us, +And the dried-up stream in fever leave us? +For in this I have had a full probation. +And yet for this want a supply is provided, +To a higher than earth the soul is guided, +We are ready and yearn for revelation: +And where are its light and warmth so blent +As here in the New Testament? +I feel, this moment, a mighty yearning +To expound for once the ground text of all, +The venerable original +Into my own loved German honestly turning. + [_He opens the volume, and applies himself to the task_.] +"In the beginning was the _Word_." I read. +But here I stick! Who helps me to proceed? +The _Word_--so high I cannot--dare not, rate it, +I must, then, otherwise translate it, +If by the spirit I am rightly taught. +It reads: "In the beginning was the _thought_." +But study well this first line's lesson, +Nor let thy pen to error overhasten! +Is it the _thought_ does all from time's first hour? +"In the beginning," read then, "was the _power_." +Yet even while I write it down, my finger +Is checked, a voice forbids me there to linger. +The spirit helps! At once I dare to read +And write: "In the beginning was the _deed_." + +If I with thee must share my chamber, +Poodle, now, remember, +No more howling, +No more growling! +I had as lief a bull should bellow, +As have for a chum such a noisy fellow. +Stop that yell, now, +One of us must quit this cell now! +'Tis hard to retract hospitality, +But the door is open, thy way is free. +But what ails the creature? +Is this in the course of nature? +Is it real? or one of Fancy's shows? + +How long and broad my poodle grows! +He rises from the ground; +That is no longer the form of a hound! +Heaven avert the curse from us! +He looks like a hippopotamus, +With his fiery eyes and the terrible white +Of his grinning teeth! oh what a fright +Have I brought with me into the house! Ah now, +No mystery art thou! +Methinks for such half hellish brood +The key of Solomon were good. + +_Spirits_ [_in the passage_]. Softly! a fellow is caught there! + Keep back, all of you, follow him not there! + Like the fox in the trap, + Mourns the old hell-lynx his mishap. + But give ye good heed! + This way hover, that way hover, + Over and over, + And he shall right soon be freed. + Help can you give him, + O do not leave him! + Many good turns he's done us, + Many a fortune won us. + +_Faust_. First, to encounter the creature +By the spell of the Four, says the teacher: + Salamander shall glisten,[12] + Undina lapse lightly, + Sylph vanish brightly, + Kobold quick listen. + +He to whom Nature +Shows not, as teacher, +Every force +And secret source, +Over the spirits +No power inherits. + + Vanish in glowing + Flame, Salamander! + Inward, spirally flowing, + Gurgle, Undine! + Gleam in meteoric splendor, + Airy Queen! + Thy homely help render, + Incubus! Incubus! + Forth and end the charm for us! + +No kingdom of Nature +Resides in the creature. +He lies there grinning--'tis clear, my charm +Has done the monster no mite of harm. +I'll try, for thy curing, +Stronger adjuring. + + Art thou a jail-bird, + A runaway hell-bird? + This sign,[13] then--adore it! + They tremble before it + All through the dark dwelling. + +His hair is bristling--his body swelling. + + Reprobate creature! + Canst read his nature? + The Uncreated, + Ineffably Holy, + With Deity mated, + Sin's victim lowly? + +Driven behind the stove by my spells, +Like an elephant he swells; +He fills the whole room, so huge he's grown, +He waxes shadowy faster and faster. +Rise not up to the ceiling--down! +Lay thyself at the feet of thy master! +Thou seest, there's reason to dread my ire. +I'll scorch thee with the holy fire! +Wait not for the sight +Of the thrice-glowing light! +Wait not to feel the might +Of the potentest spell in all my treasure! + + + MEPHISTOPHELES. + [_As the mist sinks, steps forth from behind the stove, + dressed as a travelling scholasticus_.] +Why all this noise? What is your worship's pleasure? + +_Faust_. This was the poodle's essence then! +A travelling clark? Ha! ha! The casus is too funny. + +_Mephistopheles_. I bow to the most learned among men! +'Faith you did sweat me without ceremony. + +_Faust_. What is thy name? + +_Mephistopheles_. The question seems too small +For one who holds the _word_ so very cheaply, +Who, far removed from shadows all, +For substances alone seeks deeply. + +_Faust_. With gentlemen like him in my presence, +The name is apt to express the essence, +Especially if, when you inquire, +You find it God of flies,[14] Destroyer, Slanderer, Liar. +Well now, who art thou then? + +_Mephistopheles_. A portion of that power, +Which wills the bad and works the good at every hour. + +_Faust_. Beneath thy riddle-word what meaning lies? + +_Mephistopheles_. I am the spirit that denies! +And justly so; for all that time creates, +He does well who annihilates! +Better, it ne'er had had beginning; +And so, then, all that you call sinning, +Destruction,--all you pronounce ill-meant,-- +Is my original element. + +_Faust_. Thou call'st thyself a part, yet lookst complete to me. + +_Mephistopheles_. I speak the modest truth to thee. +A world of folly in one little soul, +_Man_ loves to think himself a whole; +Part of the part am I, which once was all, the Gloom +That brought forth Light itself from out her mighty womb, +The upstart proud, that now with mother Night +Disputes her ancient rank and space and right, +Yet never shall prevail, since, do whate'er he will, +He cleaves, a slave, to bodies still; +From bodies flows, makes bodies fair to sight; +A body in his course can check him, +His doom, I therefore hope, will soon o'ertake him, +With bodies merged in nothingness and night. + +_Faust_. Ah, now I see thy high vocation! +In gross thou canst not harm creation, +And so in small hast now begun. + +_Mephistopheles_. And, truth to tell, e'en here, not much have done. +That which at nothing the gauntlet has hurled, +This, what's its name? this clumsy world, +So far as I have undertaken, +I have to own, remains unshaken +By wave, storm, earthquake, fiery brand. +Calm, after all, remain both sea and land. +And the damn'd living fluff, of man and beast the brood, +It laughs to scorn my utmost power. +I've buried myriads by the hour, +And still there circulates each hour a new, fresh blood. +It were enough to drive one to distraction! +Earth, water, air, in constant action, +Through moist and dry, through warm and cold, +Going forth in endless germination! +Had I not claimed of fire a reservation, +Not one thing I alone should hold. + +_Faust_. Thus, with the ever-working power +Of good dost thou in strife persist, +And in vain malice, to this hour, +Clenchest thy cold and devilish fist! +Go try some other occupation, +Singular son of Chaos, thou! + +_Mephistopheles_. We'll give the thing consideration, +When next we meet again! But now +Might I for once, with leave retire? + +_Faust_. Why thou shouldst ask I do not see. +Now that I know thee, when desire +Shall prompt thee, freely visit me. +Window and door give free admission. +At least there's left the chimney flue. + +_Mephistopheles_. Let me confess there's one small prohibition + +Lies on thy threshold, 'gainst my walking through, +The wizard-foot--[15] + +_Faust_. Does that delay thee? +The Pentagram disturbs thee? Now, +Come tell me, son of hell, I pray thee, +If that spell-binds thee, then how enteredst thou? +_Thou_ shouldst proceed more circumspectly! + +_Mephistopheles_. Mark well! the figure is not drawn correctly; +One of the angles, 'tis the outer one, +Is somewhat open, dost perceive it? + +_Faust_. That was a lucky hit, believe it! +And I have caught thee then? Well done! +'Twas wholly chance--I'm quite astounded! + +_Mephistopheles_. The _poodle_ took no heed, +as through the door he bounded; +The case looks differently now; +The _devil_ can leave the house no-how. + +_Faust_. The window offers free emission. + +_Mephistopheles_. Devils and ghosts are bound by this condition: + +The way they entered in, they must come out. Allow +In the first clause we're free, yet not so in the second. + +_Faust_. In hell itself, then, laws are reckoned? +Now that I like; so then, one may, in fact, +Conclude a binding compact with you gentry? + +_Mephistopheles_. Whatever promise on our books finds entry, +We strictly carry into act. +But hereby hangs a grave condition, +Of this we'll talk when next we meet; +But for the present I entreat +Most urgently your kind dismission. + +_Faust_. Do stay but just one moment longer, then, +Tell me good news and I'll release thee. + +_Mephistopheles_. Let me go now! I'll soon come back again, +Then may'st thou ask whate'er shall please thee. + +_Faust_. I laid no snare for thee, old chap! +Thou shouldst have watched and saved thy bacon. +Who has the devil in his trap +Must hold him fast, next time he'll not so soon be taken. + +_Mephistopheles_. Well, if it please thee, I'm content to stay +For company, on one condition, +That I, for thy amusement, may +To exercise my arts have free permission. + +_Faust_. I gladly grant it, if they be +Not disagreeable to me. + +_Mephistopheles_. Thy senses, friend, in this one hour +Shall grasp the world with clearer power +Than in a year's monotony. +The songs the tender spirits sing thee, +The lovely images they bring thee +Are not an idle magic play. +Thou shalt enjoy the daintiest savor, +Then feast thy taste on richest flavor, +Then thy charmed heart shall melt away. +Come, all are here, and all have been +Well trained and practised, now begin! + +_Spirits_. Vanish, ye gloomy + Vaulted abysses! + Tenderer, clearer, + Friendlier, nearer, + Ether, look through! + O that the darkling + Cloud-piles were riven! + Starlight is sparkling, + Purer is heaven, + Holier sunshine + Softens the blue. + Graces, adorning + Sons of the morning-- + Shadowy wavings-- + Float along over; + Yearnings and cravings + After them hover. + Garments ethereal, + Tresses aerial, + Float o'er the flowers, + Float o'er the bowers, + Where, with deep feeling, + Thoughtful and tender, + Lovers, embracing, + Life-vows are sealing. + Bowers on bowers! + Graceful and slender + Vines interlacing! + Purple and blushing, + Under the crushing + Wine-presses gushing, + Grape-blood, o'erflowing, + Down over gleaming + Precious stones streaming, + Leaves the bright glowing + Tops of the mountains, + Leaves the red fountains, + Widening and rushing, + Till it encloses + Green hills all flushing, + Laden with roses. + Happy ones, swarming, + Ply their swift pinions, + Glide through the charming + Airy dominions, + Sunward still fleering, + Onward, where peering + Far o'er the ocean, + Islets are dancing + With an entrancing, + Magical motion; + Hear them, in chorus, + Singing high o'er us; + Over the meadows + Flit the bright shadows; + Glad eyes are glancing, + Tiny feet dancing. + Up the high ridges + Some of them clamber, + Others are skimming + Sky-lakes of amber, + Others are swimming + Over the ocean;-- + All are in motion, + Life-ward all yearning, + Longingly turning + To the far-burning + Star-light of bliss. + +_Mephistopheles_. He sleeps! Ye airy, tender youths, your numbers +Have sung him into sweetest slumbers! +You put me greatly in your debt by this. +Thou art not yet the man that shall hold fast the devil! +Still cheat his senses with your magic revel, +Drown him in dreams of endless youth; +But this charm-mountain on the sill to level, +I need, O rat, thy pointed tooth! +Nor need I conjure long, they're near me, +E'en now comes scampering one, who presently will hear me. + +The sovereign lord of rats and mice, +Of flies and frogs and bugs and lice, +Commands thee to come forth this hour, +And gnaw this threshold with great power, +As he with oil the same shall smear-- +Ha! with a skip e'en now thou'rt here! +But brisk to work! The point by which I'm cowered, +Is on the ledge, the farthest forward. +Yet one more bite, the deed is done.-- +Now, Faust, until we meet again, dream on! + +_Faust_. [_Waking_.] Again has witchcraft triumphed o'er me? +Was it a ghostly show, so soon withdrawn? +I dream, the devil stands himself before me--wake, to find a poodle gone! + + + + + STUDY-CHAMBER. + + FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES. + + +_Faust_. A knock? Walk in! Who comes again to tease me? + +_Mephistopheles_. 'Tis I. + +_Faust_. Come in! + +_Mephistopheles_. Must say it thrice, to please me. + +_Faust_. Come in then! + +_Mephistopheles_. That I like to hear. +We shall, I hope, bear with each other; +For to dispel thy crotchets, brother, +As a young lord, I now appear, +In scarlet dress, trimmed with gold lacing, +A stiff silk cloak with stylish facing, +A tall cock's feather in my hat, +A long, sharp rapier to defend me, +And I advise thee, short and flat, +In the same costume to attend me; +If thou wouldst, unembarrassed, see +What sort of thing this life may be. + +_Faust_. In every dress I well may feel the sore +Of this low earth-life's melancholy. +I am too old to live for folly, +Too young, to wish for nothing more. +Am I content with all creation? +Renounce! renounce! Renunciation-- +Such is the everlasting song +That in the ears of all men rings, +Which every hour, our whole life long, +With brazen accents hoarsely sings. +With terror I behold each morning's light, +With bitter tears my eyes are filling, +To see the day that shall not in its flight +Fulfil for me one wish, not one, but killing +Every presentiment of zest +With wayward skepticism, chases +The fair creations from my breast +With all life's thousand cold grimaces. +And when at night I stretch me on my bed +And darkness spreads its shadow o'er me; +No rest comes then anigh my weary head, +Wild dreams and spectres dance before me. +The God who dwells within my soul +Can heave its depths at any hour; +Who holds o'er all my faculties control +Has o'er the outer world no power; +Existence lies a load upon my breast, +Life is a curse and death a long'd-for rest. + +_Mephistopheles_. And yet death never proves a wholly welcome guest. + +_Faust_. O blest! for whom, when victory's joy fire blazes, +Death round his brow the bloody laurel windeth, +Whom, weary with the dance's mazes, +He on a maiden's bosom findeth. +O that, beneath the exalted spirit's power, +I had expired, in rapture sinking! + +_Mephistopheles_. And yet I knew one, in a midnight hour, +Who a brown liquid shrank from drinking. + +_Faust_. Eaves-dropping seems a favorite game with thee. + +_Mephistopheles_. Omniscient am I not; yet much is known to me. + +_Faust_. Since that sweet tone, with fond appealing, +Drew me from witchcraft's horrid maze, +And woke the lingering childlike feeling +With harmonies of happier days; +My curse on all the mock-creations +That weave their spell around the soul, +And bind it with their incantations +And orgies to this wretched hole! +Accursed be the high opinion +Hugged by the self-exalting mind! +Accursed all the dream-dominion +That makes the dazzled senses blind! +Curs'd be each vision that befools us, +Of fame, outlasting earthly life! +Curs'd all that, as possession, rules us, +As house and barn, as child and wife! +Accurs'd be mammon, when with treasure +He fires our hearts for deeds of might, +When, for a dream of idle pleasure, +He makes our pillow smooth and light! +Curs'd be the grape-vine's balsam-juices! +On love's high grace my curses fall! +On faith! On hope that man seduces, +On patience last, not least, of all! + +_Choir of spirits_. [_Invisible_.] Woe! Woe! + Thou hast ground it to dust, + The beautiful world, + With mighty fist; + To ruins 'tis hurled; + A demi-god's blow hath done it! + A moment we look upon it, + Then carry (sad duty!) + The fragments over into nothingness, + With tears unavailing + Bewailing + All the departed beauty. + Lordlier + Than all sons of men, + Proudlier + Build it again, + Build it up in thy breast anew! + A fresh career pursue, + Before thee + A clearer view, + And, from the Empyréan, + A new-born Paean + Shall greet thee, too! + +_Mephistopheles_. Be pleased to admire + My juvenile choir! + Hear how they counsel in manly measure + Action and pleasure! + Out into life, + Its joy and strife, + Away from this lonely hole, + Where senses and soul + Rot in stagnation, + Calls thee their high invitation. + +Give over toying with thy sorrow +Which like a vulture feeds upon thy heart; +Thou shalt, in the worst company, to-morrow +Feel that with men a man thou art. +Yet I do not exactly intend +Among the canaille to plant thee. +I'm none of your magnates, I grant thee; +Yet if thou art willing, my friend, +Through life to jog on beside me, +Thy pleasure in all things shall guide me, +To thee will I bind me, +A friend thou shalt find me, +And, e'en to the grave, +Shalt make me thy servant, make me thy slave! + +_Faust_. And in return what service shall I render? + +_Mephistopheles_. There's ample grace--no hurry, not the least. + +_Faust_. No, no, the devil is an egotist, +And does not easily "for God's sake" tender +That which a neighbor may assist. +Speak plainly the conditions, come! +'Tis dangerous taking such a servant home. + +_Mephistopheles_. I to thy service _here_ agree to bind me, +To run and never rest at call of thee; +When _over yonder_ thou shalt find me, +Then thou shalt do as much for me. + +_Faust_. I care not much what's over yonder: +When thou hast knocked this world asunder, +Come if it will the other may! +Up from this earth my pleasures all are streaming, +Down on my woes this earthly sun is beaming; +Let me but end this fit of dreaming, +Then come what will, I've nought to say. +I'll hear no more of barren wonder +If in that world they hate and love, +And whether in that future yonder +There's a Below and an Above. + +_Mephistopheles._ In such a mood thou well mayst venture. +Bind thyself to me, and by this indenture +Thou shalt enjoy with relish keen +Fruits of my arts that man had never seen. + +_Faust_. And what hast thou to give, poor devil? +Was e'er a human mind, upon its lofty level, +Conceived of by the like of thee? +Yet hast thou food that brings satiety, +Not satisfaction; gold that reftlessly, +Like quicksilver, melts down within +The hands; a game in which men never win; +A maid that, hanging on my breast, +Ogles a neighbor with her wanton glances; +Of fame the glorious godlike zest, +That like a short-lived meteor dances-- +Show me the fruit that, ere it's plucked, will rot, +And trees from which new green is daily peeping! + +_Mephistopheles_. Such a requirement scares me not; +Such treasures have I in my keeping. +Yet shall there also come a time, good friend, +When we may feast on good things at our leisure. + +_Faust_. If e'er I lie content upon a lounge of pleasure-- +Then let there be of me an end! +When thou with flattery canst cajole me, +Till I self-satisfied shall be, +When thou with pleasure canst befool me, +Be that the last of days for me! +I lay the wager! + +_Mephistopheles_. Done! + +_Faust_. And heartily! +Whenever to the passing hour +I cry: O stay! thou art so fair! +To chain me down I give thee power +To the black bottom of despair! +Then let my knell no longer linger, +Then from my service thou art free, +Fall from the clock the index-finger, +Be time all over, then, for me! + +_Mephistopheles_. Think well, for we shall hold you to the letter. + +_Faust_. Full right to that just now I gave; +I spoke not as an idle braggart better. +Henceforward I remain a slave, +What care I who puts on the setter? + +_Mephistopheles_. I shall this very day, at Doctor's-feast,[16] +My bounden service duly pay thee. +But one thing!--For insurance' sake, I pray thee, +Grant me a line or two, at least. + +_Faust_. Pedant! will writing gain thy faith, alone? +In all thy life, no man, nor man's word hast thou known? +Is't not enough that I the fatal word +That passes on my future days have spoken? +The world-stream raves and rushes (hast not heard?) +And shall a promise hold, unbroken? +Yet this delusion haunts the human breast, +Who from his soul its roots would sever? +Thrice happy in whose heart pure truth finds rest. +No sacrifice shall he repent of ever! +But from a formal, written, sealed attest, +As from a spectre, all men shrink forever. +The word and spirit die together, +Killed by the sight of wax and leather. +What wilt thou, evil sprite, from me? +Brass, marble, parchment, paper, shall it be? +Shall I subscribe with pencil, pen or graver? +Among them all thy choice is free. + +_Mephistopheles_. This rhetoric of thine to me +Hath a somewhat bombastic savor. +Any small scrap of paper's good. +Thy signature will need a single drop of blood.[17] + +_Faust_. If this will satisfy thy mood, +I will consent thy whim to favor. + +_Mephistopheles._ Quite a peculiar juice is blood. + +_Faust_. Fear not that I shall break this bond; O, never! +My promise, rightly understood, +Fulfils my nature's whole endeavor. +I've puffed myself too high, I see; +To _thy_ rank only I belong. +The Lord of Spirits scorneth me, +Nature, shut up, resents the wrong. +The thread of thought is snapt asunder, +All science to me is a stupid blunder. +Let us in sensuality's deep +Quench the passions within us blazing! +And, the veil of sorcery raising, +Wake each miracle from its long sleep! +Plunge we into the billowy dance, +The rush and roll of time and chance! +Then may pleasure and distress, +Disappointment and success, +Follow each other as fast as they will; +Man's restless activity flourishes still. + +_Mephistopheles_. No bound or goal is set to you; +Where'er you like to wander sipping, +And catch a tit-bit in your skipping, +Eschew all coyness, just fall to, +And may you find a good digestion! + +_Faust_. Now, once for all, pleasure is not the question. +I'm sworn to passion's whirl, the agony of bliss, +The lover's hate, the sweets of bitterness. +My heart, no more by pride of science driven, +Shall open wide to let each sorrow enter, +And all the good that to man's race is given, +I will enjoy it to my being's centre, +Through life's whole range, upward and downward sweeping, +Their weal and woe upon my bosom heaping, +Thus in my single self their selves all comprehending +And with them in a common shipwreck ending. + +_Mephistopheles_. O trust me, who since first I fell from heaven, +Have chewed this tough meat many a thousand year, +No man digests the ancient leaven, +No mortal, from the cradle to the bier. +Trust one of _us_--the _whole_ creation +To God alone belongs by right; +_He_ has in endless day his habitation, +_Us_ He hath made for utter night, +_You_ for alternate dark and light. + +_Faust_. But then I _will!_ + +_Mephistopheles_. Now that's worth hearing! +But one thing haunts me, the old song, +That time is short and art is long. +You need some slight advice, I'm fearing. +Take to you one of the poet-feather, +Let the gentleman's thought, far-sweeping, +Bring all the noblest traits together, +On your one crown their honors heaping, +The lion's mood +The stag's rapidity, +The fiery blood of Italy, +The Northman's hardihood. +Bid him teach thee the art of combining +Greatness of soul with fly designing, +And how, with warm and youthful passion, +To fall in love by plan and fashion. +Should like, myself, to come across 'm, +Would name him Mr. Microcosm. + +_Faust_. What am I then? if that for which my heart +Yearns with invincible endeavor, +The crown of man, must hang unreached forever? + +_Mephistopheles_. Thou art at last--just what thou art. +Pile perukes on thy head whose curls cannot be counted, +On yard-high buskins let thy feet be mounted, +Still thou art only what thou art. + +_Faust_. Yes, I have vainly, let me not deny it, +Of human learning ransacked all the stores, +And when, at last, I set me down in quiet, +There gushes up within no new-born force; +I am not by a hair's-breadth higher, +Am to the Infinite no nigher. + +_Mephistopheles_. My worthy sir, you see the matter +As people generally see; +But we must learn to take things better, +Before life pleasures wholly flee. +The deuce! thy head and all that's in it, +Hands, feet and ------ are thine; +What I enjoy with zest each minute, +Is surely not the less mine? +If I've six horses in my span, +Is it not mine, their every power? +I fly along as an undoubted man, +On four and twenty legs the road I scour. +Cheer up, then! let all thinking be, +And out into the world with me! +I tell thee, friend, a speculating churl +Is like a beast, some evil spirit chases +Along a barren heath in one perpetual whirl, +While round about lie fair, green pasturing places. + +_Faust_. But how shall we begin? + +_Mephistopheles_. We sally forth e'en now. +What martyrdom endurest thou! +What kind of life is this to be living, +Ennui to thyself and youngsters giving? +Let Neighbor Belly that way go! +To stay here threshing straw why car'st thou? +The best that thou canst think and know +To tell the boys not for the whole world dar'st thou. +E'en now I hear one in the entry. + +_Faust_. I have no heart the youth to see. + +_Mephistopheles_. The poor boy waits there like a sentry, +He shall not want a word from me. +Come, give me, now, thy robe and bonnet; +This mask will suit me charmingly. + [_He puts them on_.] +Now for my wit--rely upon it! +'Twill take but fifteen minutes, I am sure. +Meanwhile prepare thyself to make the pleasant tour! + + [_Exit_ FAUST.] + +_Mephistopheles [in_ FAUST'S _long gown_]. +Only despise all human wit and lore, +The highest flights that thought can soar-- +Let but the lying spirit blind thee, +And with his spells of witchcraft bind thee, +Into my snare the victim creeps.-- +To him has destiny a spirit given, +That unrestrainedly still onward sweeps, +To scale the skies long since hath striven, +And all earth's pleasures overleaps. +He shall through life's wild scenes be driven, +And through its flat unmeaningness, +I'll make him writhe and stare and stiffen, +And midst all sensual excess, +His fevered lips, with thirst all parched and riven, +Insatiably shall haunt refreshment's brink; +And had he not, himself, his soul to Satan given, +Still must he to perdition sink! + + [_Enter_ A SCHOLAR.] + +_Scholar_. I have but lately left my home, +And with profound submission come, +To hold with one some conversation +Whom all men name with veneration. + +_Mephistopheles._ Your courtesy greatly flatters me +A man like many another you see. +Have you made any applications elsewhere? + +_Scholar_. Let me, I pray, your teachings share! +With all good dispositions I come, +A fresh young blood and money some; +My mother would hardly hear of my going; +But I long to learn here something worth knowing. + +_Mephistopheles_. You've come to the very place for it, then. + +_Scholar_. Sincerely, could wish I were off again: +My soul already has grown quite weary +Of walls and halls, so dark and dreary, +The narrowness oppresses me. +One sees no green thing, not a tree. +On the lecture-seats, I know not what ails me, +Sight, hearing, thinking, every thing fails me. + +_Mephistopheles_. 'Tis all in use, we daily see. +The child takes not the mother's breast +In the first instance willingly, +But soon it feeds itself with zest. +So you at wisdom's breast your pleasure +Will daily find in growing measure. + +_Scholar_. I'll hang upon her neck, a raptured wooer, +But only tell me, who shall lead me to her? + +_Mephistopheles_. Ere you go further, give your views +As to which faculty you choose? + +_Scholar_. To be right learn'd I've long desired, +And of the natural world aspired +To have a perfect comprehension +In this and in the heavenly sphere. + +_Mephistopheles_. I see you're on the right track here; +But you'll have to give undivided attention. + +_Scholar_. My heart and soul in the work'll be found; +Only, of course, it would give me pleasure, +When summer holidays come round, +To have for amusement a little leisure. + +_Mephistopheles_. Use well the precious time, it flips away so, +Yet method gains you time, if I may say so. +I counsel you therefore, my worthy friend, +The logical leisures first to attend. +Then is your mind well trained and cased +In Spanish boots,[18] all snugly laced, +So that henceforth it can creep ahead +On the road of thought with a cautious tread. +And not at random shoot and strike, +Zig-zagging Jack-o'-lanthorn-like. +Then will you many a day be taught +That what you once to do had thought +Like eating and drinking, extempore, +Requires the rule of one, two, three. +It is, to be sure, with the fabric of thought, +As with the _chef d'Âœuvre_ by weavers wrought, +Where a thousand threads one treadle plies, +Backward and forward the shuttles keep going, +Invisibly the threads keep flowing, +One stroke a thousand fastenings ties: +Comes the philosopher and cries: +I'll show you, it could not be otherwise: +The first being so, the second so, +The third and fourth must of course be so; +And were not the first and second, you see, +The third and fourth could never be. +The scholars everywhere call this clever, +But none have yet become weavers ever. +Whoever will know a live thing and expound it, +First kills out the spirit it had when he found it, +And then the parts are all in his hand, +Minus only the spiritual band! +Encheiresin naturæ's[19] the chemical name, +By which dunces themselves unwittingly shame. + +_Scholar_. Cannot entirely comprehend you. + +_Mephistopheles_. Better success will shortly attend you, +When you learn to analyze all creation +And give it a proper classification. + +_Scholar_. I feel as confused by all you've said, +As if 'twere a mill-wheel going round in my head! + +_Mephistopheles_. The next thing most important to mention, +Metaphysics will claim your attention! +There see that you can clearly explain +What fits not into the human brain: +For that which will not go into the head, +A pompous word will stand you in stead. +But, this half-year, at least, observe +From regularity never to swerve. +You'll have five lectures every day; +Be in at the stroke of the bell I pray! +And well prepared in every part; +Study each paragraph by heart, +So that you scarce may need to look +To see that he says no more than's in the book; +And when he dictates, be at your post, +As if you wrote for the Holy Ghost! + +_Scholar_. That caution is unnecessary! +I know it profits one to write, +For what one has in black and white, +He to his home can safely carry. + +_Mephistopheles_. But choose some faculty, I pray! + +_Scholar_. I feel a strong dislike to try the legal college. + +_Mephistopheles_. I cannot blame you much, I must acknowledge. +I know how this profession stands to-day. +Statutes and laws through all the ages +Like a transmitted malady you trace; +In every generation still it rages +And softly creeps from place to place. +Reason is nonsense, right an impudent suggestion; +Alas for thee, that thou a grandson art! +Of inborn law in which each man has part, +Of that, unfortunately, there's no question. + +_Scholar_. My loathing grows beneath your speech. +O happy he whom you shall teach! +To try theology I'm almost minded. + +_Mephistopheles_. I must not let you by zeal be blinded. +This is a science through whose field +Nine out of ten in the wrong road will blunder, +And in it so much poison lies concealed, +That mould you this mistake for physic, no great wonder. +Here also it were best, if only one you heard +And swore to that one master's word. +Upon the whole--words only heed you! +These through the temple door will lead you +Safe to the shrine of certainty. + +_Scholar_. Yet in the word a thought must surely be. + +_Mephistopheles_. All right! But one must not perplex himself about it; +For just where one must go without it, +The word comes in, a friend in need, to thee. +With words can one dispute most featly, +With words build up a system neatly, +In words thy faith may stand unshaken, +From words there can be no iota taken. + +_Scholar_. Forgive my keeping you with many questions, +Yet must I trouble you once more, +Will you not give me, on the score +Of medicine, some brief suggestions? +Three years are a short time, O God! +And then the field is quite too broad. +If one had only before his nose +Something else as a hint to follow!-- + +_Mephistopheles_ [_aside_]. I'm heartily tired of this dry prose, +Must play the devil again out hollow. + [_Aloud_.] +The healing art is quickly comprehended; +Through great and little world you look abroad, +And let it wag, when all is ended, +As pleases God. +Vain is it that your science sweeps the skies, +Each, after all, learns only what he can; +Who grasps the moment as it flies +He is the real man. +Your person somewhat takes the eye, +Boldness you'll find an easy science, +And if you on yourself rely, +Others on you will place reliance. +In the women's good graces seek first to be seated; +Their oh's and ah's, well known of old, +So thousand-fold, +Are all from a single point to be treated; +Be decently modest and then with ease +You may get the blind side of them when you please. +A title, first, their confidence must waken, +That _your_ art many another art transcends, +Then may you, lucky man, on all those trifles reckon +For which another years of groping spends: +Know how to press the little pulse that dances, +And fearlessly, with sly and fiery glances, +Clasp the dear creatures round the waist +To see how tightly they are laced. + +_Scholar_. This promises! One loves the How and Where to see! + +_Mephistopheles_. Gray, worthy friend, is all your theory +And green the golden tree of life. + +_Scholar_. I seem, +I swear to you, like one who walks in dream. +Might I another time, without encroaching, +Hear you the deepest things of wisdom broaching? + +_Mephistopheles_. So far as I have power, you may. + +_Scholar_. I cannot tear myself away, +Till I to you my album have presented. +Grant me one line and I'm contented! + +_Mephistopheles_. With pleasure. + [_Writes and returns it_.] + +_Scholar [reads]._ Eritis sicut Deus, scientes bonum et malum. + [_Shuts it reverently, and bows himself out_.] + +_Mephistopheles_. +Let but the brave old saw and my aunt, the serpent, guide thee, +And, with thy likeness to God, shall woe one day betide thee! + +_Faust [enters_]. Which way now shall we go? + +_Mephistopheles_. Which way it pleases thee. +The little world and then the great we see. +O with what gain, as well as pleasure, +Wilt thou the rollicking cursus measure! + +_Faust_. I fear the easy life and free +With my long beard will scarce agree. +'Tis vain for me to think of succeeding, +I never could learn what is called good-breeding. +In the presence of others I feel so small; +I never can be at my ease at all. + +_Mephistopheles_. Dear friend, vain trouble to yourself you're giving; +Whence once you trust yourself, you know the art of living. + +_Faust_. But how are we to start, I pray? +Where are thy servants, coach and horses? + +_Mephistopheles_. We spread the mantle, and away +It bears us on our airy courses. +But, on this bold excursion, thou +Must take no great portmanteau now. +A little oxygen, which I will soon make ready, +From earth uplifts us, quick and steady. +And if we're light, we'll soon surmount the sphere; +I give thee hearty joy in this thy new career. + + + + + AUERBACH'S CELLAR IN LEIPSIC.[20] + + _Carousal of Jolly Companions_. + + +_Frosch_.[21] Will nobody drink? Stop those grimaces! +I'll teach you how to be cutting your faces! +Laugh out! You're like wet straw to-day, +And blaze, at other times, like dry hay. + +_Brander_. 'Tis all your fault; no food for fun you bring, +Not a nonsensical nor nasty thing. + +_Frosch [dashes a glass of wine over his bead_]. There you have both! + +_Brander_. You hog twice o'er! + +_Frosch_. You wanted it, what would you more? + +_Siebel_ Out of the door with them that brawl! +Strike up a round; swill, shout there, one and all! +Wake up! Hurra! + +_Altmayer_. Woe's me, I'm lost! Bring cotton! +The rascal splits my ear-drum. + +_Siebel_. Only shout on! +When all the arches ring and yell, +Then does the base make felt its true ground-swell. + +_Frosch_. That's right, just throw him out, who undertakes to fret! +A! tara! lara da! + +_Altmayer_. A! tara! lara da! + +_Frosch_. Our whistles all are wet. + [_Sings_.] + The dear old holy Romish realm, + What holds it still together? + +_Brander_. A sorry song! Fie! a political song! +A tiresome song! Thank God each morning therefor, +That you have not the Romish realm to care for! +At least I count it a great gain that He +Kaiser nor chancellor has made of me. +E'en we can't do without a head, however; +To choose a pope let us endeavour. +You know what qualification throws +The casting vote and the true man shows. + +_Frosch [sings_]. + Lady Nightingale, upward soar, + Greet me my darling ten thousand times o'er. + +_Siebel_. No greetings to that girl! Who does so, I resent it! + +_Frosch_. A greeting and a kiss! And you will not prevent it! + [_Sings.]_ + Draw the bolts! the night is clear. + Draw the bolts! Love watches near. + Close the bolts! the dawn is here. + +_Siebel_. Ay, sing away and praise and glorify your dear! +Soon I shall have my time for laughter. +The jade has jilted me, and will you too hereafter; +May Kobold, for a lover, be her luck! +At night may he upon the cross-way meet her; +Or, coming from the Blocksberg, some old buck +May, as he gallops by, a good-night bleat her! +A fellow fine of real flesh and blood +Is for the wench a deal too good. +She'll get from me but one love-token, +That is to have her window broken! + +_Brander [striking on the table_]. Attend! attend! To me give ear! +I know what's life, ye gents, confess it: +We've lovesick people sitting near, +And it is proper they should hear +A good-night strain as well as I can dress it. +Give heed! And hear a bran-new song! +Join in the chorus loud and strong! + [_He sings_.] + A rat in the cellar had built his nest, + He daily grew sleeker and smoother, + He lined his paunch from larder and chest, + And was portly as Doctor Luther. + The cook had set him poison one day; + From that time forward he pined away + As if he had love in his body. + +_Chorus [flouting_]. As if he had love in his body. + +_Brander_. He raced about with a terrible touse, + From all the puddles went swilling, + He gnawed and he scratched all over the house, + His pain there was no stilling; + He made full many a jump of distress, + And soon the poor beast got enough, I guess, + As if he had love in his body. + +_Chorus_. As if he had love in his body. + +_Brander_. With pain he ran, in open day, + Right up into the kitchen; + He fell on the hearth and there he lay + Gasping and moaning and twitchin'. + Then laughed the poisoner: "He! he! he! + He's piping on the last hole," said she, + "As if he had love in his body." + +_Chorus_. As if he had love in his body. + +_Siebel_. Just hear now how the ninnies giggle! +That's what I call a genuine art, +To make poor rats with poison wriggle! + +_Brander_. You take their case so much to heart? + +_Altmayer_. The bald pate and the butter-belly! +The sad tale makes him mild and tame; +He sees in the swollen rat, poor fellow! +His own true likeness set in a frame. + + + FAUST _and_ MEPHISTOPHELES. + +_Mephistopheles_. Now, first of all, 'tis necessary +To show you people making merry, +That you may see how lightly life can run. +Each day to this small folk's a feast of fun; +Not over-witty, self-contented, +Still round and round in circle-dance they whirl, +As with their tails young kittens twirl. +If with no headache they're tormented, +Nor dunned by landlord for his pay, +They're careless, unconcerned, and gay. + +_Brander_. They're fresh from travel, one might know it, +Their air and manner plainly show it; +They came here not an hour ago. + +_Frosch_. Thou verily art right! My Leipsic well I know! +Paris in small it is, and cultivates its people. + +_Siebel_. What do the strangers seem to thee? + +_Frosch_. Just let me go! When wine our friendship mellows, +Easy as drawing a child's tooth 'twill be +To worm their secrets out of these two fellows. +They're of a noble house, I dare to swear, +They have a proud and discontented air. + +_Brander_. They're mountebanks, I'll bet a dollar! + +_Altmayer_. Perhaps. + +_Frosch_. I'll smoke them, mark you that! + +_Mephistopheles_ [_to Faust_]. These people never smell the old rat, +E'en when he has them by the collar. + +_Faust_. Fair greeting to you, sirs! + +_Siebel_. The same, and thanks to boot. + [_In a low tone, faking a side look at MEPHISTOPHELES_.] +Why has the churl one halting foot? + +_Mephistopheles_. With your permission, shall we make one party? +Instead of a good drink, which get here no one can, +Good company must make us hearty. + +_Altmayer_. You seem a very fastidious man. + +_Frosch_. I think you spent some time at Rippach[22] lately? +You supped with Mister Hans not long since, I dare say? + +_Mephistopheles_. We passed him on the road today! +Fine man! it grieved us parting with him, greatly. +He'd much to say to us about his cousins, +And sent to each, through us, his compliments by dozens. + [_He bows to_ FROSCH.] + +_Altmayer_ [_softly_]. You've got it there! he takes! + +_Siebel_. The chap don't want for wit! + +_Frosch_. I'll have him next time, wait a bit! + +_Mephistopheles_. If I mistook not, didn't we hear +Some well-trained voices chorus singing? +'Faith, music must sound finely here. +From all these echoing arches ringing! + +_Frosch_. You are perhaps a connoisseur? + +_Mephistopheles_. O no! my powers are small, I'm but an amateur. + +_Altmayer_. Give us a song! + +_Mephistopheles_. As many's you desire. + +_Siebel_. But let it be a bran-new strain! + +_Mephistopheles_. No fear of that! We've just come back from Spain, +The lovely land of wine and song and lyre. + [_Sings_.] + There was a king, right stately, + Who had a great, big flea,-- + +_Frosch_. Hear him! A flea! D'ye take there, boys? A flea! +I call that genteel company. + +_Mephistopheles_ [_resumes_]. There was a king, right stately, + Who had a great, big flea, + And loved him very greatly, + As if his own son were he. + He called the knight of stitches; + The tailor came straightway: + Ho! measure the youngster for breeches, + And make him a coat to-day! + +_Brander_. But don't forget to charge the knight of stitches, +The measure carefully to take, +And, as he loves his precious neck, +To leave no wrinkles in the breeches. + +_Mephistopheles_. In silk and velvet splendid + The creature now was drest, + To his coat were ribbons appended, + A cross was on his breast. + He had a great star on his collar, + Was a minister, in short; + And his relatives, greater and smaller, + Became great people at court. + + The lords and ladies of honor + Fared worse than if they were hung, + The queen, she got them upon her, + And all were bitten and stung, + And did not dare to attack them, + Nor scratch, but let them stick. + We choke them and we crack them + The moment we feel one prick. + +_Chorus_ [_loud_]. We choke 'em and we crack 'em +The moment we feel one prick. + +_Frosch_. Bravo! Bravo! That was fine! + +_Siebel_. So shall each flea his life resign! + +_Brander_. Point your fingers and nip them fine! + +_Altmayer_. Hurra for Liberty! Hurra for Wine! + +_Mephistopheles_. I'd pledge the goddess, too, to show how high I set her, +Right gladly, if your wines were just a trifle better. + +_Siebel_. Don't say that thing again, you fretter! + +_Mephistopheles_. Did I not fear the landlord to affront; +I'd show these worthy guests this minute +What kind of stuff our stock has in it. + +_Siebel_. Just bring it on! I'll bear the brunt. + +_Frosch_. Give us a brimming glass, our praise shall then be ample, +But don't dole out too small a sample; +For if I'm to judge and criticize, +I need a good mouthful to make me wise. + +_Altmayer_ [_softly_]. They're from the Rhine, as near as I can make it. + +_Mephistopheles_. Bring us a gimlet here! + +_Brander_. What shall be done with that? +You've not the casks before the door, I take it? + +_Altmayer_. The landlord's tool-chest there is easily got at. + +_Mephistopheles_ [_takes the gimlet_] (_to Frosch_). +What will you have? It costs but speaking. + +_Frosch_. How do you mean? Have you so many kinds? + +_Mephistopheles_. Enough to suit all sorts of minds. + +_Altmayer_. Aha! old sot, your lips already licking! + +_Frosch_. Well, then! if I must choose, let Rhine-wine fill my beaker, +Our fatherland supplies the noblest liquor. + + MEPHISTOPHELES + [_boring a hole in the rim of the table near the place + where_ FROSCH _sits_]. +Get us a little wax right off to make the stoppers! + +_Altmayer_. Ah, these are jugglers' tricks, and whappers! + +_Mephistopheles_ [_to Brander_]. And you? + +_Brander_. Champaigne's the wine for me, +But then right sparkling it must be! + + [MEPHISTOPHELES _bores; meanwhile one of them has made + the wax-stoppers and stopped the holes_.] + +_Brander_. Hankerings for foreign things will sometimes haunt you, +The good so far one often finds; +Your real German man can't bear the French, I grant you, +And yet will gladly drink their wines. + +_Siebel_ [_while Mephistopheles approaches his seat_]. +I don't like sour, it sets my mouth awry, +Let mine have real sweetness in it! + +_Mephistopheles_ [_bores_]. Well, you shall have Tokay this minute. + +_Altmayer_. No, sirs, just look me in the eye! +I see through this, 'tis what the chaps call smoking. + +_Mephistopheles_. Come now! That would be serious joking, +To make so free with worthy men. +But quickly now! Speak out again! +With what description can I serve you? + +_Altmayer_. Wait not to ask; with any, then. + + [_After all the holes are bored and stopped_.] + +_Mephistopheles_ [_with singular gestures_]. +From the vine-stock grapes we pluck; +Horns grow on the buck; +Wine is juicy, the wooden table, +Like wooden vines, to give wine is able. +An eye for nature's depths receive! +Here is a miracle, only believe! +Now draw the plugs and drink your fill! + + ALL + [_drawing the stoppers, and catching each in his glass + the wine he had desired_]. +Sweet spring, that yields us what we will! + +_Mephistopheles_. Only be careful not a drop to spill! + [_They drink repeatedly_.] + +_All_ [_sing_]. We're happy all as cannibals, + Five hundred hogs together. + +_Mephistopheles_. Look at them now, they're happy as can be! + +_Faust_. To go would suit my inclination. + +_Mephistopheles_. But first give heed, their bestiality +Will make a glorious demonstration. + + SIEBEL + [_drinks carelessly; the wine is spilt upon the ground + and turns to flame_]. +Help! fire! Ho! Help! The flames of hell! + +_Mephistopheles [_conjuring the flame_]. +Peace, friendly element, be still! + [_To the Toper_.] +This time 'twas but a drop of fire from purgatory. + +_Siebel_. What does this mean? Wait there, or you'll be sorry! +It seems you do not know us well. + +_Frosch_. Not twice, in this way, will it do to joke us! + +_Altmayer_. I vote, we give him leave himself here _scarce_ to make. + +_Siebel_. What, sir! How dare you undertake +To carry on here your old hocus-pocus? + +_Mephistopheles_. Be still, old wine-cask! + +_Siebel_. Broomstick, you! +Insult to injury add? Confound you! + +_Brander_. Stop there! Or blows shall rain down round you! + + ALTMAYER + [_draws a stopper out of the table; fire flies at him_]. +I burn! I burn! + +_Siebel_. Foul sorcery! Shame! +Lay on! the rascal is fair game! + + [_They draw their knives and rush at_ MEPHISTOPHELES.] + +_Mephistopheles_ [_with a serious mien_]. +Word and shape of air! +Change place, new meaning wear! +Be here--and there! + + [_They stand astounded and look at each other_.] + +_Altmayer_. Where am I? What a charming land! + +_Frosch_. Vine hills! My eyes! Is't true? + +_Siebel_. And grapes, too, close at hand! + +_Brander_. Beneath this green see what a stem is growing! +See what a bunch of grapes is glowing! + [_He seizes_ SIEBEL _by the nose. The rest do the same to each + other and raise their knives._] + +_Mephistopheles_ [_as above_]. Loose, Error, from their eyes the band! +How Satan plays his tricks, you need not now be told of. + [_He vanishes with_ FAUST, _the companions start back from each + other_.] + +_Siebel_. What ails me? + +_Altmayer_. How? + +_Frosch_. Was that thy nose, friend, I had hold of? + +_Brander_ [_to Siebel_]. And I have thine, too, in my hand! + +_Altmayer_. O what a shock! through all my limbs 'tis crawling! +Get me a chair, be quick, I'm falling! + +_Frosch_. No, say what was the real case? + +_Siebel_. O show me where the churl is hiding! +Alive he shall not leave the place! + +_Altmayer_. Out through the cellar-door I saw him riding-- +Upon a cask--he went full chase.-- +Heavy as lead my feet are growing. + + [_Turning towards the table_.] + +My! If the wine should yet be flowing. + +_Siebel_. 'Twas all deception and moonshine. + +_Frosch_. Yet I was sure I did drink wine. + +_Brander_. But how about the bunches, brother? + +_Altmayer_. After such miracles, I'll doubt no other! + + + + + WITCHES' KITCHEN. + + [_On a low hearth stands a great kettle over the fire. In the smoke, +which rises from it, are seen various forms. A female monkey[28] sits by +the kettle and skims it, and takes care that it does not run over. The +male monkey with the young ones sits close by, warming himself. Walls and +ceiling are adorned 'with the most singular witch-household stuff_.] + + + FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES. + +_Faust_. Would that this vile witch-business were well over! +Dost promise me I shall recover +In this hodge-podge of craziness? +From an old hag do I advice require? +And will this filthy cooked-up mess +My youth by thirty years bring nigher? +Woe's me, if that's the best you know! +Already hope is from my bosom banished. +Has not a noble mind found long ago +Some balsam to restore a youth that's vanished? + +_Mephistopheles_. My friend, again thou speakest a wise thought! +I know a natural way to make thee young,--none apter! +But in another book it must be sought, +And is a quite peculiar chapter. + +_Faust_. I beg to know it. + +_Mephistopheles_. Well! here's one that needs no pay, +No help of physic, nor enchanting. +Out to the fields without delay, +And take to hacking, digging, planting; +Run the same round from day to day, +A treadmill-life, contented, leading, +With simple fare both mind and body feeding, +Live with the beast as beast, nor count it robbery +Shouldst thou manure, thyself, the field thou reapest; +Follow this course and, trust to me, +For eighty years thy youth thou keepest! + +_Faust_. I am not used to that, I ne'er could bring me to it, +To wield the spade, I could not do it. +The narrow life befits me not at all. + +_Mephistopheles_. So must we on the witch, then, call. + +_Faust_. But why just that old hag? Canst thou +Not brew thyself the needful liquor? + +_Mephistopheles_. That were a pretty pastime now +I'd build about a thousand bridges quicker. +Science and art alone won't do, +The work will call for patience, too; +Costs a still spirit years of occupation: +Time, only, strengthens the fine fermentation. +To tell each thing that forms a part +Would sound to thee like wildest fable! +The devil indeed has taught the art; +To make it not the devil is able. + [_Espying the animals_.] +See, what a genteel breed we here parade! +This is the house-boy! that's the maid! + [_To the animals_.] +Where's the old lady gone a mousing? + +_The animals_. Carousing; +Out she went +By the chimney-vent! + +_Mephistopheles_. How long does she spend in gadding and storming? + +_The animals_. While we are giving our paws a warming. + +_Mephistopheles_ [_to Faust_]. How do you find the dainty creatures? + +_Faust_. Disgusting as I ever chanced to see! + +_Mephistopheles_. No! a discourse like this to me, +I own, is one of life's most pleasant features; + [_To the animals_.] +Say, cursed dolls, that sweat, there, toiling! +What are you twirling with the spoon? + +_Animals_. A common beggar-soup we're boiling. + +_Mephistopheles_. You'll have a run of custom soon. + + THE HE-MONKEY + [_Comes along and fawns on_ MEPHISTOPHELES]. + O fling up the dice, + Make me rich in a trice, + Turn fortune's wheel over! + My lot is right bad, + If money I had, + My wits would recover. + +_Mephistopheles_. The monkey'd be as merry as a cricket, +Would somebody give him a lottery-ticket! + + [_Meanwhile the young monkeys have been playing with a great + ball, which they roll backward and forward_.] + +_The monkey_. 'The world's the ball; + See't rise and fall, + Its roll you follow; + Like glass it rings: + Both, brittle things! + Within 'tis hollow. + There it shines clear, + And brighter here,-- + I live--by 'Pollo!-- + Dear son, I pray, + Keep hands away! + _Thou_ shalt fall so! + 'Tis made of clay, + Pots are, also. + +_Mephistopheles_. What means the sieve? + +_The monkey [takes it down_]. Wert thou a thief, + 'Twould show the thief and shame him. + [_Runs to his mate and makes her look through_.] + Look through the sieve! + Discern'st thou the thief, + And darest not name him? + +_Mephistopheles [approaching the fire_]. And what's this pot? + +_The monkeys_. The dunce! I'll be shot! + He knows not the pot, + He knows not the kettle! + +_Mephistopheles_. Impertinence! Hush! + +_The monkey_. Here, take you the brush, + And sit on the settle! + [_He forces_ MEPHISTOPHELES _to sit down_.] + + FAUST + [_who all this time has been standing before a looking-glass, + now approaching and now receding from it_]. + +What do I see? What heavenly face +Doth, in this magic glass, enchant me! +O love, in mercy, now, thy swiftest pinions grant me! +And bear me to her field of space! +Ah, if I seek to approach what doth so haunt me, +If from this spot I dare to stir, +Dimly as through a mist I gaze on her!-- +The loveliest vision of a woman! +Such lovely woman can there be? +Must I in these reposing limbs naught human. +But of all heavens the finest essence see? +Was such a thing on earth seen ever? + +_Mephistopheles_. Why, when you see a God six days in hard work spend, +And then cry bravo at the end, +Of course you look for something clever. +Look now thy fill; I have for thee +Just such a jewel, and will lead thee to her; +And happy, whose good fortune it shall be, +To bear her home, a prospered wooer! + +[FAUST _keeps on looking into the mirror_. MEPHISTOPHELES +_stretching himself out on the settle and playing with the brush, +continues speaking_.] +Here sit I like a king upon his throne, +The sceptre in my hand,--I want the crown alone. + + THE ANIMALS + [_who up to this time have been going through all sorts of queer antics + with each other, bring_ MEPHISTOPHELES _a crown with a loud cry_]. + O do be so good,-- + With sweat and with blood, + To take it and lime it; + [_They go about clumsily with the crown and break it into two pieces, + with which they jump round_.] + 'Tis done now! We're free! + We speak and we see, + We hear and we rhyme it; + +_Faust [facing the mirror_]. Woe's me! I've almost lost my wits. + +_Mephistopheles [pointing to the animals_]. +My head, too, I confess, is very near to spinning. + +_The animals_. And then if it hits + And every thing fits, + We've thoughts for our winning. + +_Faust [as before_]. Up to my heart the flame is flying! +Let us begone--there's danger near! + +_Mephistopheles [in the former position_]. +Well, this, at least, there's no denying, +That we have undissembled poets here. + +[The kettle, which the she-monkey has hitherto left unmatched, begins to +run over; a great flame breaks out, which roars up the chimney. The_ WITCH +_comes riding down through the flame with a terrible outcry_.] + +_Witch_. Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! + The damned beast! The cursed sow! + Neglected the kettle, scorched the Frau! + The cursed crew! + [_Seeing_ FAUST _and_ MEPHISTOPHELES.] + And who are you? + And what d'ye do? + And what d'ye want? + And who sneaked in? + The fire-plague grim + Shall light on him + In every limb! + + [_She makes a dive at the kettle with the skimmer and spatters flames + at _FAUST, MEPHISTOPHELES_, and the creatures. These last whimper_.] + + MEPHISTOPHELES + [_inverting the brush which he holds in his hand, and striking + among the glasses and pots_]. + + In two! In two! + There lies the brew! + There lies the glass! + This joke must pass; + For time-beat, ass! + To thy melody, 'twill do. + [_While the_ WITCH _starts back full of wrath and horror.] +Skeleton! Scarcecrow! Spectre! Know'st thou me, +Thy lord and master? What prevents my dashing +Right in among thy cursed company, +Thyself and all thy monkey spirits smashing? +Has the red waistcoat thy respect no more? +Has the cock's-feather, too, escaped attention? +Hast never seen this face before? +My name, perchance, wouldst have me mention? + +_The witch_. Pardon the rudeness, sir, in me! +But sure no cloven foot I see. +Nor find I your two ravens either. + +_Mephistopheles_. I'll let thee off for this once so; +For a long while has passed, full well I know, +Since the last time we met together. +The culture, too, which licks the world to shape, +The devil himself cannot escape; +The phantom of the North men's thoughts have left behind them, +Horns, tail, and claws, where now d'ye find them? +And for the foot, with which dispense I nowise can, +'Twould with good circles hurt my standing; +And so I've worn, some years, like many a fine young man, +False calves to make me more commanding. + +_The witch [dancing_]. O I shall lose my wits, I fear, +Do I, again, see Squire Satan here! + +_Mephistopheles_. Woman, the name offends my ear! + +_The witch_. Why so? What has it done to you? + +_Mephistopheles_. It has long since to fable-books been banished; +But men are none the better for it; true, +The wicked _one_, but not the wicked _ones_, has vanished. +Herr Baron callst thou me, then all is right and good; +I am a cavalier, like others. Doubt me? +Doubt for a moment of my noble blood? +See here the family arms I bear about me! + [_He makes an indecent gesture.] + +The witch [laughs immoderately_]. Ha! ha! full well I know you, sir! +You are the same old rogue you always were! + +_Mephistopheles [to Faust_]. I pray you, carefully attend, +This is the way to deal with witches, friend. + +_The witch_. Now, gentles, what shall I produce? + +_Mephistopheles_. A right good glassful of the well-known juice! +And pray you, let it be the oldest; +Age makes it doubly strong for use. + +_The witch_. Right gladly! Here I have a bottle, +From which, at times, I wet my throttle; +Which now, not in the slightest, stinks; +A glass to you I don't mind giving; + [_Softly_.] +But if this man, without preparing, drinks, +He has not, well you know, another hour for living. + +_Mephistopheles_. +'Tis a good friend of mine, whom it shall straight cheer up; +Thy kitchen's best to give him don't delay thee. +Thy ring--thy spell, now, quick, I pray thee, +And give him then a good full cup. + +[_The_ WITCH, _with strange gestures, draws a circle, and places singular +things in it; mean-while the glasses begin to ring, the kettle to sound +and make music. Finally, she brings a great book and places the monkeys in +the circle, whom she uses as a reading-desk and to hold the torches. She +beckons_ FAUST _to come to her_.] + +_Faust [to Mephistopheles_]. +Hold! what will come of this? These creatures, +These frantic gestures and distorted features, +And all the crazy, juggling fluff, +I've known and loathed it long enough! + +_Mephistopheles_. Pugh! that is only done to smoke us; +Don't be so serious, my man! +She must, as Doctor, play her hocus-pocus +To make the dose work better, that's the plan. + [_He constrains_ FAUST _to step into the circle_.] + + THE WITCH + [_beginning with great emphasis to declaim out of the book_] + + Remember then! + Of One make Ten, + The Two let be, + Make even Three, + There's wealth for thee. + The Four pass o'er! + Of Five and Six, + (The witch so speaks,) + Make Seven and Eight, + The thing is straight: + And Nine is One + And Ten is none-- + This is the witch's one-time-one![24] + +_Faust_. The old hag talks like one delirious. + +_Mephistopheles_. There's much more still, no less mysterious, +I know it well, the whole book sounds just so! +I've lost full many a year in poring o'er it, +For perfect contradiction, you must know, +A mystery stands, and fools and wise men bow before it, +The art is old and new, my son. +Men, in all times, by craft and terror, +With One and Three, and Three and One, +For truth have propagated error. +They've gone on gabbling so a thousand years; +Who on the fools would waste a minute? +Man generally thinks, if words he only hears, +Articulated noise must have some meaning in it. + +_The witch [goes on_]. Deep wisdom's power + Has, to this hour, + From all the world been hidden! + Whoso thinks not, + To him 'tis brought, + To him it comes unbidden. + +_Faust_. What nonsense is she talking here? +My heart is on the point of cracking. +In one great choir I seem to hear +A hundred thousand ninnies clacking. + +_Mephistopheles_. Enough, enough, rare Sibyl, sing us +These runes no more, thy beverage bring us, +And quickly fill the goblet to the brim; +This drink may by my friend be safely taken: +Full many grades the man can reckon, +Many good swigs have entered him. + + [_The_ WITCH, _with many ceremonies, pours the drink into a cup; + as she puts it to_ FAUST'S _lips, there rises a light flame_.] + +_Mephistopheles_. Down with it! Gulp it down! 'Twill prove +All that thy heart's wild wants desire. +Thou, with the devil, hand and glove,[25] +And yet wilt be afraid of fire? + + [_The_ WITCH _breaks the circle_; FAUST _steps out_.] + +_Mephistopheles_. Now briskly forth! No rest for thee! + +_The witch_. Much comfort may the drink afford you! + +_Mephistopheles [to the witch_]. And any favor you may ask of me, +I'll gladly on Walpurgis' night accord you. + +_The witch_. Here is a song, which if you sometimes sing, +'Twill stir up in your heart a special fire. + +_Mephistopheles [to Faust_]. Only make haste; and even shouldst thou tire, +Still follow me; one must perspire, +That it may set his nerves all quivering. +I'll teach thee by and bye to prize a noble leisure, +And soon, too, shalt thou feel with hearty pleasure, +How busy Cupid stirs, and shakes his nimble wing. + +_Faust_. But first one look in yonder glass, I pray thee! +Such beauty I no more may find! + +_Mephistopheles_. Nay! in the flesh thine eyes shall soon display thee +The model of all woman-kind. + [_Softly_.] +Soon will, when once this drink shall heat thee, +In every girl a Helen meet thee! + + + + + A STREET. + + FAUST. MARGARET [_passing over_]. + +_Faust_. My fair young lady, will it offend her +If I offer my arm and escort to lend her? + +_Margaret_. Am neither lady, nor yet am fair! +Can find my way home without any one's care. + [_Disengages herself and exit_.] + +_Faust_. By heavens, but then the child _is_ fair! +I've never seen the like, I swear. +So modest is she and so pure, +And somewhat saucy, too, to be sure. +The light of the cheek, the lip's red bloom, +I shall never forget to the day of doom! +How me cast down her lovely eyes, +Deep in my soul imprinted lies; +How she spoke up, so curt and tart, +Ah, that went right to my ravished heart! + [_Enter_ MEPHISTOPHELES.] + +_Faust_. Hark, thou shalt find me a way to address her! + +_Mephistopheles_. Which one? + +_Faust_. She just went by. + +_Mephistopheles_. What! She? +She came just now from her father confessor, +Who from all sins pronounced her free; +I stole behind her noiselessly, +'Tis an innocent thing, who, for nothing at all, +Must go to the confessional; +O'er such as she no power I hold! + +_Faust_. But then she's over fourteen years old. + +_Mephistopheles_. Thou speak'st exactly like Jack Rake, +Who every fair flower his own would make. +And thinks there can be no favor nor fame, +But one may straightway pluck the same. +But 'twill not always do, we see. + +_Faust_. My worthy Master Gravity, +Let not a word of the Law be spoken! +One thing be clearly understood,-- +Unless I clasp the sweet, young blood +This night in my arms--then, well and good: +When midnight strikes, our bond is broken. + +_Mephistopheles_. Reflect on all that lies in the way! +I need a fortnight, at least, to a day, +For finding so much as a way to reach her. + +_Faust_. Had I seven hours, to call my own, +Without the devil's aid, alone +I'd snare with ease so young a creature. + +_Mephistopheles_. You talk quite Frenchman-like to-day; +But don't be vexed beyond all measure. +What boots it thus to snatch at pleasure? +'Tis not so great, by a long way, +As if you first, with tender twaddle, +And every sort of fiddle-faddle, +Your little doll should mould and knead, +As one in French romances may read. + +_Faust_. My appetite needs no such spur. + +_Mephistopheles_. Now, then, without a jest or slur, +I tell you, once for all, such speed +With the fair creature won't succeed. +Nothing will here by storm be taken; +We must perforce on intrigue reckon. + +_Faust_. Get me some trinket the angel has blest! +Lead me to her chamber of rest! +Get me a 'kerchief from her neck, +A garter get me for love's sweet sake! + +_Mephistopheles_. To prove to you my willingness +To aid and serve you in this distress; +You shall visit her chamber, by me attended, +Before the passing day is ended. + +_Faust_. And see her, too? and have her? + +_Mephistopheles_. Nay! +She will to a neighbor's have gone away. +Meanwhile alone by yourself you may, +There in her atmosphere, feast at leisure +And revel in dreams of future pleasure. + +_Faust_. Shall we start at once? + +_Mephistopheles_. 'Tis too early yet. + +_Faust_. Some present to take her for me you must get. + + [_Exit_.] + +_Mephistopheles_. Presents already! Brave! He's on the right foundation! +Full many a noble place I know, +And treasure buried long ago; +Must make a bit of exploration. + + [_Exit_.] + + + + + EVENING. + + _A little cleanly Chamber_. + +MARGARET [_braiding and tying up her hair_.] +I'd give a penny just to say +What gentleman that was to-day! +How very gallant he seemed to be, +He's of a noble family; +That I could read from his brow and bearing-- +And he would not have otherwise been so daring. + [_Exit_.] + + FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES. + +_Mephistopheles_. Come in, step softly, do not fear! + +_Faust [after a pause_]. Leave me alone, I prithee, here! + +_Mephistopheles [peering round_]. Not every maiden keeps so neat. + [_Exit_.] + +_Faust [gazing round_]. Welcome this hallowed still retreat! +Where twilight weaves its magic glow. +Seize on my heart, love-longing, sad and sweet, +That on the dew of hope dost feed thy woe! +How breathes around the sense of stillness, +Of quiet, order, and content! +In all this poverty what fulness! +What blessedness within this prison pent! + [_He throws himself into a leathern chair by the bed_.] +Take me, too! as thou hast, in years long flown, +In joy and grief, so many a generation! +Ah me! how oft, on this ancestral throne, +Have troops of children climbed with exultation! +Perhaps, when Christmas brought the Holy Guest, +My love has here, in grateful veneration +The grandsire's withered hand with child-lips prest. +I feel, O maiden, circling me, +Thy spirit of grace and fulness hover, +Which daily like a mother teaches thee +The table-cloth to spread in snowy purity, +And even, with crinkled sand the floor to cover. +Dear, godlike hand! a touch of thine +Makes this low house a heavenly kingdom slime! +And here! + [_He lifts a bed-curtain_.] +What blissful awe my heart thrills through! +Here for long hours could I linger. +Here, Nature! in light dreams, thy airy finger +The inborn angel's features drew! +Here lay the child, when life's fresh heavings +Its tender bosom first made warm, +And here with pure, mysterious weavings +The spirit wrought its godlike form! + And thou! What brought thee here? what power +Stirs in my deepest soul this hour? +What wouldst thou here? What makes thy heart so sore? +Unhappy Faust! I know thee thus no more. + Breathe I a magic atmosphere? +The will to enjoy how strong I felt it,-- +And in a dream of love am now all melted! +Are we the sport of every puff of air? + And if she suddenly should enter now, +How would she thy presumptuous folly humble! +Big John-o'dreams! ah, how wouldst thou +Sink at her feet, collapse and crumble! + +_Mephistopheles_. Quick, now! She comes! I'm looking at her. + +_Faust_. Away! Away! O cruel fate! + +_Mephistopheles_. Here is a box of moderate weight; +I got it somewhere else--no matter! +Just shut it up, here, in the press, +I swear to you, 'twill turn her senses; +I meant the trifles, I confess, +To scale another fair one's fences. +True, child is child and play is play. + +_Faust_. Shall I? I know not. + +_Mephistopheles_. Why delay? +You mean perhaps to keep the bauble? +If so, I counsel you to spare +From idle passion hours so fair, +And me, henceforth, all further trouble. +I hope you are not avaricious! +I rub my hands, I scratch my head-- + [_He places the casket in the press and locks it up again_.] + (Quick! Time we sped!)-- +That the dear creature may be led +And moulded by your will and wishes; +And you stand here as glum, +As one at the door of the auditorium, +As if before your eyes you saw +In bodily shape, with breathless awe, +Metaphysics and physics, grim and gray! +Away! + [_Exit_.] + +_Margaret [with a lamp_]. It seems so close, so sultry here. + [_She opens the window_.] +Yet it isn't so very warm out there, +I feel--I know not how--oh dear! +I wish my mother 'ld come home, I declare! +I feel a shudder all over me crawl-- +I'm a silly, timid thing, that's all! + [_She begins to sing, while undressing_.] + There was a king in Thulè, + To whom, when near her grave, + The mistress he loved so truly + A golden goblet gave. + + He cherished it as a lover, + He drained it, every bout; + His eyes with tears ran over, + As oft as he drank thereout. + + And when he found himself dying, + His towns and cities he told; + Naught else to his heir denying + Save only the goblet of gold. + + His knights he straightway gathers + And in the midst sate he, + In the banquet hall of the fathers + In the castle over the sea. + + There stood th' old knight of liquor, + And drank the last life-glow, + Then flung the holy beaker + Into the flood below. + + He saw it plunging, drinking + And sinking in the roar, + His eyes in death were sinking, + He never drank one drop more. + [_She opens the press, to put away her clothes, + and discovers the casket_.] + +How in the world came this fine casket here? +I locked the press, I'm very clear. +I wonder what's inside! Dear me! it's very queer! +Perhaps 'twas brought here as a pawn, +In place of something mother lent. +Here is a little key hung on, +A single peep I shan't repent! +What's here? Good gracious! only see! +I never saw the like in my born days! +On some chief festival such finery +Might on some noble lady blaze. +How would this chain become my neck! +Whose may this splendor be, so lonely? + [_She arrays herself in it, and steps before the glass_.] +Could I but claim the ear-rings only! +A different figure one would make. +What's beauty worth to thee, young blood! +May all be very well and good; +What then? 'Tis half for pity's sake +They praise your pretty features. +Each burns for gold, +All turns on gold,-- +Alas for us! poor creatures! + + + + + PROMENADE. + + + FAUST [_going up and down in thought_.] MEPHISTOPHELES _to him_. + +_Mephistopheles_. By all that ever was jilted! By all the infernal fires! +I wish I knew something worse, to curse as my heart desires! + +_Faust_. What griping pain has hold of thee? +Such grins ne'er saw I in the worst stage-ranter! + +_Mephistopheles_. Oh, to the devil I'd give myself instanter, +If I were not already he! + +_Faust_. Some pin's loose in your head, old fellow! +That fits you, like a madman thus to bellow! + +_Mephistopheles_. Just think, the pretty toy we got for Peg, +A priest has hooked, the cursed plague I-- +The thing came under the eye of the mother, +And caused her a dreadful internal pother: +The woman's scent is fine and strong; +Snuffles over her prayer-book all day long, +And knows, by the smell of an article, plain, +Whether the thing is holy or profane; +And as to the box she was soon aware +There could not be much blessing there. +"My child," she cried, "unrighteous gains +Ensnare the soul, dry up the veins. +We'll consecrate it to God's mother, +She'll give us some heavenly manna or other!" +Little Margaret made a wry face; "I see +'Tis, after all, a gift horse," said she; +"And sure, no godless one is he +Who brought it here so handsomely." +The mother sent for a priest (they're cunning); +Who scarce had found what game was running, +When he rolled his greedy eyes like a lizard, +And, "all is rightly disposed," said he, +"Who conquers wins, for a certainty. +The church has of old a famous gizzard, +She calls it little whole lands to devour, +Yet never a surfeit got to this hour; +The church alone, dear ladies; _sans_ question, +Can give unrighteous gains digestion." + +_Faust_. That is a general pratice, too, +Common alike with king and Jew. + +_Mephistopheles_. Then pocketed bracelets and chains and rings +As if they were mushrooms or some such things, +With no more thanks, (the greedy-guts!) +Than if it had been a basket of nuts, +Promised them all sorts of heavenly pay-- +And greatly edified were they. + +_Faust_. And Margery? + +_Mephistopheles_. Sits there in distress, +And what to do she cannot guess, +The jewels her daily and nightly thought, +And he still more by whom they were brought. + +_Faust._ My heart is troubled for my pet. +Get her at once another set! +The first were no great things in their way. + +_Mephistopheles._ O yes, my gentleman finds all child's play! + +_Faust._ And what I wish, that mind and do! +Stick closely to her neighbor, too. +Don't be a devil soft as pap, +And fetch me some new jewels, old chap! + +_Mephistopheles._ Yes, gracious Sir, I will with pleasure. + [_Exit_ FAUST.] +Such love-sick fools will puff away +Sun, moon, and stars, and all in the azure, +To please a maiden's whimsies, any day. + [_Exit._] + + + + + THE NEIGHBOR'S HOUSE. + + + MARTHA [_alone]._ +My dear good man--whom God forgive! +He has not treated me well, as I live! +Right off into the world he's gone +And left me on the straw alone. +I never did vex him, I say it sincerely, +I always loved him, God knows how dearly. + [_She weeps_.] +Perhaps he's dead!--O cruel fate!-- +If I only had a certificate! + + _Enter_ MARGARET. +Dame Martha! + +_Martha_. What now, Margery? + +_Margaret_. I scarce can keep my knees from sinking! +Within my press, again, not thinking, +I find a box of ebony, +With things--can't tell how grand they are,-- +More splendid than the first by far. + +_Martha_. You must not tell it to your mother, +She'd serve it as she did the other. + +_Margaret_. Ah, only look! Behold and see! + +_Martha [puts them on her_]. Fortunate thing! I envy thee! + +_Margaret._ Alas, in the street or at church I never +Could be seen on any account whatever. + +_Martha._ Come here as often as you've leisure, +And prink yourself quite privately; +Before the looking-glass walk up and down at pleasure, +Fine times for both us 'twill be; +Then, on occasions, say at some great feast, +Can show them to the world, one at a time, at least. +A chain, and then an ear-pearl comes to view; +Your mother may not see, we'll make some pretext, too. + +_Margaret._ Who could have brought both caskets in succession? +There's something here for just suspicion! + [_A knock._ ] +Ah, God! If that's my mother--then! + +_Martha_ [_peeping through the blind_]. +'Tis a strange gentleman--come in! + + [_Enter_ MEPHISTOPHELES.] +Must, ladies, on your kindness reckon +To excuse the freedom I have taken; + [_Steps back with profound respect at seeing_ MARGARET.] +I would for Dame Martha Schwerdtlein inquire! + +_Martha._ I'm she, what, sir, is your desire? + +_Mephistopheles_ [_aside to her_]. I know your face, for now 'twill do; +A distinguished lady is visiting you. +For a call so abrupt be pardon meted, +This afternoon it shall be repeated. + +_Martha [aloud]._ For all the world, think, child! my sakes! +The gentleman you for a lady takes. + +_Margaret_. Ah, God! I am a poor young blood; +The gentleman is quite too good; +The jewels and trinkets are none of my own. + +_Mephistopheles_. Ah, 'tis not the jewels and trinkets alone; +Her look is so piercing, so _distinguè_! +How glad I am to be suffered to stay. + +_Martha_. What bring you, sir? I long to hear-- + +_Mephistopheles_. Would I'd a happier tale for your ear! +I hope you'll forgive me this one for repeating: +Your husband is dead and sends you a greeting. + +_Martha_. Is dead? the faithful heart! Woe! Woe! +My husband dead! I, too, shall go! + +_Margaret_. Ah, dearest Dame, despair not thou! + +_Mephistopheles_ Then, hear the mournful story now! + +_Margaret_. Ah, keep me free from love forever, +I should never survive such a loss, no, never! + +_Mephistopheles_. Joy and woe, woe and joy, must have each other. + +_Martha_. Describe his closing hours to me! + +_Mephistopheles_. In Padua lies our departed brother, +In the churchyard of St. Anthony, +In a cool and quiet bed lies sleeping, +In a sacred spot's eternal keeping. + +_Martha_. And this was all you had to bring me? + +_Mephistopheles_. All but one weighty, grave request! +"Bid her, when I am dead, three hundred masses sing me!" +With this I have made a clean pocket and breast. + +_Martha_. What! not a medal, pin nor stone? +Such as, for memory's sake, no journeyman will lack, +Saved in the bottom of his sack, +And sooner would hunger, be a pauper-- + +_Mephistopheles_. Madam, your case is hard, I own! +But blame him not, he squandered ne'er a copper. +He too bewailed his faults with penance sore, +Ay, and his wretched luck bemoaned a great deal more. + +_Margaret_. Alas! that mortals so unhappy prove! +I surely will for him pray many a requiem duly. + +_Mephistopheles_. You're worthy of a spouse this moment; truly +You are a child a man might love. + +_Margaret_. It's not yet time for that, ah no! + +_Mephistopheles_. If not a husband, say, meanwhile a beau. +It is a choice and heavenly blessing, +Such a dear thing to one's bosom pressing. + +_Margaret_. With us the custom is not so. + +_Mephistopheles_. Custom or not! It happens, though. + +_Martha_. Tell on! + +_Mephistopheles_. I slood beside his bed, as he lay dying, +Better than dung it was somewhat,-- +Half-rotten straw; but then, he died as Christian ought, +And found an unpaid score, on Heaven's account-book lying. +"How must I hate myself," he cried, "inhuman! +So to forsake my business and my woman! +Oh! the remembrance murders me! +Would she might still forgive me this side heaven!" + +_Martha_ [_weeping_]. The dear good man! he has been long forgiven. + +_Mephistopheles_. "But God knows, I was less to blame than she." + +_Martha_. A lie! And at death's door! abominable! + +_Mephistopheles_. If I to judge of men half-way am able, +He surely fibbed while passing hence. +"Ways to kill time, (he said)--be sure, I did not need them; +First to get children--and then bread to feed them, +And bread, too, in the widest sense, +And even to eat my bit in peace could not be thought on." + +_Martha_. Has he all faithfulness, all love, so far forgotten, +The drudgery by day and night! + +_Mephistopheles_. Not so, he thought of you with all his might. +He said: "When I from Malta went away, +For wife and children my warm prayers ascended; +And Heaven so far our cause befriended, +Our ship a Turkish cruiser took one day, +Which for the mighty Sultan bore a treasure. +Then valor got its well-earned pay, +And I too, who received but my just measure, +A goodly portion bore away." + +_Martha_. How? Where? And he has left it somewhere buried? + +_Mephistopheles_. Who knows which way by the four winds 'twas carried? +He chanced to take a pretty damsel's eye, +As, a strange sailor, he through Naples jaunted; +All that she did for him so tenderly, +E'en to his blessed end the poor man haunted. + +_Martha_. The scamp! his children thus to plunder! +And could not all his troubles sore +Arrest his vile career, I wonder? + +_Mephistopheles_. But mark! his death wipes off the score. +Were I in your place now, good lady; +One year I'd mourn him piously +And look about, meanwhiles, for a new flame already. + +_Martha_. Ah, God! another such as he +I may not find with ease on this side heaven! +Few such kind fools as this dear spouse of mine. +Only to roving he was too much given, +And foreign women and foreign wine, +And that accursed game of dice. + +_Mephistopheles_. Mere trifles these; you need not heed 'em, +If he, on his part, not o'er-nice, +Winked at, in you, an occasional freedom. +I swear, on that condition, too, +I would, myself, 'change rings with you! + +_Martha_. The gentleman is pleased to jest now! + +_Mephistopheles [aside_]. I see it's now high time I stirred! +She'd take the very devil at his word. + [_To_ MARGERY.] +How is it with your heart, my best, now? + +_Margaret_. What means the gentleman? + +_Mephistopheles. [aside_]. Thou innocent young heart! + [_Aloud_.] +Ladies, farewell! + +_Margaret_. Farewell! + +_Martha_. But quick, before we part!-- +I'd like some witness, vouching truly +Where, how and when my love died and was buried duly. +I've always paid to order great attention, +Would of his death read some newspaper mention. + +_Mephistopheles_. Ay, my dear lady, in the mouths of two +Good witnesses each word is true; +I've a friend, a fine fellow, who, when you desire, +Will render on oath what you require. +I'll bring him here. + +_Martha_. O pray, sir, do! + +_Mephistopheles_. And this young lady 'll be there too? +Fine boy! has travelled everywhere, +And all politeness to the fair. + +_Margaret_. Before him shame my face must cover. + +_Mephistopheles_. Before no king the wide world over! + +_Martha_. Behind the house, in my garden, at leisure, +We'll wait this eve the gentlemen's pleasure. + + + + + STREET. + + FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES. + +_Faust_. How now? What progress? Will 't come right? + +_Mephistopheles_. Ha, bravo? So you're all on fire? +Full soon you'll see whom you desire. +In neighbor Martha's grounds we are to meet tonight. +That woman's one of nature's picking +For pandering and gipsy-tricking! + +_Faust_. So far, so good! + +_Mephistopheles_. But one thing we must do. + +_Faust_. Well, one good turn deserves another, true. + +_Mephistopheles_. We simply make a solemn deposition +That her lord's bones are laid in good condition +In holy ground at Padua, hid from view. + +_Faust_. That's wise! But then we first must make the journey thither? + +_Mephistopheles. Sancta simplicitas_! no need of such to-do; +Just swear, and ask not why or whether. + +_Faust_. If that's the best you have, the plan's not worth a feather. + +_Mephistopheles_. O holy man! now that's just you! +In all thy life hast never, to this hour, +To give false witness taken pains? +Have you of God, the world, and all that it contains, +Of man, and all that stirs within his heart and brains, +Not given definitions with great power, +Unscrupulous breast, unblushing brow? +And if you search the matter clearly, +Knew you as much thereof, to speak sincerely, +As of Herr Schwerdtlein's death? Confess it now! + +_Faust_. Thou always wast a sophist and a liar. + +_Mephistopheles_. Ay, if one did not look a little nigher. +For will you not, in honor, to-morrow +Befool poor Margery to her sorrow, +And all the oaths of true love borrow? + +_Faust_. And from the heart, too. + +_Mephistopheles_. Well and fair! +Then there'll be talk of truth unending, +Of love o'ermastering, all transcending-- +Will every word be heart-born there? + +_Faust_. Enough! It will!--If, for the passion +That fills and thrills my being's frame, +I find no name, no fit expression, +Then, through the world, with all my senses, ranging, +Seek what most strongly speaks the unchanging. +And call this glow, within me burning, +Infinite--endless--endless yearning, +Is that a devilish lying game? + +_Mephistopheles_. I'm right, nathless! + +_Faust_. Now, hark to me-- +This once, I pray, and spare my lungs, old fellow-- +Whoever _will_ be right, and has a tongue to bellow, +Is sure to be. +But come, enough of swaggering, let's be quit, +For thou art right, because I must submit. + + + + + GARDEN. + + MARGARET _on_ FAUST'S _arm_. MARTHA _with_ MEPHISTOPHELES. + [_Promenading up and down_.] + +_Margaret_. The gentleman but makes me more confused +With all his condescending goodness. +Men who have travelled wide are used +To bear with much from dread of rudeness; +I know too well, a man of so much mind +In my poor talk can little pleasure find. + +_Faust_. One look from thee, one word, delights me more +Than this world's wisdom o'er and o'er. + [_Kisses her hand_.] + +_Margaret_. Don't take that trouble, sir! How could you bear to kiss it? +A hand so ugly, coarse, and rough! +How much I've had to do! must I confess it-- +Mother is more than close enough. + [_They pass on_.] + +_Martha_. And you, sir, are you always travelling so? + +_Mephistopheles_. Alas, that business forces us to do it! +With what regret from many a place we go, +Though tenderest bonds may bind us to it! + +_Martha_. 'Twill do in youth's tumultuous maze +To wander round the world, a careless rover; +But soon will come the evil days, +And then, a lone dry stick, on the grave's brink to hover, +For that nobody ever prays. + +_Mephistopheles_. The distant prospect shakes my reason. + +_Martha_. Then, worthy sir, bethink yourself in season. + [_They pass on_.] + +_Margaret_. Yes, out of sight and out of mind! +Politeness you find no hard matter; +But you have friends in plenty, better +Than I, more sensible, more refined. + +_Faust_. Dear girl, what one calls sensible on earth, +Is often vanity and nonsense. + +_Margaret_. How? + +_Faust_. Ah, that the pure and simple never know +Aught of themselves and all their holy worth! +That meekness, lowliness, the highest measure +Of gifts by nature lavished, full and free-- + +_Margaret_. One little moment, only, think of me, +I shall to think of you have ample time and leisure. + +_Faust_. You're, may be, much alone? + +_Margaret_. Our household is but small, I own, +And yet needs care, if truth were known. +We have no maid; so I attend to cooking, sweeping, +Knit, sew, do every thing, in fact; +And mother, in all branches of housekeeping, +Is so exact! +Not that she need be tied so very closely down; +We might stand higher than some others, rather; +A nice estate was left us by my father, +A house and garden not far out of town. +Yet, after all, my life runs pretty quiet; +My brother is a soldier, +My little sister's dead; +With the dear child indeed a wearing life I led; +And yet with all its plagues again would gladly try it, +The child was such a pet. + +_Faust_. An angel, if like thee! + +_Margaret_. I reared her and she heartily loved me. +She and my father never saw each other, +He died before her birth, and mother +Was given up, so low she lay, +But me, by slow degrees, recovered, day by day. +Of course she now, long time so feeble, +To nurse the poor little worm was unable, +And so I reared it all alone, +With milk and water; 'twas my own. +Upon my bosom all day long +It smiled and sprawled and so grew strong. + +_Faust_. Ah! thou hast truly known joy's fairest flower. + +_Margaret_. But no less truly many a heavy hour. +The wee thing's cradle stood at night +Close to my bed; did the least thing awake her, +My sleep took flight; +'Twas now to nurse her, now in bed to take her, +Then, if she was not still, to rise, +Walk up and down the room, and dance away her cries, +And at the wash-tub stand, when morning streaked the skies; +Then came the marketing and kitchen-tending, +Day in, day out, work never-ending. +One cannot always, sir, good temper keep; +But then it sweetens food and sweetens sleep. + [_They pass on_.] + +_Martha_. But the poor women suffer, you must own: +A bachelor is hard of reformation. + +_Mephistopheles_. Madam, it rests with such as you, alone, +To help me mend my situation. + +_Martha_. Speak plainly, sir, has none your fancy taken? +Has none made out a tender flame to waken? + +_Mephistopheles_. The proverb says: A man's own hearth, +And a brave wife, all gold and pearls are worth. + +_Martha_. I mean, has ne'er your heart been smitten slightly? + +_Mephistopheles_. I have, on every hand, been entertained politely. + +_Martha_. Have you not felt, I mean, a serious intention? + +_Mephistopheles_. +Jesting with women, that's a thing one ne'er should mention. + +_Martha_. Ah, you misunderstand! + +_Mephistopheles_. It grieves me that I should! +But this I understand--that you are good. + [_They pass on_.] + +_Faust_. So then, my little angel recognized me, +As I came through the garden gate? + +_Margaret_. Did not my downcast eyes show you surprised me? + +_Faust_. And thou forgav'st that liberty, of late? +That impudence of mine, so daring, +As thou wast home from church repairing? + +_Margaret_. I was confused, the like was new to me; +No one could say a word to my dishonor. +Ah, thought I, has he, haply, in thy manner +Seen any boldness--impropriety? +It seemed as if the feeling seized him, +That he might treat this girl just as it pleased him. +Let me confess! I knew not from what cause, +Some flight relentings here began to threaten danger; +I know, right angry with myself I was, +That I could not be angrier with the stranger. + +_Faust_. Sweet darling! + +_Margaret_. Let me once! + + [_She plucks a china-aster and picks off the leaves one after another_.] + +_Faust_. What's that for? A bouquet? + +_Margaret_. No, just for sport. + +_Faust_. How? + +_Margaret_. Go! you'll laugh at me; away! + [_She picks and murmurs to herself_.] + +_Faust_. What murmurest thou? + +_Margaret [half aloud_]. He loves me--loves me not. + +_Faust_. Sweet face! from heaven that look was caught! + +_Margaret [goes on_]. Loves me--not--loves me--not-- + [_picking off the last leaf with tender joy_] +He loves me! + +_Faust_. Yes, my child! And be this floral word +An oracle to thee. He loves thee! +Knowest thou all it mean? He loves thee! + [_Clasping both her hands_.] + +_Margaret_. What thrill is this! + +_Faust_. O, shudder not! This look of mine. +This pressure of the hand shall tell thee +What cannot be expressed: +Give thyself up at once and feel a rapture, +An ecstasy never to end! +Never!--It's end were nothing but blank despair. +No, unending! unending! + + [MARGARET _presses his hands, extricates herself, and runs away. + He stands a moment in thought, then follows her_]. + +_Martha [coming_]. The night falls fast. + +_Mephistopheles_. Ay, and we must away. + +_Martha_. If it were not for one vexation, +I would insist upon your longer stay. +Nobody seems to have no occupation, +No care nor labor, +Except to play the spy upon his neighbor; +And one becomes town-talk, do whatsoe'er they may. +But where's our pair of doves? + +_Mephistopheles_. Flown up the alley yonder. +Light summer-birds! + +_Martha_. He seems attached to her. + +_Mephistopheles_. No wonder. +And she to him. So goes the world, they say. + + + + + A SUMMER-HOUSE. + + MARGARET [_darts in, hides behind the door, presses the tip of + her finger to her lips, and peeps through the crack_]. + +_Margaret_. He comes! + + _Enter_ FAUST. + +_Faust_. Ah rogue, how sly thou art! +I've caught thee! + [_Kisses her_.] + +_Margaret [embracing him and returning the kiss_]. +Dear good man! I love thee from my heart! + + [MEPHISTOPHELES _knocks_.] + +_Faust [stamping_]. Who's there? + +_Mephistopheles_. A friend! + +_Faust_. A beast! + +_Mephistopheles_. Time flies, I don't offend you? + +_Martha [entering_]. Yes, sir, 'tis growing late. + +_Faust_. May I not now attend you? + +_Margaret_. Mother would--Fare thee well! + +_Faust_. And must I leave thee then? Farewell! + +_Martha_. Adé! + +_Margaret_. Till, soon, we meet again! + + [_Exeunt_ FAUST _and_ MEPHISTOPHELES.] + +_Margaret_. Good heavens! what such a man's one brain +Can in itself alone contain! +I blush my rudeness to confess, +And answer all he says with yes. +Am a poor, ignorant child, don't see +What he can possibly find in me. + + [_Exit_.] + + + + + WOODS AND CAVERN. + +_Faust_ [_alone_]. Spirit sublime, thou gav'st me, gav'st me all +For which I prayed. Thou didst not lift in vain +Thy face upon me in a flame of fire. +Gav'st me majestic nature for a realm, +The power to feel, enjoy her. Not alone +A freezing, formal visit didst thou grant; +Deep down into her breast invitedst me +To look, as if she were a bosom-friend. +The series of animated things +Thou bidst pass by me, teaching me to know +My brothers in the waters, woods, and air. +And when the storm-swept forest creaks and groans, +The giant pine-tree crashes, rending off +The neighboring boughs and limbs, and with deep roar +The thundering mountain echoes to its fall, +To a safe cavern then thou leadest me, +Showst me myself; and my own bosom's deep +Mysterious wonders open on my view. +And when before my sight the moon comes up +With soft effulgence; from the walls of rock, +From the damp thicket, slowly float around +The silvery shadows of a world gone by, +And temper meditation's sterner joy. + O! nothing perfect is vouchsafed to man: +I feel it now! Attendant on this bliss, +Which brings me ever nearer to the Gods, +Thou gav'st me the companion, whom I now +No more can spare, though cold and insolent; +He makes me hate, despise myself, and turns +Thy gifts to nothing with a word--a breath. +He kindles up a wild-fire in my breast, +Of restless longing for that lovely form. +Thus from desire I hurry to enjoyment, +And in enjoyment languish for desire. + + _Enter_ MEPHISTOPHELES. + +_Mephistopheles_. Will not this life have tired you by and bye? +I wonder it so long delights you? +'Tis well enough for once the thing to try; +Then off to where a new invites you! + +_Faust_. Would thou hadst something else to do, +That thus to spoil my joy thou burnest. + +_Mephistopheles_. Well! well! I'll leave thee, gladly too!-- +Thou dar'st not tell me that in earnest! +'Twere no great loss, a fellow such as you, +So crazy, snappish, and uncivil. +One has, all day, his hands full, and more too; +To worm out from him what he'd have one do, +Or not do, puzzles e'en the very devil. + +_Faust_. Now, that I like! That's just the tone! +Wants thanks for boring me till I'm half dead! + +_Mephistopheles_. Poor son of earth, if left alone, +What sort of life wouldst thou have led? +How oft, by methods all my own, +I've chased the cobweb fancies from thy head! +And but for me, to parts unknown +Thou from this earth hadst long since fled. +What dost thou here through cave and crevice groping? +Why like a hornèd owl sit moping? +And why from dripping stone, damp moss, and rotten wood +Here, like a toad, suck in thy food? +Delicious pastime! Ah, I see, +Somewhat of Doctor sticks to thee. + +_Faust_. What new life-power it gives me, canst thou guess-- +This conversation with the wilderness? +Ay, couldst thou dream how sweet the employment, +Thou wouldst be devil enough to grudge me my enjoyment. + +_Mephistopheles_. Ay, joy from super-earthly fountains! +By night and day to lie upon the mountains, +To clasp in ecstasy both earth and heaven, +Swelled to a deity by fancy's leaven, +Pierce, like a nervous thrill, earth's very marrow, +Feel the whole six days' work for thee too narrow, +To enjoy, I know not what, in blest elation, +Then with thy lavish love o'erflow the whole creation. +Below thy sight the mortal cast, +And to the glorious vision give at last-- + [_with a gesture_] +I must not say what termination! + +_Faust_. Shame on thee! + +_Mephistopheles_. This displeases thee; well, surely, +Thou hast a right to say "for shame" demurely. +One must not mention that to chaste ears--never, +Which chaste hearts cannot do without, however. +And, in one word, I grudge you not the pleasure +Of lying to yourself in moderate measure; +But 'twill not hold out long, I know; +Already thou art fast recoiling, +And soon, at this rate, wilt be boiling +With madness or despair and woe. +Enough of this! Thy sweetheart sits there lonely, +And all to her is close and drear. +Her thoughts are on thy image only, +She holds thee, past all utterance, dear. +At first thy passion came bounding and rushing +Like a brooklet o'erflowing with melted snow and rain; +Into her heart thou hast poured it gushing: +And now thy brooklet's dry again. +Methinks, thy woodland throne resigning, +'Twould better suit so great a lord +The poor young monkey to reward +For all the love with which she's pining. +She finds the time dismally long; +Stands at the window, sees the clouds on high +Over the old town-wall go by. +"Were I a little bird!"[26] so runneth her song +All the day, half the night long. +At times she'll be laughing, seldom smile, +At times wept-out she'll seem, +Then again tranquil, you'd deem,-- +Lovesick all the while. + +_Faust_. Viper! Viper! + +_Mephistopheles_ [_aside_]. Ay! and the prey grows riper! + +_Faust_. Reprobate! take thee far behind me! +No more that lovely woman name! +Bid not desire for her sweet person flame +Through each half-maddened sense, again to blind me! + +_Mephistopheles_. What then's to do? She fancies thou hast flown, +And more than half she's right, I own. + +_Faust_. I'm near her, and, though far away, my word, +I'd not forget her, lose her; never fear it! +I envy e'en the body of the Lord, +Oft as those precious lips of hers draw near it. + +_Mephistopheles_. No doubt; and oft my envious thought reposes +On the twin-pair that feed among the roses. + +_Faust_. Out, pimp! + +_Mephistopheles_. Well done! Your jeers I find fair game for laughter. +The God, who made both lad and lass, +Unwilling for a bungling hand to pass, +Made opportunity right after. +But come! fine cause for lamentation! +Her chamber is your destination, +And not the grave, I guess. + +_Faust_. What are the joys of heaven while her fond arms enfold me? +O let her kindling bosom hold me! +Feel I not always her distress? +The houseless am I not? the unbefriended? +The monster without aim or rest? +That, like a cataract, from rock to rock descended +To the abyss, with maddening greed possest: +She, on its brink, with childlike thoughts and lowly,-- +Perched on the little Alpine field her cot,-- +This narrow world, so still and holy +Ensphering, like a heaven, her lot. +And I, God's hatred daring, +Could not be content +The rocks all headlong bearing, +By me to ruins rent,-- +Her, yea her peace, must I o'erwhelm and bury! +This victim, hell, to thee was necessary! +Help me, thou fiend, the pang soon ending! +What must be, let it quickly be! +And let her fate upon my head descending, +Crush, at one blow, both her and me. + +_Mephistopheles_. Ha! how it seethes again and glows! +Go in and comfort her, thou dunce! +Where such a dolt no outlet sees or knows, +He thinks he's reached the end at once. +None but the brave deserve the fair! +Thou _hast_ had devil enough to make a decent show of. +For all the world a devil in despair +Is just the insipidest thing I know of. + + + + + MARGERY'S ROOM. + + MARGERY [_at the spinning-wheel alone_]. + My heart is heavy, + My peace is o'er; + I never--ah! never-- + Shall find it more. + While him I crave, + Each place is the grave, + The world is all + Turned into gall. + My wretched brain + Has lost its wits, + My wretched sense + Is all in bits. + My heart is heavy, + My peace is o'er; + I never--ah! never-- + Shall find it more. + Him only to greet, I + The street look down, + Him only to meet, I + Roam through town. + His lofty step, + His noble height, + His smile of sweetness, + His eye of might, + His words of magic, + Breathing bliss, + His hand's warm pressure + And ah! his kiss. + My heart is heavy, + My peace is o'er, + I never--ah! never-- + Shall find it more. + My bosom yearns + To behold him again. + Ah, could I find him + That best of men! + I'd tell him then + How I did miss him, + And kiss him + As much as I could, + Die on his kisses + I surely should! + + + + + MARTHA'S GARDEN. + + MARGARET. FAUST. + +_Margaret_. Promise me, Henry. + +_Faust_. What I can. + +_Margaret_. How is it now with thy religion, say? +I know thou art a dear good man, +But fear thy thoughts do not run much that way. + +_Faust_. Leave that, my child! Enough, thou hast my heart; +For those I love with life I'd freely part; +I would not harm a soul, nor of its faith bereave it. + +_Margaret_. That's wrong, there's one true faith--one must believe it? + +_Faust_. Must one? + +_Margaret_. Ah, could I influence thee, dearest! +The holy sacraments thou scarce reverest. + +_Faust_. I honor them. + +_Margaret_. But yet without desire. +Of mass and confession both thou'st long begun to tire. +Believest thou in God? + +_Faust_. My. darling, who engages +To say, I do believe in God? +The question put to priests or sages: +Their answer seems as if it sought +To mock the asker. + +_Margaret_. Then believ'st thou not? + +_Faust_. Sweet face, do not misunderstand my thought! +Who dares express him? +And who confess him, +Saying, I do believe? +A man's heart bearing, +What man has the daring +To say: I acknowledge him not? +The All-enfolder, +The All-upholder, +Enfolds, upholds He not +Thee, me, Himself? +Upsprings not Heaven's blue arch high o'er thee? +Underneath thee does not earth stand fast? +See'st thou not, nightly climbing, +Tenderly glancing eternal stars? +Am I not gazing eye to eye on thee? +Through brain and bosom +Throngs not all life to thee, +Weaving in everlasting mystery +Obscurely, clearly, on all sides of thee? +Fill with it, to its utmost stretch, thy breast, +And in the consciousness when thou art wholly blest, +Then call it what thou wilt, +Joy! Heart! Love! God! +I have no name to give it! +All comes at last to feeling; +Name is but sound and smoke, +Beclouding Heaven's warm glow. + +_Margaret_. That is all fine and good, I know; +And just as the priest has often spoke, +Only with somewhat different phrases. + +_Faust_. All hearts, too, in all places, +Wherever Heaven pours down the day's broad blessing, +Each in its way the truth is confessing; +And why not I in mine, too? + +_Margaret_. Well, all have a way that they incline to, +But still there is something wrong with thee; +Thou hast no Christianity. + +_Faust_. Dear child! + +_Margaret_. It long has troubled me +That thou shouldst keep such company. + +_Faust_. How so? + +_Margaret_. The man whom thou for crony hast, +Is one whom I with all my soul detest. +Nothing in all my life has ever +Stirred up in my heart such a deep disfavor +As the ugly face that man has got. + +_Faust_. Sweet plaything; fear him not! + +_Margaret_. His presence stirs my blood, I own. +I can love almost all men I've ever known; +But much as thy presence with pleasure thrills me, +That man with a secret horror fills me. +And then for a knave I've suspected him long! +God pardon me, if I do him wrong! + +_Faust_. To make up a world such odd sticks are needed. + +_Margaret_. Shouldn't like to live in the house where he did! +Whenever I see him coming in, +He always wears such a mocking grin. +Half cold, half grim; +One sees, that naught has interest for him; +'Tis writ on his brow and can't be mistaken, +No soul in him can love awaken. +I feel in thy arms so happy, so free, +I yield myself up so blissfully, +He comes, and all in me is closed and frozen now. + +_Faust_. Ah, thou mistrustful angel, thou! + +_Margaret_. This weighs on me so sore, +That when we meet, and he is by me, +I feel, as if I loved thee now no more. +Nor could I ever pray, if he were nigh me, +That eats the very heart in me; +Henry, it must be so with thee. + +_Faust_. 'Tis an antipathy of thine! + +_Margaret_. Farewell! + +_Faust_. Ah, can I ne'er recline +One little hour upon thy bosom, pressing +My heart to thine and all my soul confessing? + +_Margaret_. Ah, if my chamber were alone, +This night the bolt should give thee free admission; +But mother wakes at every tone, +And if she had the least suspicion, +Heavens! I should die upon the spot! + +_Faust_. Thou angel, need of that there's not. +Here is a flask! Three drops alone +Mix with her drink, and nature +Into a deep and pleasant sleep is thrown. + +_Margaret_. Refuse thee, what can I, poor creature? +I hope, of course, it will not harm her! + +_Faust_. Would I advise it then, my charmer? + +_Margaret_. Best man, when thou dost look at me, +I know not what, moves me to do thy will; +I have already done so much for thee, +Scarce any thing seems left me to fulfil. + [_Exit_.] + + Enter_ MEPHISTOPHELES. + +_Mephtftopheles_. The monkey! is she gone? + +_Faust_. Hast played the spy again? + +_Mephistopheles_. I overheard it all quite fully. +The Doctor has been well catechized then? +Hope it will sit well on him truly. +The maidens won't rest till they know if the men +Believe as good old custom bids them do. +They think: if there he yields, he'll follow our will too. + +_Faust_. Monster, thou wilt not, canst not see, +How this true soul that loves so dearly, +Yet hugs, at every cost, +The faith which she +Counts Heaven itself, is horror-struck sincerely +To think of giving up her dearest man for lost. + +_Mephistopheles_. Thou supersensual, sensual wooer, +A girl by the nose is leading thee. + +_Faust_. Abortion vile of fire and sewer! + +_Mephistopheles_. In physiognomy, too, her skill is masterly. +When I am near she feels she knows not how, +My little mask some secret meaning shows; +She thinks, I'm certainly a genius, now, +Perhaps the very devil--who knows? +To-night then?-- + +_Faust_. Well, what's that to you? + +_Mephistopheles_. I find my pleasure in it, too! + + + + + AT THE WELL. + + MARGERY _and_ LIZZY _with Pitchers._ + +_Lizzy_. Hast heard no news of Barbara to-day? + +_Margery_. No, not a word. I've not been out much lately. + +_Lizzy_. It came to me through Sybill very straightly. +She's made a fool of herself at last, they say. +That comes of taking airs! + +_Margery_. What meanst thou? + +_Lizzy_. Pah! +She daily eats and drinks for two now. + +_Margery_. Ah! + +_Lizzy_. It serves the jade right for being so callow. +How long she's been hanging upon the fellow! +Such a promenading! +To fair and dance parading! +Everywhere as first she must shine, +He was treating her always with tarts and wine; +She began to think herself something fine, +And let her vanity so degrade her +That she even accepted the presents he made her. +There was hugging and smacking, and so it went on-- +And lo! and behold! the flower is gone! + +_Margery_. Poor thing! + +_Lizzy_. Canst any pity for her feel! +When such as we spun at the wheel, +Our mothers kept us in-doors after dark; +While she stood cozy with her spark, +Or sate on the door-bench, or sauntered round, +And never an hour too long they found. +But now her pride may let itself down, +To do penance at church in the sinner's gown! + +_Margery_. He'll certainly take her for his wife. + +_Lizzy_. He'd be a fool! A spruce young blade +Has room enough to ply his trade. +Besides, he's gone. + +_Margery_. Now, that's not fair! + +_Lizzy_. If she gets him, her lot'll be hard to bear. +The boys will tear up her wreath, and what's more, +We'll strew chopped straw before her door. + + [_Exit._] + +_Margery [going home]_. Time was when I, too, instead of bewailing, +Could boldly jeer at a poor girl's failing! +When my scorn could scarcely find expression +At hearing of another's transgression! +How black it seemed! though black as could be, +It never was black enough for me. +I blessed my soul, and felt so high, +And now, myself, in sin I lie! +Yet--all that led me to it, sure, +O God! it was so dear, so pure! + + + + + DONJON.[27] + + [_In a niche a devotional image of the Mater Dolorosa, + before it pots of flowers._] + +MARGERY [_puts fresh flowers into the pots_]. + Ah, hear me, + Draw kindly near me, + Mother of sorrows, heal my woe! + + Sword-pierced, and stricken + With pangs that sicken, + Thou seest thy son's last life-blood flow! + + Thy look--thy sighing--- + To God are crying, + Charged with a son's and mother's woe! + + Sad mother! + What other + Knows the pangs that eat me to the bone? + What within my poor heart burneth, + How it trembleth, how it yearneth, + Thou canst feel and thou alone! + + Go where I will, I never + Find peace or hope--forever + Woe, woe and misery! + + Alone, when all are sleeping, + I'm weeping, weeping, weeping, + My heart is crushed in me. + + The pots before my window, + In the early morning-hours, + Alas, my tears bedewed them, + As I plucked for thee these flowers, + + When the bright sun good morrow + In at my window said, + Already, in my anguish, + I sate there in my bed. + + From shame and death redeem me, oh! + Draw near me, + And, pitying, hear me, + Mother of sorrows, heal my woe! + + + + + NIGHT. + + _Street before_ MARGERY'S _Door._ + + + VALENTINE [_soldier,_ MARGERY'S _brother_]. + +When at the mess I used to sit, +Where many a one will show his wit, +And heard my comrades one and all +The flower of the sex extol, +Drowning their praise with bumpers high, +Leaning upon my elbows, I +Would hear the braggadocios through, +And then, when it came my turn, too, +Would stroke my beard and, smiling, say, +A brimming bumper in my hand: +All very decent in their way! +But is there one, in all the land, +With my sweet Margy to compare, +A candle to hold to my sister fair? +Bravo! Kling! Klang! it echoed round! +One party cried: 'tis truth he speaks, +She is the jewel of the sex! +And the braggarts all in silence were bound. +And now!--one could pull out his hair with vexation, +And run up the walls for mortification!-- +Every two-legged creature that goes in breeches +Can mock me with sneers and stinging speeches! +And I like a guilty debtor sitting, +For fear of each casual word am sweating! +And though I could smash them in my ire, +I dare not call a soul of them liar. + +What's that comes yonder, sneaking along? +There are two of them there, if I see not wrong. +Is't he, I'll give him a dose that'll cure him, +He'll not leave the spot alive, I assure him! + + + FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES. + +_Faust_. How from yon window of the sacristy +The ever-burning lamp sends up its glimmer, +And round the edge grows ever dimmer, +Till in the gloom its flickerings die! +So in my bosom all is nightlike. + +_Mephistopheles_. A starving tom-cat I feel quite like, +That o'er the fire ladders crawls +Then softly creeps, ground the walls. +My aim's quite virtuous ne'ertheless, +A bit of thievish lust, a bit of wantonness. +I feel it all my members haunting-- +The glorious Walpurgis night. +One day--then comes the feast enchanting +That shall all pinings well requite. + +_Faust_. Meanwhile can that the casket be, I wonder, +I see behind rise glittering yonder.[28] + +_Mephistopheles_. Yes, and thou soon shalt have the pleasure +Of lifting out the precious treasure. +I lately 'neath the lid did squint, +Has piles of lion-dollars[29] in't. + +_Faust_. But not a jewel? Not a ring? +To deck my mistress not a trinket? + +_Mephistopheles_. I caught a glimpse of some such thing, +Sort of pearl bracelet I should think it. + +_Faust_. That's well! I always like to bear +Some present when I visit my fair. + +_Mephistopheles_. You should not murmur if your fate is, +To have a bit of pleasure gratis. +Now, as the stars fill heaven with their bright throng, +List a fine piece, artistic purely: +I sing her here a moral song, +To make a fool of her more surely. + [_Sings to the guitar_.][30] + What dost thou here, + Katrina dear, + At daybreak drear, + Before thy lover's chamber? + Give o'er, give o'er! + The maid his door + Lets in, no more + Goes out a maid--remember! + + Take heed! take heed! + Once done, the deed + Ye'll rue with speed-- + And then--good night--poor thing--a! + Though ne'er so fair + His speech, beware, + Until you bear + His ring upon your finger. + +_Valentine_ [_comes forward_]. +Whom lur'ft thou here? what prey dost scent? +Rat-catching[81] offspring of perdition! +To hell goes first the instrument! +To hell then follows the musician! + +_Mephistopheles_. He 's broken the guitar! to music, then, good-bye, now. + +_Valentine_. A game of cracking skulls we'll try now! + +_Mephistopbeles_ [_to Faust_]. Never you flinch, Sir Doctor! Brisk! +Mind every word I say---be wary! +Stand close by me, out with your whisk! +Thrust home upon the churl! I'll parry. + +_Valentine_. Then parry that! + +_Mephistopheles_. Be sure. Why not? + +_Valentine_. And that! + +_Mephistopheles_. With ease! + +_Valentine_. The devil's aid he's got! +But what is this? My hand's already lame. + +_Mephistopheles_ [_to Faust_]. Thrust home! + +_Valentine_ [_falls_]. O woe! + +_Mephistopheles_. Now is the lubber tame! +But come! We must be off. I hear a clatter; +And cries of murder, too, that fast increase. +I'm an old hand to manage the police, +But then the penal court's another matter. + +_Martha_. Come out! Come out! + +_Margery_ [_at the window_]. Bring on a light! + +_Martha_ [_as above_]. They swear and scuffle, scream and fight. + +_People_. There's one, has got's death-blow! + +_Martha_ [_coming out_]. Where are the murderers, have they flown? + +_Margery_ [_coming out_]. Who's lying here? + +_People_. Thy mother's son. + +_Margery_. Almighty God! What woe! + +_Valentine_. I'm dying! that is quickly said, +And even quicklier done. +Women! Why howl, as if half-dead? +Come, hear me, every one! + [_All gather round him_.] +My Margery, look! Young art thou still, +But managest thy matters ill, +Hast not learned out yet quite. +I say in confidence--think it o'er: +Thou art just once for all a whore; +Why, be one, then, outright. + +_Margery_. My brother! God! What words to me! + +_Valentine_. In this game let our Lord God be! +That which is done, alas! is done. +And every thing its course will run. +With one you secretly begin, +Presently more of them come in, +And when a dozen share in thee, +Thou art the whole town's property. + +When shame is born to this world of sorrow, +The birth is carefully hid from sight, +And the mysterious veil of night +To cover her head they borrow; +Yes, they would gladly stifle the wearer; +But as she grows and holds herself high, +She walks uncovered in day's broad eye, +Though she has not become a whit fairer. +The uglier her face to sight, +The more she courts the noonday light. + +Already I the time can see +When all good souls shall shrink from thee, +Thou prostitute, when thou go'st by them, +As if a tainted corpse were nigh them. +Thy heart within thy breast shall quake then, +When they look thee in the face. +Shalt wear no gold chain more on thy neck then! +Shalt stand no more in the holy place! +No pleasure in point-lace collars take then, +Nor for the dance thy person deck then! +But into some dark corner gliding, +'Mong beggars and cripples wilt be hiding; +And even should God thy sin forgive, +Wilt be curs'd on earth while thou shalt live! + +_Martha_. Your soul to the mercy of God surrender! +Will you add to your load the sin of slander? + +_Valentine_. Could I get at thy dried-up frame, +Vile bawd, so lost to all sense of shame! +Then might I hope, e'en this side Heaven, +Richly to find my sins forgiven. + +_Margery_. My brother! This is hell to me! + +_Valentine_. I tell thee, let these weak tears be! +When thy last hold of honor broke, +Thou gav'st my heart the heaviest stroke. +I'm going home now through the grave +To God, a soldier and a brave. + [_Dies_.] + + + + + CATHEDRAL. + + _Service, Organ, and Singing._ + + + [MARGERY _amidst a crowd of people._ EVIL SPIRIT _behind_ MARGERY.] + +_Evil Spirit_. How different was it with thee, Margy, +When, innocent and artless, +Thou cam'st here to the altar, +From the well-thumbed little prayer-book, +Petitions lisping, +Half full of child's play, +Half full of Heaven! +Margy! +Where are thy thoughts? +What crime is buried +Deep within thy heart? +Prayest thou haply for thy mother, who +Slept over into long, long pain, on thy account? +Whose blood upon thy threshold lies? +--And stirs there not, already +Beneath thy heart a life +Tormenting itself and thee +With bodings of its coming hour? + +_Margery_. Woe! Woe! +Could I rid me of the thoughts, +Still through my brain backward and forward flitting, +Against my will! + +_Chorus_. Dies irae, dies illa +Solvet saeclum in favillâ. + + [_Organ plays_.] + +_Evil Spirit_. Wrath smites thee! +Hark! the trumpet sounds! +The graves are trembling! +And thy heart, +Made o'er again +For fiery torments, +Waking from its ashes +Starts up! + +_Margery_. Would I were hence! +I feel as if the organ's peal +My breath were stifling, +The choral chant +My heart were melting. + +_Chorus_. Judex ergo cum sedebit, +Quidquid latet apparebit. +Nil inultum remanebit. + +_Margery_. How cramped it feels! +The walls and pillars +Imprison me! +And the arches +Crush me!--Air! + +_Evil Spirit_. What! hide thee! sin and shame +Will not be hidden! +Air? Light? +Woe's thee! + +_Chorus_. Quid sum miser tunc dicturus? +Quem patronum rogaturus? +Cum vix justus sit securus. + +_Evil Spirit_. They turn their faces, +The glorified, from thee. +To take thy hand, the pure ones +Shudder with horror. +Woe! + +_Chorus_. Quid sum miser tunc dicturus? + +_Margery_. Neighbor! your phial!-- + [_She swoons._] + + + + + WALPURGIS NIGHT.[32] + + _Harz Mountains._ + + _District of Schirke and Elend._ + + + FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES. + +_Mephistopheles_. Wouldst thou not like a broomstick, now, to ride on? +At this rate we are, still, a long way off; +I'd rather have a good tough goat, by half, +Than the best legs a man e'er set his pride on. + +_Faust_. So long as I've a pair of good fresh legs to stride on, +Enough for me this knotty staff. +What use of shortening the way! +Following the valley's labyrinthine winding, +Then up this rock a pathway finding, +From which the spring leaps down in bubbling play, +That is what spices such a walk, I say! +Spring through the birch-tree's veins is flowing, +The very pine is feeling it; +Should not its influence set our limbs a-glowing? + +_Mephistopheles_. I do not feel it, not a bit! +My wintry blood runs very slowly; +I wish my path were filled with frost and snow. +The moon's imperfect disk, how melancholy +It rises there with red, belated glow, +And shines so badly, turn where'er one can turn, +At every step he hits a rock or tree! +With leave I'll beg a Jack-o'lantern! +I see one yonder burning merrily. +Heigh, there! my friend! May I thy aid desire? +Why waste at such a rate thy fire? +Come, light us up yon path, good fellow, pray! + +_Jack-o'lantern_. Out of respect, I hope I shall be able +To rein a nature quite unstable; +We usually take a zigzag way. + +_Mephistopheles_. Heigh! heigh! He thinks man's crooked course to travel. +Go straight ahead, or, by the devil, +I'll blow your flickering life out with a puff. + +_Jack-o'lantern_. You're master of the house, that's plain enough, +So I'll comply with your desire. +But see! The mountain's magic-mad to-night, +And if your guide's to be a Jack-o'lantern's light, +Strict rectitude you'll scarce require. + +FAUST, MEPHISTOPHELES, JACK-O'LANTERN, _in alternate song_. + + Spheres of magic, dream, and vision, + Now, it seems, are opening o'er us. + For thy credit, use precision! + Let the way be plain before us + Through the lengthening desert regions. + + See how trees on trees, in legions, + Hurrying by us, change their places, + And the bowing crags make faces, + And the rocks, long noses showing, + Hear them snoring, hear them blowing![33] + + Down through stones, through mosses flowing, + See the brook and brooklet springing. + Hear I rustling? hear I singing? + Love-plaints, sweet and melancholy, + Voices of those days so holy? + All our loving, longing, yearning? + Echo, like a strain returning + From the olden times, is ringing. + + Uhu! Schuhu! Tu-whit! Tu-whit! + Are the jay, and owl, and pewit + All awake and loudly calling? + What goes through the bushes yonder? + Can it be the Salamander-- + Belly thick and legs a-sprawling? + Roots and fibres, snake-like, crawling, + Out from rocky, sandy places, + Wheresoe'er we turn our faces, + Stretch enormous fingers round us, + Here to catch us, there confound us; + Thick, black knars to life are starting, + Polypusses'-feelers darting + At the traveller. Field-mice, swarming, + Thousand-colored armies forming, + Scamper on through moss and heather! + And the glow-worms, in the darkling, + With their crowded escort sparkling, + Would confound us altogether. + + But to guess I'm vainly trying-- + Are we stopping? are we hieing? + Round and round us all seems flying, + Rocks and trees, that make grimaces, + And the mist-lights of the places + Ever swelling, multiplying. + +_Mephistopheles_. Here's my coat-tail--tightly thumb it! +We have reached a middle summit, +Whence one stares to see how shines +Mammon in the mountain-mines. + +_Faust_. How strangely through the dim recesses +A dreary dawning seems to glow! +And even down the deep abysses +Its melancholy quiverings throw! +Here smoke is boiling, mist exhaling; +Here from a vapory veil it gleams, +Then, a fine thread of light, goes trailing, +Then gushes up in fiery streams. +The valley, here, you see it follow, +One mighty flood, with hundred rills, +And here, pent up in some deep hollow, +It breaks on all sides down the hills. +Here, spark-showers, darting up before us, +Like golden sand-clouds rise and fall. +But yonder see how blazes o'er us, +All up and down, the rocky wall! + +_Mephistopheles_. Has not Sir Mammon gloriously lighted +His palace for this festive night? +Count thyself lucky for the sight: +I catch e'en now a glimpse of noisy guests invited. + +_Faust_. How the mad tempest[34] sweeps the air! +On cheek and neck the wind-gusts how they flout me. + +_Mephistopheles_. Must seize the rock's old ribs and hold on stoutly! +Else will they hurl thee down the dark abysses there. +A mist-rain thickens the gloom. +Hark, how the forests crash and boom! +Out fly the owls in dread and wonder; +Splitting their columns asunder, +Hear it, the evergreen palaces shaking! +Boughs are twisting and breaking! +Of stems what a grinding and moaning! +Of roots what a creaking and groaning! +In frightful confusion, headlong tumbling, +They fall, with a sound of thunder rumbling, +And, through the wreck-piled ravines and abysses, +The tempest howls and hisses. +Hearst thou voices high up o'er us? +Close around us--far before us? +Through the mountain, all along, +Swells a torrent of magic song. + +_Witches_ [_in chorus_]. The witches go to the Brocken's top, + The stubble is yellow, and green the crop. + They gather there at the well-known call, + Sir Urian[85] sits at the head of all. + Then on we go o'er stone and stock: + The witch, she--and--the buck. + +_Voice_. Old Baubo comes along, I vow! +She rides upon a farrow-sow. + +_Chorus_. Then honor to whom honor's due! + Ma'am Baubo ahead! and lead the crew! + A good fat sow, and ma'am on her back, + Then follow the witches all in a pack. + +_Voice_. Which way didst thou come? + +_Voice_. By the Ilsenstein! +Peeped into an owl's nest, mother of mine! +What a pair of eyes! + +_Voice_. To hell with your flurry! +Why ride in such hurry! + +_Voice_. The hag be confounded! +My skin flie has wounded! + +_Witches_ [_chorus]._ The way is broad, the way is long, + What means this noisy, crazy throng? + The broom it scratches, the fork it flicks, + The child is stifled, the mother breaks. + +_Wizards_ [_semi-chorus_]. Like housed-up snails we're creeping on, +The women all ahead are gone. +When to the Bad One's house we go, +She gains a thousand steps, you know. + +_The other half_. We take it not precisely so; +What she in thousand steps can go, +Make all the haste she ever can, +'Tis done in just one leap by man. + +_Voice_ [_above_]. Come on, come on, from Felsensee! + +_Voices_ [_from below_]. We'd gladly join your airy way. +For wash and clean us as much as we will, +We always prove unfruitful still. + +_Both chorusses_. The wind is hushed, the star shoots by, + The moon she hides her sickly eye. + The whirling, whizzing magic-choir + Darts forth ten thousand sparks of fire. + +_Voice_ [_from below_]. Ho, there! whoa, there! + +_Voice_ [_from above_]. Who calls from the rocky cleft below there? + +_Voice_ [_below_]. Take me too! take me too! +Three hundred years I've climbed to you, +Seeking in vain my mates to come at, +For I can never reach the summit. + +_Both chorusses_. Can ride the besom, the stick can ride, + Can stride the pitchfork, the goat can stride; + Who neither will ride to-night, nor can, + Must be forever a ruined man. + +_Half-witch_ [_below_]. I hobble on--I'm out of wind-- +And still they leave me far behind! +To find peace here in vain I come, +I get no more than I left at home. + +_Chorus of witches_. The witch's salve can never fail, + A rag will answer for a sail, + Any trough will do for a ship, that's tight; + He'll never fly who flies not to-night. + +_Both chorusses_. And when the highest peak we round, + Then lightly graze along the ground, + And cover the heath, where eye can see, + With the flower of witch-errantry. + [_They alight_.] + +_Mephistopheles._ What squeezing and pushing, what rustling and hustling! +What hissing and twirling, what chattering and bustling! +How it shines and sparkles and burns and stinks! +A true witch-element, methinks! +Keep close! or we are parted in two winks. +Where art thou? + +_Faust_ [_in the distance_]. Here! + +_Mephistopheles_. What! carried off already? +Then I must use my house-right.--Steady! +Room! Squire Voland[36] comes. Sweet people, Clear the ground! +Here, Doctor, grasp my arm! and, at a single bound; +Let us escape, while yet 'tis easy; +E'en for the like of me they're far too crazy. +See! yonder, something shines with quite peculiar glare, +And draws me to those bushes mazy. +Come! come! and let us slip in there. + +_Faust_. All-contradicting sprite! To follow thee I'm fated. +But I must say, thy plan was very bright! +We seek the Brocken here, on the Walpurgis night, +Then hold ourselves, when here, completely isolated! + +_Mephistopheles_. What motley flames light up the heather! +A merry club is met together, +In a small group one's not alone. + +_Faust_. I'd rather be up there, I own! +See! curling smoke and flames right blue! +To see the Evil One they travel; +There many a riddle to unravel. + +_Mephistopheles_. And tie up many another, too. +Let the great world there rave and riot, +We here will house ourselves in quiet. +The saying has been long well known: +In the great world one makes a small one of his own. +I see young witches there quite naked all, +And old ones who, more prudent, cover. +For my sake some flight things look over; +The fun is great, the trouble small. +I hear them tuning instruments! Curs'd jangle! +Well! one must learn with such things not to wrangle. +Come on! Come on! For so it needs must be, +Thou shalt at once be introduced by me. +And I new thanks from thee be earning. +That is no scanty space; what sayst thou, friend? +Just take a look! thou scarce canst see the end. +There, in a row, a hundred fires are burning; +They dance, chat, cook, drink, love; where can be found +Any thing better, now, the wide world round? + +_Faust_. Wilt thou, as things are now in this condition, +Present thyself for devil, or magician? + +_Mephistopheles_. I've been much used, indeed, to going incognito; + +But then, on gala-day, one will his order show. +No garter makes my rank appear, +But then the cloven foot stands high in honor here. +Seest thou the snail? Look there! where she comes creeping yonder! +Had she already smelt the rat, +I should not very greatly wonder. +Disguise is useless now, depend on that. +Come, then! we will from fire to fire wander, +Thou shalt the wooer be and I the pander. + [_To a party who sit round expiring embers_.] +Old gentlemen, you scarce can hear the fiddle! +You'd gain more praise from me, ensconced there in the middle, +'Mongst that young rousing, tousing set. +One can, at home, enough retirement get. + +_General_. Trust not the people's fickle favor! +However much thou mayst for them have done. +Nations, as well as women, ever, +Worship the rising, not the setting sun. + +_Minister_. From the right path we've drifted far away, +The good old past my heart engages; +Those were the real golden ages, +When such as we held all the sway. + +_Parvenu_. We were no simpletons, I trow, +And often did the thing we should not; +But all is turning topsy-turvy now, +And if we tried to stem the wave, we could not. + +_Author_. Who on the whole will read a work today, +Of moderate sense, with any pleasure? +And as regards the dear young people, they +Pert and precocious are beyond all measure. + +_Mephistopheles_ [_who all at once appears very old_]. +The race is ripened for the judgment day: +So I, for the last time, climb the witch-mountain, thinking, +And, as my cask runs thick, I say, +The world, too, on its lees is sinking. + +_Witch-broker_. Good gentlemen, don't hurry by! +The opportunity's a rare one! +My stock is an uncommon fair one, +Please give it an attentive eye. +There's nothing in my shop, whatever, +But on the earth its mate is found; +That has not proved itself right clever +To deal mankind some fatal wound. +No dagger here, but blood has some time stained it; +No cup, that has not held some hot and poisonous juice, +And stung to death the throat that drained it; +No trinket, but did once a maid seduce; +No sword, but hath some tie of sacred honor riven, +Or haply from behind through foeman's neck been driven. + +_Mephistopheles_. You're quite behind the times, I tell you, Aunty! +By-gones be by-gones! done is done! +Get us up something new and jaunty! +For new things now the people run. + +_Faust_. To keep my wits I must endeavor! +Call this a fair! I swear, I never--! + +_Mephistopheles_. Upward the billowy mass is moving; +You're shoved along and think, meanwhile, you're shoving. + +_Faust_. What woman's that? + +_Mephistopheles_. Mark her attentively. +That's Lilith.[37] + +_Faust_. Who? + +_Mephistopbeles_. Adam's first wife is she. +Beware of her one charm, those lovely tresses, +In which she shines preeminently fair. +When those soft meshes once a young man snare, +How hard 'twill be to escape he little guesses. + +_Faust_. There sit an old one and a young together; +They've skipped it well along the heather! + +_Mephistopheles_. No rest from that till night is through. +Another dance is up; come on! let us fall to. + +_Faust_ [_dancing with the young one_]. A lovely dream once came to me; +In it I saw an apple-tree; +Two beauteous apples beckoned there, +I climbed to pluck the fruit so fair. + +_The Fair one_. Apples you greatly seem to prize, +And did so even in Paradise. +I feel myself delighted much +That in my garden I have such. + +_Mephistopheles_ [_with the old hag_]. A dismal dream once came to me; +In it I saw a cloven tree, +It had a ------ but still, +I looked on it with right good-will. + +_The Hog_. With best respect I here salute +The noble knight of the cloven foot! +Let him hold a ------ near, +If a ------ he does not fear. + +_Proctophantasmist_.[38] What's this ye undertake? Confounded crew! +Have we not giv'n you demonstration? +No spirit stands on legs in all creation, +And here you dance just as we mortals do! + +_The Fair one_ [_dancing_]. What does that fellow at our ball? + +_Faust_ [_dancing_]. Eh! he must have a hand in all. +What others dance that he appraises. +Unless each step he criticizes, +The step as good as no step he will call. +But when we move ahead, that plagues him more than all. +If in a circle you would still keep turning, +As he himself in his old mill goes round, +He would be sure to call that sound! +And most so, if you went by his superior learning. + +_Proctophantasmist_. What, and you still are here! Unheard off obstinates! +Begone! We've cleared it up! You shallow pates! +The devilish pack from rules deliverance boasts. +We've grown so wise, and Tegel[39] still sees ghosts. +How long I've toiled to sweep these cobwebs from the brain, +And yet--unheard of folly! all in vain. + +_The Fair one_. And yet on us the stupid bore still tries it! + +_Proctophantasmist_. I tell you spirits, to the face, +I give to spirit-tyranny no place, +My spirit cannot exercise it. + [_They dance on_.] +I can't succeed to-day, I know it; +Still, there's the journey, which I like to make, +And hope, before the final step I take, +To rid the world of devil and of poet. + +_Mephistopheles_. You'll see him shortly sit into a puddle, +In that way his heart is reassured; +When on his rump the leeches well shall fuddle, +Of spirits and of spirit he'll be cured. + [_To_ FAUST, _who has left the dance_.] +Why let the lovely girl slip through thy fingers, +Who to thy dance so sweetly sang? + +_Faust_. Ah, right amidst her singing, sprang +A wee red mouse from her mouth and made me cower. + +_Mephistopheles_. That's nothing wrong! You're in a dainty way; +Enough, the mouse at least wan't gray. +Who minds such thing in happy amorous hour? + +_Faust_. Then saw I-- + +_Mephistopheles_. What? + +_Faust_. Mephisto, seest thou not +Yon pale, fair child afar, who stands so sad and lonely, +And moves so slowly from the spot, +Her feet seem locked, and she drags them only. +I must confess, she seems to me +To look like my own good Margery. + +_Mephistopheles_. Leave that alone! The sight no health can bring. +it is a magic shape, an idol, no live thing. +To meet it never can be good! +Its haggard look congeals a mortal's blood, +And almost turns him into stone; +The story of Medusa thou hast known. + +_Faust_. Yes, 'tis a dead one's eyes that stare upon me, +Eyes that no loving hand e'er closed; +That is the angel form of her who won me, +Tis the dear breast on which I once reposed. + +_Mephistopheles_. 'Tis sorcery all, thou fool, misled by passion's dreams! +For she to every one his own love seems. + +_Faust_. What bliss! what woe! Methinks I never +My sight from that sweet form can sever. +Seeft thou, not thicker than a knife-blade's back, +A small red ribbon, fitting sweetly +The lovely neck it clasps so neatly? + +_Mephistopheles_. I see the streak around her neck. +Her head beneath her arm, you'll next behold her; +Perseus has lopped it from her shoulder,-- +But let thy crazy passion rest! +Come, climb with me yon hillock's breast, +Was e'er the Prater[40] merrier then? +And if no sorcerer's charm is o'er me, +That is a theatre before me. +What's doing there? + +_Servibilis_. They'll straight begin again. +A bran-new piece, the very last of seven; +To have so much, the fashion here thinks fit. +By Dilettantes it is given; +'Twas by a Dilettante writ. +Excuse me, sirs, I go to greet you; +I am the curtain-raising Dilettant. + +_Mephistopheles_. When I upon the Blocksberg meet you, +That I approve; for there's your place, I grant. + + + + + WALPURGIS-NIGHT'S DREAM, OR OBERON AND TITANIA'S GOLDEN NUPTIALS. + + _Intermezzo_. + + +_Theatre manager_. Here, for once, we rest, to-day, +Heirs of Mieding's[41] glory. +All the scenery we display-- +Damp vale and mountain hoary! + +_Herald_. To make the wedding a golden one, +Must fifty years expire; +But when once the strife is done, +I prize the _gold_ the higher. + +_Oberon_. Spirits, if my good ye mean, +Now let all wrongs be righted; +For to-day your king and queen +Are once again united. + +_Puck_. Once let Puck coming whirling round, +And set his foot to whisking, +Hundreds with him throng the ground, +Frolicking and frisking. + +_Ariel_. Ariel awakes the song +With many a heavenly measure; +Fools not few he draws along, +But fair ones hear with pleasure. + +_Oberon_. Spouses who your feuds would smother, +Take from us a moral! +Two who wish to love each other, +Need only first to quarrel. + +_Titania_. If she pouts and he looks grim, +Take them both together, +To the north pole carry him, +And off with her to t'other. + + _Orchestra Tutti_. + +_Fortissimo_. Fly-snouts and gnats'-noses, these, +And kin in all conditions, +Grass-hid crickets, frogs in trees, +We take for our musicians! + +_Solo_. See, the Bagpipe comes! fall back! +Soap-bubble's name he owneth. +How the _Schnecke-schnicke-schnack_ +Through his snub-nose droneth! +_Spirit that is just shaping itself_. Spider-foot, toad's-belly, too, +Give the child, and winglet! +'Tis no animalcule, true, +But a poetic thinglet. + +_A pair of lovers_. Little step and lofty bound +Through honey-dew and flowers; +Well thou trippest o'er the ground, +But soarst not o'er the bowers. + +_Curious traveller_. This must be masquerade! +How odd! +My very eyes believe I? +Oberon, the beauteous God +Here, to-night perceive I! + +_Orthodox_. Neither claws, nor tail I see! +And yet, without a cavil, +Just as "the Gods of Greece"[42] were, he +Must also be a devil. + +_Northern artist_. What here I catch is, to be sure, +But sketchy recreation; +And yet for my Italian tour +'Tis timely preparation. + +_Purist_. Bad luck has brought me here, I see! +The rioting grows louder. +And of the whole witch company, +There are but two, wear powder. + +_Young witch_. Powder becomes, like petticoat, +Your little, gray old woman: +Naked I sit upon my goat, +And show the untrimmed human. + +_Matron_. To stand here jawing[43] with you, we +Too much good-breeding cherish; +But young and tender though you be, +I hope you'll rot and perish. + +_Leader of the music_. Fly-snouts and gnat-noses, please, +Swarm not so round the naked! +Grass-hid crickets, frogs in trees, +Keep time and don't forsake it! + +_Weathercock_ [_towards one side_]. Find better company, who can! +Here, brides attended duly! +There, bachelors, ranged man by man, +Most hopeful people truly! + +_Weathercock [towards the other side_]. +And if the ground don't open straight, +The crazy crew to swallow, +You'll see me, at a furious rate, +Jump down to hell's black hollow. + +_Xenia[_44] We are here as insects, ah! +Small, sharp nippers wielding, +Satan, as our _cher papa_, +Worthy honor yielding. + +_Hennings_. See how naïvely, there, the throng +Among themselves are jesting, +You'll hear them, I've no doubt, ere long, +Their good kind hearts protesting. + +_Musagetes_. Apollo in this witches' group +Himself right gladly loses; +For truly I could lead this troop +Much easier than the muses. + +_Ci-devant genius of the age_. Right company will raise man up. +Come, grasp my skirt, Lord bless us! +The Blocksberg has a good broad top, +Like Germany's Parnassus. + +_Curious traveller_. Tell me who is that stiff man? +With what stiff step he travels! +He noses out whate'er he can. +"He scents the Jesuit devils." + +_Crane_. In clear, and muddy water, too, +The long-billed gentleman fishes; +Our pious gentlemen we view +Fingering in devils' dishes. + +_Child of this world_. Yes, with the pious ones, 'tis clear, +"All's grist that comes to their mill;" +They build their tabernacles here, +On Blocksberg, as on Carmel. + +_Dancer_. Hark! a new choir salutes my ear! +I hear a distant drumming. +"Be not disturbed! 'mong reeds you hear +The one-toned bitterns bumming." + +_Dancing-master._ How each his legs kicks up and flings, +Pulls foot as best he's able! +The clumsy hops, the crooked springs, +'Tis quite disreputable! + +_Fiddler_. The scurvy pack, they hate, 'tis clear, +Like cats and dogs, each other. +Like Orpheus' lute, the bagpipe here +Binds beast to beast as brother. + +_Dogmatist_. You'll not scream down my reason, though, +By criticism's cavils. +The devil's something, that I know, +Else how could there be devils? + +_Idealist_. Ah, phantasy, for once thy sway +Is guilty of high treason. +If all I see is I, to-day, +'Tis plain I've lost my reason. + +_Realist_. To me, of all life's woes and plagues, +Substance is most provoking, +For the first time I feel my legs +Beneath me almost rocking. + +_Supernaturalist_. I'm overjoyed at being here, +And even among these rude ones; +For if bad spirits are, 'tis clear, +There also must be good ones. + +_Skeptic_. Where'er they spy the flame they roam, +And think rich stores to rifle, +Here such as I are quite at home, +For _Zweifel_ rhymes with _Teufel_.[45] + +_Leader of the music_. Grass-hid cricket, frogs in trees, +You cursed dilettanti! +Fly-snouts and gnats'-noses, peace! +Musicians you, right jaunty! + +_The Clever ones_. Sans-souci we call this band +Of merry ones that skip it; +Unable on our feet to stand, +Upon our heads we trip it. + +_The Bunglers_. Time was, we caught our tit-bits, too, +God help us now! that's done with! +We've danced our leathers entirely through, +And have only bare soles to run with. + +_Jack-o'lanterns_. From the dirty bog we come, +Whence we've just arisen: +Soon in the dance here, quite at home, +As gay young _sparks_ we'll glisten. + +_Shooting star_. Trailing from the sky I shot, +Not a star there missed me: +Crooked up in this grassy spot, +Who to my legs will assist me? + +_The solid men_. Room there! room there! clear the ground! +Grass-blades well may fall so; +Spirits are we, but 'tis found +They have plump limbs also. + +_Puck_. Heavy men! do not, I say, +Like elephants' calves go stumping: +Let the plumpest one to-day +Be Puck, the ever-jumping. + +_Ariel_. If the spirit gave, indeed, +If nature gave you, pinions, +Follow up my airy lead +To the rose-dominions! + +_Orchestra_ [_pianissimo_]. Gauzy mist and fleecy cloud +Sun and wind have banished. +Foliage rustles, reeds pipe loud, +All the show has vanished. + + + + + DREARY DAY.[46] + + _Field_. + + + FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES. + +_Faust_. In wretchedness! In despair! Long hunted up and down the earth, a +miserable fugitive, and caught at last! Locked up as a malefactor in +prison, to converse with horrible torments--the sweet, unhappy creature! +Even to this pass! even to this!--Treacherous, worthless spirit, and this +thou hast hidden from me!--Stand up here--stand up! Roll thy devilish eyes +round grimly in thy head! Stand and defy me with thy intolerable presence! +Imprisoned! In irretrievable misery! Given over to evil spirits and to the +judgment of unfeeling humanity, and me meanwhile thou lullest in insipid +dissipations, concealest from me her growing anguish, and leavest her +without help to perish! + +_Mephistopheles_. She is not the first! + +_Faust_. Dog! abominable monster! Change him, thou Infinite Spirit! change +the worm back into his canine form, as he was often pleased in the night +to trot before me, to roll before the feet of the harmless wanderer, and, +when he fell, to hang on his shoulders. Change him again into his favorite +shape, that he may crawl before me on his belly in the sand, and that I +may tread him under foot, the reprobate!--Not the first! Misery! Misery! +inconceivable by any human soul! that more than one creature ever sank +into the depth of this wretchedness, that the first in its writhing +death-agony did not atone for the guilt of all the rest before the eyes of +the eternally Forgiving! My very marrow and life are consumed by the +misery of this single one; thou grinnest away composedly at the fate of +thousands! + +_Mephistopheles_. Here we are again at our wits' ends already, where the +thread of sense, with you mortals, snaps short. Why make a partnership +with us, if thou canst not carry it through? Wilt fly, and art not proof +against dizziness? Did we thrust ourselves on thee, or thou on us? + +_Faust_. Gnash not so thy greedy teeth against me! It disgusts me!--Great +and glorious spirit, thou that deignedst to appear to me, who knowest my +heart and soul, why yoke me to this shame-fellow, who feeds on mischief +and feasts on ruin? + +_Mephistopheles_. Hast thou done? + +_Faust_. Rescue her! O woe be unto thee! The most horrible curse on thee +for thousands of years! + +_Mephistopheles_. I cannot loose the bonds of the avenger, nor open his +bolts.--Rescue her!--Who was it that plunged her into ruin? I or thou? + [FAUST _looks wildly round_.] +Grasp'st thou after the thunder? Well that it was not given to you +miserable mortals! To crush an innocent respondent, that is a sort of +tyrant's-way of getting room to breathe in embarrassment. + +_Faust_. Lead me to her! She shall be free! + +_Mephistopheles_. And the danger which thou incurrest? Know that the guilt +of blood at thy hand still lies upon the town. Over the place of the +slain, avenging spirits hover and lurk for the returning murderer. + +_Faust_. That, too, from thee? Murder and death of a world upon thee, +monster! Lead me thither, I say, and free her! + +_Mephistopheles_. I will lead thee, and hear what I can do! Have I all +power in heaven and on earth? I will becloud the turnkey's senses; possess +thyself of the keys, and bear her out with human hand. I will watch! The +magic horses shall be ready, and I will bear you away. So much I can do. + +_Faust_. Up and away! + + + + + NIGHT. OPEN FIELD. + + FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES. + _Scudding along on black horses_. + +_Faust_. What's doing, off there, round the gallows-tree?[47] + +_Mephistopheles_. Know not what they are doing and brewing. + +_Faust_. Up they go--down they go--wheel about, reel about. + +_Mephistopheles_. A witches'-crew. + +_Faust_. They're strewing and vowing. + +_Mephistopheles_. Pass on! Pass on! + + + + + PRISON. + + FAUST [_with a bunch of keys and a lamp, before an iron door_] +A long unwonted chill comes o'er me, +I feel the whole great load of human woe. +Within this clammy wall that frowns before me +Lies one whom blinded love, not guilt, brought low! +Thou lingerest, in hope to grow bolder! +Thou fearest again to behold her! +On! Thy shrinking slowly hastens the blow! + [_He grasps the key. Singing from within_.] +My mother, the harlot, +That strung me up! +My father, the varlet, +That ate me up! +My sister small, +She gathered up all +The bones that day, +And in a cool place did lay; +Then I woke, a sweet bird, at a magic call; +Fly away, fly away! + +_Faust [unlocking_]. She little dreams, her lover is so near, +The clanking chains, the rustling straw can hear; + [_He enters_.] + +_Margaret [burying herself in the bed_]. Woe! woe! +They come. O death of bitterness! + +_Faust_ [_softly_]. Hush! hush! I come to free thee; thou art dreaming. + +_Margaret_ [_prostrating herself before him_]. +Art thou a man, then feel for my distress. + +_Faust_. Thou'lt wake the guards with thy loud screaming! + [_He seizes the chains to tin lock them._] + +_Margaret_ [_on her knees_]. Headsman, who's given thee this right +O'er me, this power! +Thou com'st for me at dead of night; +In pity spare me, one short hour! +Wilt't not be time when Matin bell has rung? + [_She stands up._] +Ah, I am yet so young, so young! +And death pursuing! +Fair was I too, and that was my undoing. +My love was near, far is he now! +Tom is the wreath, the scattered flowers lie low. +Take not such violent hold of me! +Spare me! what harm have I done to thee? +Let me not in vain implore thee. +Thou ne'er till now sawft her who lies before thee! + +_Faust_. O sorrow worse than death is o'er me! + +_Margaret_. Now I am wholly in thy power. +But first I'd nurse my child--do not prevent me. +I hugged it through the black night hour; +They took it from me to torment me, +And now they say I killed the pretty flower. +I shall never be happy again, I know. +They sing vile songs at me! 'Tis bad in them to do it! +There's an old tale that ends just so, +Who gave that meaning to it? + +_Faust [prostrates himself_]. A lover at thy feet is bending, +Thy bonds of misery would be rending. + +_Margaret [flings herself beside him_]. +O let us kneel, the saints for aid invoking! +See! 'neath the threshold smoking, +Fire-breathing, +Hell is seething! +There prowling, +And grim under cover, +Satan is howling! + +_Faust [aloud_]. Margery! Margery! + +_Margaret [listening_]. That was the voice of my lover! + [_She springs up. The chains fall off_.] + +Where is he? Where? He calls. I hear him. +I'm free! Who hinders? I will be near him. +I'll fly to his neck! I'll hold him! +To my bosom I'll enfold him! +He stood on the threshold--called Margery plainly! +Hell's howling and clattering to drown it sought vainly,-- +Through the devilish, grim scoffs, that might turn one to stone, +I caught the sweet, loving, enrapturing tone. + +_Faust_. 'Tis I! + +_Margaret_. 'Tis thou! O say it once again. + [_Clasping again._] +'Tis he! 'tis he! Where now is all my pain? +And where the dungeon's anguish? Joy-giver! +'Tis thou! And come to deliver! +I am delivered! +Again before me lies the street, +Where for the first time thou and I did meet. +And the garden-bower, +Where we spent that evening hour. + +_Faust_ [_trying to draw her away_]. Come! Come with me! + +_Margaret_. O tarry! +I tarry so gladly where thou tarriest. + [_Caressing him._] + +_Faust_. Hurry! +Unless thou hurriest, +Bitterly we both must rue it. + +_Margaret_. Kiss me! Canst no more do it? +So short an absence, love, as this, +And forgot how to kiss? +What saddens me so as I hang about thy neck? +When once, in thy words, thy looks, such a heaven of blisses +Came o'er me, I thought my heart would break, +And it seemed as if thou wouldst smother me with kisses. +Kiss thou me! +Else I kiss thee! + [_She embraces him._] +Woe! woe! thy lips are cold, +Stone-dumb. +Where's thy love left? +Oh! I'm bereft! +Who robbed me? + [_She turns from him_] + +_Faust_. O come! +Take courage, my darling! Let us go; +I clasp-thee with unutterable glow; +But follow me! For this alone I plead! + +_Margaret [turning to him_]. Is it, then, thou? +And is it thou indeed? + +_Faust_. 'Tis I! Come, follow me! + +_Margaret_. Thou break'st my chain, +And tak'st me to thy breast again! +How comes it, then, that thou art not afraid of me? +And dost thou know, my friend, who 'tis thou settest free? + +_Faust_. Come! come! The night is on the wane. + +_Margaret_. Woe! woe! My mother I've slain! +Have drowned the babe of mine! +Was it not sent to be mine and thine? +Thine, too--'tis thou! Scarce true doth it seem. +Give me thy hand! 'Tis not a dream! +Thy blessed hand!--But ah! there's dampness here! +Go, wipe it off! I fear +There's blood thereon. +Ah God! what hast thou done! +Put up thy sword again; +I pray thee, do! + +_Faust_. The past is past--there leave it then, +Thou kill'st me too! + +_Margaret_. No, thou must longer tarry! +I'll tell thee how each thou shalt bury; +The places of sorrow +Make ready to-morrow; +Must give the best place to my mother, +The very next to my brother, +Me a little aside, +But make not the space too wide! +And on my right breast let the little one lie. +No one else will be sleeping by me. +Once, to feel _thy_ heart beat nigh me, +Oh, 'twas a precious, a tender joy! +But I shall have it no more--no, never; +I seem to be forcing myself on thee ever, +And thou repelling me freezingly; +And 'tis thou, the same good soul, I see. + +_Faust_. If thou feelest 'tis I, then come with me + +_Margaret_. Out yonder? + +_Faust_. Into the open air. + +_Margaret_. If the grave is there, +If death is lurking; then come! +From here to the endless resting-place, +And not another pace--Thou +go'st e'en now? O, Henry, might I too. + +_Faust_. Thou canst! 'Tis but to will! The door stands open. + +_Margaret_. I dare not go; for me there's no more hoping. +What use to fly? They lie in wait for me. +So wretched the lot to go round begging, +With an evil conscience thy spirit plaguing! +So wretched the lot, an exile roaming--And +then on my heels they are ever coming! + +_Faust_. I shall be with thee. + +_Margaret_. Make haste! make haste! +No time to waste! +Save thy poor child! +Quick! follow the edge +Of the rushing rill, +Over the bridge +And by the mill, +Then into the woods beyond +On the left where lies the plank +Over the pond. +Seize hold of it quick! +To rise 'tis trying, +It struggles still! +Rescue! rescue! + +_Faust_. Bethink thyself, pray! +A single step and thou art free! + +_Margaret_. Would we were by the mountain. See! +There sits my mother on a stone, +The sight on my brain is preying! +There sits my mother on a stone, +And her head is constantly swaying; +She beckons not, nods not, her head falls o'er, +So long she's been sleeping, she'll wake no more. +She slept that we might take pleasure. +O that was bliss without measure! + +_Faust_. Since neither reason nor prayer thou hearest; +I must venture by force to take thee, dearest. + +_Margaret_. Let go! No violence will I bear! +Take not such a murderous hold of me! +I once did all I could to gratify thee. + +_Faust_. The day is breaking! Dearest! dearest! + +_Margaret_. Day! Ay, it is day! the last great day breaks in! +My wedding-day it should have been! +Tell no one thou hast been with Margery! +Alas for my garland! The hour's advancing! +Retreat is in vain! +We meet again, +But not at the dancing. +The multitude presses, no word is spoke. +Square, streets, all places-- +sea of faces-- +The bell is tolling, the staff is broke. +How they seize me and bind me! +They hurry me off to the bloody block.[48] +The blade that quivers behind me, +Quivers at every neck with convulsive shock; +Dumb lies the world as the grave! + +_Faust_. O had I ne'er been born! + +_Mephistopheles [appears without_]. Up! or thou'rt lost! The morn +Flushes the sky. +Idle delaying! Praying and playing! +My horses are neighing, +They shudder and snort for the bound. + +_Margaret_. What's that, comes up from the ground? +He! He! Avaunt! that face! +What will he in the sacred place? +He seeks me! + +_Faust_. Thou shalt live! + +_Margaret_. Great God in heaven! +Unto thy judgment my soul have I given! + +_Mephistopheles [to Faust_]. +Come! come! or in the lurch I leave both her and thee! + +_Margaret_. Thine am I, Father! Rescue me! +Ye angels, holy bands, attend me! +And camp around me to defend me I +Henry! I dread to look on thee. + +_Mephistopheles_. She's judged! + +_Voice [from above_]. She's saved! + +_Mephistopheles [to Faust_]. Come thou to me! + [_Vanishes with_ FAUST.] + +_Voice [from within, dying away_]. Henry! Henry! + + + + +NOTES. + + +[Footnote 1: Dedication. The idea of Faust had early entered into Goethe's +mind. He probably began the work when he was about twenty years old. It +was first published, as a fragment, in 1790, and did not appear in its +present form till 1808, when its author's age was nearly sixty. By the +"forms" are meant, of course, the shadowy personages and scenes of the +drama.] + +[Footnote 2: --"Thy messengers"-- + "He maketh the winds his-messengers, + The flaming lightnings his ministers." + _Noyes's Psalms_, c. iv. 4.] + +[Footnote 3: "The Word Divine." In translating the German "Werdende" +(literally, the _becoming, developing_, or _growing_) by the term _word_, +I mean the _word_ in the largest sense: "In the beginning was the Word, +&c." Perhaps "nature" would be a pretty good rendering, but "word," being +derived from "werden," and expressing philosophically and scripturally the +going forth or manifestation of mind, seemed to me as appropriate a +translation as any.] + +[Footnote 4: "The old fellow." The commentators do not seem quite agreed +whether "den Alten" (the old one) is an entirely reverential phrase here, +like the "ancient of days," or savors a little of profane pleasantry, like +the title "old man" given by boys to their schoolmaster or of "the old +gentleman" to their fathers. Considering who the speaker is, I have +naturally inclined to the latter alternative.] + +[Footnote 5: "Nostradamus" (properly named Michel Notre Dame) lived +through the first half of the sixteenth century. He was born in the south +of France and was of Jewish extraction. As physician and astrologer, he +was held in high honor by the French nobility and kings.] + +[Footnote 6: The "Macrocosm" is the great world of outward things, in +contrast with its epitome, the little world in man, called the microcosm +(or world in miniature).] + +[Footnote 7: "Famulus" seems to mean a cross between a servant and a +scholar. The Dominie Sampson called Wagner, is appended to Faust for the +time somewhat as Sancho is to Don Quixote. The Doctor Faust of the legend +has a servant by that name, who seems to have been more of a _Sancho_, in +the sense given to the word by the old New England mothers when upbraiding +bad boys (you Sanch'!). Curiously enough, Goethe had in early life a +(treacherous) friend named Wagner, who plagiarized part of Faust and made +a tragedy of it.] + +[Footnote 8: "Mock-heroic play." We have Schlegel's authority for thus +rendering the phrase "Haupt- und Staats-Action," (literally, "head and +State-action,") who says that this title was given to dramas designed for +puppets, when they treated of heroic and historical subjects.] + +[Footnote 9: The literal sense of this couplet in the original is:-- + "Is he, in the bliss of becoming, + To creative joy near--" +"Werde-lust" presents the same difficulty that we found in note 3. This +same word, "Werden," is also used by the poet in the introductory theatre +scene (page 7), where he longs for the time when he himself was +_ripening_, growing, becoming, or _forming_, (as Hayward renders it.) I +agree with Hayward, "the meaning probably is, that our Saviour enjoys, in +coming to life again," (I should say, in being born into the upper life,) +"a happiness nearly equal to that of the Creator in creating."] + +[Footnote 10: The Angel-chorusses in this scene present the only instances +in which the translator, for the sake of retaining the ring and swing of +the melody, has felt himself obliged to give a transfusion of the spirit +of the thought, instead of its exact form. + +The literal meaning of the first chorus is:-- + + Christ is arisen! + Joy to the Mortal, + Whom the ruinous, + Creeping, hereditary + Infirmities wound round. + +Dr. Hedge has come nearer than any one to reconciling meaning and melody +thus:-- + + "Christ has arisen! + Joy to our buried Head! + Whom the unmerited, + Trailing, inherited + Woes did imprison." + +The present translator, without losing sight of the fact that "the Mortal" +means Christ, has taken the liberty (constrained by rhyme,--which is +sometimes more than the _rudder_ of verse,) of making the congratulation +include Humanity, as incarnated in Christ, "the second Adam." + +In the closing Chorus of Angels, the translator found that he could best +preserve the spirit of the five-fold rhyme:-- + + "Thätig ihn preisenden, + Liebe beweisenden, + Brüderlich speisenden, + Predigend reisenden, + Wonne verheissenden," + +by running it into three couplets.] + +[Footnote 11: The prose account of the alchymical process is as follows:-- + +"There was red mercury, a powerfully acting body, united with the tincture +of antimony, at a gentle heat of the water-bath. Then, being exposed to +the heat of open fire in an aludel, (or alembic,) a sublimate filled its +heads in succession, which, if it appeared with various hues, was the +desired medicine."] + +[Footnote 12: "Salamander, &c." The four represent the spirits of the +four elements, fire, water, air, and earth, which Faust successively +conjures, so that, if the monster belongs in any respect to this mundane +sphere, he may be exorcized. But it turns out that he is beyond and +beneath all.] + +[Footnote 13: Here, of course, Faust makes the sign of the cross, or holds +out a crucifix.] + +[Footnote 14: "Fly-God," _i.e._ Beelzebub.] + +[Footnote 15: The "Drudenfuss," or pentagram, was a pentagonal figure +composed of three triangles, thus: +[Illustration] + +[Footnote 16: Doctor's Feast. The inaugural feast given at taking a +degree.] + +[Footnote 17: "Blood." When at the first invention of printing, the art +was ascribed to the devil, the illuminated red ink parts were said by the +people to be done in blood.] + +[Footnote 18: "The Spanish boot" was an instrument of torture, like the +Scottish boot mentioned in Old Mortality.] + +[Footnote 19: "Encheiresin Naturæ." Literally, a handling of nature.] + +[Footnote 20: Still a famous place of public resort and entertainment. On +the wall are two old paintings of Faust's carousal and his ride out of the +door on a cask. One is accompanied by the following inscription, being two +lines (Hexameter and Pentameter) broken into halves:-- + + "Vive, bibe, obgregare, memor + Fausti hujus et hujus + PÂœnæ. Aderat clauda haec, + Ast erat ampla gradû. 1525." + + "Live, drink, be merry, remembering + This Faust and his + Punishment. It came slowly + But was in ample measure."] + +[Footnote 21:_Frosch, Brander_, &c. These names seem to be chosen with an +eye to adaptation, Frosch meaning frog, and Brander fireship. "Frog" +happens also to be the nickname the students give to a pupil of the +gymnasium, or school preparatory to the university.] + +[Footnote 22: Rippach is a village near Leipsic, and Mr. Hans was a +fictitious personage about whom the students used to quiz greenhorns.] + +[Footnote 23: The original means literally _sea-cat_. Retzsch says, it is +the little ring-tailed monkey.] + +[Footnote 24: One-time-one, _i.e._ multiplication-table.] + +[Footnote 25: "Hand and glove." The translator's coincidence with Miss +Swanwick here was entirely accidental. The German is "thou and thou," +alluding to the fact that intimate friends among the Germans, like the +sect of Friends, call each other _thou_.] + +[Footnote 26: The following is a literal translation of the song referred +to:-- + + Were I a little bird, + Had I two wings of mine, + I'd fly to my dear; + But that can never be, + So I stay here. + + Though I am far from thee, + Sleeping I'm near to thee, + Talk with my dear; + When I awake again, + I am alone. + + Scarce is there an hour in the night, + When sleep does not take its flight, + And I think of thee, + How many thousand times + Thou gav'st thy heart to me.] + +[Footnote 27: Donjon. The original is _Zwinger_, which Hayward says is +untranslatable. It probably means an old tower, such as is often found in +the free cities, where, in a dark passage-way, a lamp is sometimes placed, +and a devotional image near it.] + +[Footnote 28: It was a superstitious belief that the presence of buried +treasure was indicated by a blue flame.] + +[Footnote 29: Lion-dollars--a Bohemian coin, first minted three centuries +ago, by Count Schlick, from the mines of Joachim's-Thal. The one side +bears a lion, the other a full length image of St. John.] + +[Footnote 30: An imitation of Ophelia's song: _Hamlet_, act 14, scene 5.] + +[Footnote 31: The Rat-catcher was supposed to have the art of drawing rats +after him by his whistle, like a sort of Orpheus.] + +[Footnote 32: Walpurgis Night. May-night. Walpurgis is the female saint +who converted the Saxons to Christianity.--The Brocken or Blocksberg is +the highest peak of the Harz mountains, which comprise about 1350 square +miles.--Schirke and Elend are two villages in the neighborhood.] + +[Footnote 33: Shelley's translation of this couplet is very fine: +("_O si sic omnia!_") + + "The giant-snouted crags, ho! ho! + How they snort and how they blow!"] + +[Footnote 34: The original is _Windsbraut_, (wind's-bride,) the word used +in Luther's Bible to translate Paul's _Euroclydon_.] + +[Footnote 35: One of the names of the devil in Germany.] + +[Footnote 36: One of the names of Beelzebub.] + +[Footnote 37: "The Talmudists say that Adam had a wife called Lilis before +he married Eve, and of her he begat nothing but devils." + _Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy_. + +A learned writer says that _Lullaby_ is derived from "Lilla, abi!" "Begone +Lilleth!" she having been supposed to lie in wait for children to kill +them.] + +[Footnote 38: This name, derived from two Greek words meaning _rump_ and +_fancy_, was meant for Nicolai of Berlin, a great hater of Goethe's +writings, and is explained by the fact that the man had for a long time a +violent affection of the nerves, and by the application he made of leeches +as a remedy, (alluded to by Mephistopheles.)] + +[Footnote 39: Tegel (mistranslated _pond_ by Shelley) is a small place a +few miles from Berlin, whose inhabitants were, in 1799, hoaxed by a ghost +story, of which the scene was laid in the former place.] + +[Footnote 40: The park in Vienna.] + +[Footnote 41: He was scene-painter to the Weimar theatre.] + +[Footnote 42: A poem of Schiller's, which gave great offence to the +religious people of his day.] + +[Footnote 43: A literal translation of _Maulen_, but a slang-term in +Yankee land.] + +[Footnote 44: Epigrams, published from time to time by Goethe and Schiller +jointly. Hennings (whose name heads the next quatrain) was editor of the +_Musaget_, (a title of Apollo, "leader of the muses,") and also of the +_Genius of the Age_. The other satirical allusions to classes of +notabilities will, without difficulty, be guessed out by the readers.] + +[Footnote 45: "_Doubt_ is the only rhyme for devil," in German.] + +[Footnote 46: The French translator, Stapfer, assigns as the probable +reason why this scene alone, of the whole drama, should have been left in +prose, "that it might not be said that Faust wanted any one of the +possible forms of style."] + +[Footnote 47: Literally the _raven-stone_.] + +[Footnote 48: The _blood-seat_, in allusion to the old German custom of +tying a woman, who was to be beheaded, into a wooden chair.] + + * * * * * + +P. S. There is a passage on page 84, the speech of Faust, ending with the +lines:-- + + Show me the fruit that, ere it's plucked, will rot, + And trees from which new green is daily peeping, + +which seems to have puzzled or misled so much, not only English +translators, but even German critics, that the present translator has +concluded, for once, to depart from his usual course, and play the +commentator, by giving his idea of Goethe's meaning, which is this: Faust +admits that the devil has all the different kinds of Sodom-apples which he +has just enumerated, gold that melts away in the hand, glory that vanishes +like a meteor, and pleasure that perishes in the possession. But all these +torments are too insipid for Faust's morbid and mad hankering after the +luxury of spiritual pain. Show me, he says, the fruit that rots _before_ +one can pluck it, and [a still stronger expression of his diseased craving +for agony] trees that fade so quickly as to be every day just putting +forth new green, only to tantalize one with perpetual promise and +perpetual disappointment. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Faust, by Goethe + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14460 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..94d0f25 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #14460 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/14460) diff --git a/old/14460-8.txt b/old/14460-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..18f89d0 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/14460-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7101 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Faust, by Goethe + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Faust + +Author: Goethe + +Release Date: December 25, 2004 [EBook #14460] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FAUST *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Bidwell and the PG Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + +FAUST + + +A TRAGEDY + +TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN + +OF + +GOETHE + + +WITH NOTES + +BY + +CHARLES T BROOKS + + +SEVENTH EDITION. + +BOSTON +TICKNOR AND FIELDS + +MDCCCLXVIII. + + + +Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, +by CHARLES T. BROOKS, +In the Clerk's Office of the District Court +of the District of Rhode Island. + +UNIVERSITY PRESS: +WELCH, BIGELOW, AND COMPANY, +CAMBRIDGE. + + + + +TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. + + +Perhaps some apology ought to be given to English scholars, that is, those +who do not know German, (to those, at least, who do not know what sort of +a thing Faust is in the original,) for offering another translation to the +public, of a poem which has been already translated, not only in a literal +prose form, but also, twenty or thirty times, in metre, and sometimes with +great spirit, beauty, and power. + +The author of the present version, then, has no knowledge that a rendering +of this wonderful poem into the exact and ever-changing metre of the +original has, until now, been so much as attempted. To name only one +defect, the very best versions which he has seen neglect to follow the +exquisite artist in the evidently planned and orderly intermixing of +_male_ and _female_ rhymes, _i.e._ rhymes which fall on the last syllable +and those which fall on the last but one. Now, every careful student of +the versification of Faust must feel and see that Goethe did not +intersperse the one kind of rhyme with the other, at random, as those +translators do; who, also, give the female rhyme (on which the vivacity of +dialogue and description often so much depends,) in so small a proportion. + +A similar criticism might be made of their liberty in neglecting Goethe's +method of alternating different measures with each other. + +It seems as if, in respect to metre, at least, they had asked themselves, +how would Goethe have written or shaped this in English, had that been his +native language, instead of seeking _con amore_ (and _con fidelità_) as +they should have done, to reproduce, both in spirit and in form, the +movement, so free and yet orderly, of the singularly endowed and +accomplished poet whom they undertook to represent. + +As to the objections which Hayward and some of his reviewers have +instituted in advance against the possibility of a good and faithful +metrical translation of a poem like Faust, they seem to the present +translator full of paradox and sophistry. For instance, take this +assertion of one of the reviewers: "The sacred and mysterious union of +thought with verse, twin-born and immortally wedded from the moment of +their common birth, can never be understood by those who desire verse +translations of good poetry." If the last part of this statement had read +"by those who can be contented with _prose_ translations of good poetry," +the position would have been nearer the truth. This much we might well +admit, that, if the alternative were either to have a poem like Faust in a +metre different and glaringly different from the original, or to have it +in simple and strong prose, then the latter alternative would be the one +every tasteful and feeling scholar would prefer; but surely to every one +who can read the original or wants to know how this great song _sung +itself_ (as Carlyle says) out of Goethe's soul, a mere prose rendering +must be, comparatively, a _corpus mortuum._ + +The translator most heartily dissents from Hayward's assertion that a +translator of Faust "must sacrifice either metre or meaning." At least he +flatters himself that he has made, in the main, (not a compromise between +meaning and melody, though in certain instances he may have fallen into +that, but) a combination of the meaning with the melody, which latter is +so important, so vital a part of the lyric poem's meaning, in any worthy +sense. "No poetic translation," says Hayward's reviewer, already quoted, +"can give the rhythm and rhyme of the original; it can only substitute the +rhythm and rhyme of the translator." One might just as well say "no +_prose_ translation can give the _sense and spirit_ of the original; it +can only substitute the _sense and spirit of the words and phrases of the +translator's language_;" and then, these two assertions balancing each +other, there will remain in the metrical translator's favor, that he may +come as near to giving both the letter and the spirit, as the effects of +the Babel dispersion will allow. + +As to the original creation, which he has attempted here to reproduce, the +translator might say something, but prefers leaving his readers to the +poet himself, as revealed in the poem, and to the various commentaries of +which we have some accounts, at least, in English. A French translator of +the poem speaks in his introduction as follows: "This Faust, conceived by +him in his youth, completed in ripe age, the idea of which he carried with +him through all the commotions of his life, as Camoens bore his poem with +him through the waves, this Faust contains him entire. The thirst for +knowledge and the martyrdom of doubt, had they not tormented his early +years? Whence came to him the thought of taking refuge in a supernatural +realm, of appealing to invisible powers, which plunged him, for a +considerable time, into the dreams of Illuminati and made him even invent +a religion? This irony of Mephistopheles, who carries on so audacious a +game with the weakness and the desires of man, is it not the mocking, +scornful side of the poet's spirit, a leaning to sullenness, which can be +traced even into the earliest years of his life, a bitter leaven thrown +into a strong soul forever by early satiety? The character of Faust +especially, the man whose burning, untiring heart can neither enjoy +fortune nor do without it, who gives himself unconditionally and watches +himself with mistrust, who unites the enthusiasm of passion and the +dejectedness of despair, is not this an eloquent opening up of the most +secret and tumultuous part of the poet's soul? And now, to complete the +image of his inner life, he has added the transcendingly sweet person of +Margaret, an exalted reminiscence of a young girl, by whom, at the age of +fourteen, he thought himself beloved, whose image ever floated round him, +and has contributed some traits to each of his heroines. This heavenly +surrender of a simple, good, and tender heart contrasts wonderfully with +the sensual and gloomy passion of the lover, who, in the midst of his +love-dreams, is persecuted by the phantoms of his imagination and by the +nightmares of thought, with those sorrows of a soul, which is crushed, but +not extinguished, which is tormented by the invincible want of happiness +and the bitter feeling, how hard a thing it is to receive or to bestow." + + + + +DEDICATION.[1] + +Once more ye waver dreamily before me, +Forms that so early cheered my troubled eyes! +To hold you fast doth still my heart implore me? +Still bid me clutch the charm that lures and flies? +Ye crowd around! come, then, hold empire o'er me, +As from the mist and haze of thought ye rise; +The magic atmosphere, your train enwreathing, +Through my thrilled bosom youthful bliss is breathing. + +Ye bring with you the forms of hours Elysian, +And shades of dear ones rise to meet my gaze; +First Love and Friendship steal upon my vision +Like an old tale of legendary days; +Sorrow renewed, in mournful repetition, +Runs through life's devious, labyrinthine ways; +And, sighing, names the good (by Fortune cheated +Of blissful hours!) who have before me fleeted. + +These later songs of mine, alas! will never +Sound in their ears to whom the first were sung! +Scattered like dust, the friendly throng forever! +Mute the first echo that so grateful rung! +To the strange crowd I sing, whose very favor +Like chilling sadness on my heart is flung; +And all that kindled at those earlier numbers +Roams the wide earth or in its bosom slumbers. + +And now I feel a long-unwonted yearning +For that calm, pensive spirit-realm, to-day; +Like an Aeolian lyre, (the breeze returning,) +Floats in uncertain tones my lisping lay; +Strange awe comes o'er me, tear on tear falls burning, +The rigid heart to milder mood gives way! +What I possess I see afar off lying, +And what I lost is real and undying. + + + + +PRELUDE + +IN THE THEATRE. + + + _Manager. Dramatic Poet. Merry Person._ + +_Manager_. You who in trouble and distress +Have both held fast your old allegiance, +What think ye? here in German regions +Our enterprise may hope success? +To please the crowd my purpose has been steady, +Because they live and let one live at least. +The posts are set, the boards are laid already, +And every one is looking for a feast. +They sit, with lifted brows, composed looks wearing, +Expecting something that shall set them staring. +I know the public palate, that's confest; +Yet never pined so for a sound suggestion; +True, they are not accustomed to the best, +But they have read a dreadful deal, past question. +How shall we work to make all fresh and new, +Acceptable and profitable, too? +For sure I love to see the torrent boiling, +When towards our booth they crowd to find a place, +Now rolling on a space and then recoiling, +Then squeezing through the narrow door of grace: +Long before dark each one his hard-fought station +In sight of the box-office window takes, +And as, round bakers' doors men crowd to escape starvation, +For tickets here they almost break their necks. +This wonder, on so mixed a mass, the Poet +Alone can work; to-day, my friend, O, show it! + +_Poet_. Oh speak not to me of that motley ocean, +Whose roar and greed the shuddering spirit chill! +Hide from my sight that billowy commotion +That draws us down the whirlpool 'gainst our will. +No, lead me to that nook of calm devotion, +Where blooms pure joy upon the Muses' hill; +Where love and friendship aye create and cherish, +With hand divine, heart-joys that never perish. +Ah! what, from feeling's deepest fountain springing, +Scarce from the stammering lips had faintly passed, +Now, hopeful, venturing forth, now shyly clinging, +To the wild moment's cry a prey is cast. +Oft when for years the brain had heard it ringing +It comes in full and rounded shape at last. +What shines, is born but for the moment's pleasure; +The genuine leaves posterity a treasure. + +_Merry Person_. Posterity! I'm sick of hearing of it; +Supposing I the future age would profit, +Who then would furnish ours with fun? +For it must have it, ripe and mellow; +The presence of a fine young fellow, +Is cheering, too, methinks, to any one. +Whoso can pleasantly communicate, +Will not make war with popular caprices, +For, as the circle waxes great, +The power his word shall wield increases. +Come, then, and let us now a model see, +Let Phantasy with all her various choir, +Sense, reason, passion, sensibility, +But, mark me, folly too! the scene inspire. + +_Manager_. But the great point is action! Every one +Comes as spectator, and the show's the fun. +Let but the plot be spun off fast and thickly, +So that the crowd shall gape in broad surprise, +Then have you made a wide impression quickly, +You are the man they'll idolize. +The mass can only be impressed by masses; +Then each at last picks out his proper part. +Give much, and then to each one something passes, +And each one leaves the house with happy heart. +Have you a piece, give it at once in pieces! +Such a ragout your fame increases; +It costs as little pains to play as to invent. +But what is gained, if you a whole present? +Your public picks it presently to pieces. + +_Poet_. You do not feel how mean a trade like that must be! +In the true Artist's eyes how false and hollow! +Our genteel botchers, well I see, +Have given the maxims that you follow. + +_Manager_. Such charges pass me like the idle wind; +A man who has right work in mind +Must choose the instruments most fitting. +Consider what soft wood you have for splitting, +And keep in view for whom you write! +If this one from _ennui_ seeks flight, +That other comes full from the groaning table, +Or, the worst case of all to cite, +From reading journals is for thought unable. +Vacant and giddy, all agog for wonder, +As to a masquerade they wing their way; +The ladies give themselves and all their precious plunder +And without wages help us play. +On your poetic heights what dream comes o'er you? +What glads a crowded house? Behold +Your patrons in array before you! +One half are raw, the other cold. +One, after this play, hopes to play at cards, +One a wild night to spend beside his doxy chooses, +Poor fools, why court ye the regards, +For such a set, of the chaste muses? +I tell you, give them more and ever more and more, +And then your mark you'll hardly stray from ever; +To mystify be your endeavor, +To satisfy is labor sore.... +What ails you? Are you pleased or pained? What notion---- + +_Poet_. Go to, and find thyself another slave! +What! and the lofty birthright Nature gave, +The noblest talent Heaven to man has lent, +Thou bid'st the Poet fling to folly's ocean! +How does he stir each deep emotion? +How does he conquer every element? +But by the tide of song that from his bosom springs, +And draws into his heart all living things? +When Nature's hand, in endless iteration, +The thread across the whizzing spindle flings, +When the complex, monotonous creation +Jangles with all its million strings: +Who, then, the long, dull series animating, +Breaks into rhythmic march the soulless round? +And, to the law of All each member consecrating, +Bids one majestic harmony resound? +Who bids the tempest rage with passion's power? +The earnest soul with evening-redness glow? +Who scatters vernal bud and summer flower +Along the path where loved ones go? +Who weaves each green leaf in the wind that trembles +To form the wreath that merit's brow shall crown? +Who makes Olympus fast? the gods assembles? +The power of manhood in the Poet shown. + +_Merry Person_. Come, then, put forth these noble powers, +And, Poet, let thy path of flowers +Follow a love-adventure's winding ways. +One comes and sees by chance, one burns, one stays, +And feels the gradual, sweet entangling! +The pleasure grows, then comes a sudden jangling, +Then rapture, then distress an arrow plants, +And ere one dreams of it, lo! _there_ is a romance. +Give us a drama in this fashion! +Plunge into human life's full sea of passion! +Each lives it, few its meaning ever guessed, +Touch where you will, 'tis full of interest. +Bright shadows fleeting o'er a mirror, +A spark of truth and clouds of error, +By means like these a drink is brewed +To cheer and edify the multitude. +The fairest flower of the youth sit listening +Before your play, and wait the revelation; +Each melancholy heart, with soft eyes glistening, +Draws sad, sweet nourishment from your creation; +This passion now, now that is stirred, by turns, +And each one sees what in his bosom burns. +Open alike, as yet, to weeping and to laughter, +They still admire the flights, they still enjoy the show; +Him who is formed, can nothing suit thereafter; +The yet unformed with thanks will ever glow. + +_Poet_. Ay, give me back the joyous hours, +When I myself was ripening, too, +When song, the fount, flung up its showers +Of beauty ever fresh and new. +When a soft haze the world was veiling, +Each bud a miracle bespoke, +And from their stems a thousand flowers I broke, +Their fragrance through the vales exhaling. +I nothing and yet all possessed, +Yearning for truth and in illusion blest. +Give me the freedom of that hour, +The tear of joy, the pleasing pain, +Of hate and love the thrilling power, +Oh, give me back my youth again! + +_Merry Person_. Youth, my good friend, thou needest certainly +When ambushed foes are on thee springing, +When loveliest maidens witchingly +Their white arms round thy neck are flinging, +When the far garland meets thy glance, +High on the race-ground's goal suspended, +When after many a mazy dance +In drink and song the night is ended. +But with a free and graceful soul +To strike the old familiar lyre, +And to a self-appointed goal +Sweep lightly o'er the trembling wire, +There lies, old gentlemen, to-day +Your task; fear not, no vulgar error blinds us. +Age does not make us childish, as they say, +But we are still true children when it finds us. + +_Manager_. Come, words enough you two have bandied, +Now let us see some deeds at last; +While you toss compliments full-handed, +The time for useful work flies fast. +Why talk of being in the humor? +Who hesitates will never be. +If you are poets (so says rumor) +Now then command your poetry. +You know full well our need and pleasure, +We want strong drink in brimming measure; +Brew at it now without delay! +To-morrow will not do what is not done to-day. +Let not a day be lost in dallying, +But seize the possibility +Right by the forelock, courage rallying, +And forth with fearless spirit sallying,-- +Once in the yoke and you are free. + Upon our German boards, you know it, +What any one would try, he may; +Then stint me not, I beg, to-day, +In scenery or machinery, Poet. +With great and lesser heavenly lights make free, +Spend starlight just as you desire; +No want of water, rocks or fire +Or birds or beasts to you shall be. +So, in this narrow wooden house's bound, +Stride through the whole creation's round, +And with considerate swiftness wander +From heaven, through this world, to the world down yonder. + + + + + PROLOGUE + + + IN HEAVEN. + + +[THE LORD. THE HEAVENLY HOSTS _afterward_ MEPHISTOPHELES. +_The three archangels_, RAPHAEL, GABRIEL, _and_ MICHAEL, _come forward_.] + +_Raphael_. The sun, in ancient wise, is sounding, + With brother-spheres, in rival song; +And, his appointed journey rounding, + With thunderous movement rolls along. +His look, new strength to angels lending, + No creature fathom can for aye; +The lofty works, past comprehending, + Stand lordly, as on time's first day. + +_Gabriel_. And swift, with wondrous swiftness fleeting, + The pomp of earth turns round and round, +The glow of Eden alternating + With shuddering midnight's gloom profound; +Up o'er the rocks the foaming ocean + Heaves from its old, primeval bed, +And rocks and seas, with endless motion, + On in the spheral sweep are sped. + +_Michael_. And tempests roar, glad warfare waging, + From sea to land, from land to sea, +And bind round all, amidst their raging, + A chain of giant energy. +There, lurid desolation, blazing, + Foreruns the volleyed thunder's way: +Yet, Lord, thy messengers[2] are praising + The mild procession of thy day. + +_All Three_. The sight new strength to angels lendeth, + For none thy being fathom may, +The works, no angel comprehendeth, + Stand lordly as on time's first day. + +_Mephistopheles_. Since, Lord, thou drawest near us once again, +And how we do, dost graciously inquire, +And to be pleased to see me once didst deign, +I too among thy household venture nigher. +Pardon, high words I cannot labor after, +Though the whole court should look on me with scorn; +My pathos certainly would stir thy laughter, +Hadst thou not laughter long since quite forsworn. +Of sun and worlds I've nought to tell worth mention, +How men torment themselves takes my attention. +The little God o' the world jogs on the same old way +And is as singular as on the world's first day. +A pity 'tis thou shouldst have given +The fool, to make him worse, a gleam of light from heaven; +He calls it reason, using it +To be more beast than ever beast was yet. +He seems to me, (your grace the word will pardon,) +Like a long-legg'd grasshopper in the garden, +Forever on the wing, and hops and sings +The same old song, as in the grass he springs; +Would he but stay there! no; he needs must muddle +His prying nose in every puddle. + +_The Lord_. Hast nothing for our edification? +Still thy old work of accusation? +Will things on earth be never right for thee? + +_Mephistopheles_. No, Lord! I find them still as bad as bad can be. +Poor souls! their miseries seem so much to please 'em, +I scarce can find it in my heart to tease 'em. + +_The Lord_. Knowest thou Faust? + +_Mephistopheles_. The Doctor? + +_The Lord_. Ay, my servant! + +_Mephistopheles_. He! +Forsooth! he serves you in a famous fashion; +No earthly meat or drink can feed his passion; +Its grasping greed no space can measure; +Half-conscious and half-crazed, he finds no rest; +The fairest stars of heaven must swell his treasure. +Each highest joy of earth must yield its zest, +Not all the world--the boundless azure-- +Can fill the void within his craving breast. + +_The Lord_. He serves me somewhat darkly, now, I grant, +Yet will he soon attain the light of reason. +Sees not the gardener, in the green young plant, +That bloom and fruit shall deck its coming season? + +_Mephistopheles_. What will you bet? You'll surely lose your wager! +If you will give me leave henceforth, +To lead him softly on, like an old stager. + +_The Lord_. So long as he shall live on earth, +Do with him all that you desire. +Man errs and staggers from his birth. + +_Mephistopheles_. Thank you; I never did aspire +To have with dead folk much transaction. +In full fresh cheeks I take the greatest satisfaction. +A corpse will never find me in the house; +I love to play as puss does with the mouse. + +_The Lord_. All right, I give thee full permission! +Draw down this spirit from its source, +And, canst thou catch him, to perdition +Carry him with thee in thy course, +But stand abashed, if thou must needs confess, +That a good man, though passion blur his vision, +Has of the right way still a consciousness. + +_Mephistopheles_. Good! but I'll make it a short story. +About my wager I'm by no means sorry. +And if I gain my end with glory +Allow me to exult from a full breast. +Dust shall he eat and that with zest, +Like my old aunt, the snake, whose fame is hoary. + +_The Lord_. Well, go and come, and make thy trial; +The like of thee I never yet did hate. +Of all the spirits of denial +The scamp is he I best can tolerate. +Man is too prone, at best, to seek the way that's easy, +He soon grows fond of unconditioned rest; +And therefore such a comrade suits him best, +Who spurs and works, true devil, always busy. +But you, true sons of God, in growing measure, +Enjoy rich beauty's living stores of pleasure! +The Word[3] divine that lives and works for aye, +Fold you in boundless love's embrace alluring, +And what in floating vision glides away, +That seize ye and make fast with thoughts enduring. + +[_Heaven closes, the archangels disperse._] + +_Mephistopheles. [Alone.]_ I like at times to exchange with him a word, +And take care not to break with him. 'Tis civil +In the old fellow[4] and so great a Lord +To talk so kindly with the very devil. + + + + + FAUST. + + + _Night. In a narrow high-arched Gothic room_, + FAUST _sitting uneasy at his desk_. + +_Faust_. Have now, alas! quite studied through +Philosophy and Medicine, +And Law, and ah! Theology, too, +With hot desire the truth to win! +And here, at last, I stand, poor fool! +As wise as when I entered school; +Am called Magister, Doctor, indeed,-- +Ten livelong years cease not to lead +Backward and forward, to and fro, +My scholars by the nose--and lo! +Just nothing, I see, is the sum of our learning, +To the very core of my heart 'tis burning. +'Tis true I'm more clever than all the foplings, +Doctors, Magisters, Authors, and Popelings; +Am plagued by no scruple, nor doubt, nor cavil, +Nor lingering fear of hell or devil-- +What then? all pleasure is fled forever; +To know one thing I vainly endeavor, +There's nothing wherein one fellow-creature +Could be mended or bettered with me for a teacher. +And then, too, nor goods nor gold have I, +Nor fame nor worldly dignity,-- +A condition no dog could longer live in! +And so to magic my soul I've given, +If, haply, by spirits' mouth and might, +Some mysteries may not be brought to light; +That to teach, no longer may be my lot, +With bitter sweat, what I need to be taught; +That I may know what the world contains +In its innermost heart and finer veins, +See all its energies and seeds +And deal no more in words but in deeds. + O full, round Moon, didst thou but thine +For the last time on this woe of mine! +Thou whom so many a midnight I +Have watched, at this desk, come up the sky: +O'er books and papers, a dreary pile, +Then, mournful friend! uprose thy smile! +Oh that I might on the mountain-height, +Walk in the noon of thy blessed light, +Round mountain-caverns with spirits hover, +Float in thy gleamings the meadows over, +And freed from the fumes of a lore-crammed brain, +Bathe in thy dew and be well again! + Woe! and these walls still prison me? +Dull, dismal hole! my curse on thee! +Where heaven's own light, with its blessed beams, +Through painted panes all sickly gleams! +Hemmed in by these old book-piles tall, +Which, gnawed by worms and deep in must, +Rise to the roof against a wall +Of smoke-stained paper, thick with dust; +'Mid glasses, boxes, where eye can see, +Filled with old, obsolete instruments, +Stuffed with old heirlooms of implements-- +That is thy world! There's a world for thee! + And still dost ask what stifles so +The fluttering heart within thy breast? +By what inexplicable woe +The springs of life are all oppressed? +Instead of living nature, where +God made and planted men, his sons, +Through smoke and mould, around thee stare +Grim skeletons and dead men's bones. + Up! Fly! Far out into the land! +And this mysterious volume, see! +By Nostradamus's[5] own hand, +Is it not guide enough for thee? +Then shalt thou thread the starry skies, +And, taught by nature in her walks, +The spirit's might shall o'er thee rise, +As ghost to ghost familiar talks. +Vain hope that mere dry sense should here +Explain the holy signs to thee. +I feel you, spirits, hovering near; +Oh, if you hear me, answer me! + [_He opens the book and beholds the sign of the Macrocosm.[_6]] +Ha! as I gaze, what ecstasy is this, +In one full tide through all my senses flowing! +I feel a new-born life, a holy bliss +Through nerves and veins mysteriously glowing. +Was it a God who wrote each sign? +Which, all my inner tumult stilling, +And this poor heart with rapture filling, +Reveals to me, by force divine, +Great Nature's energies around and through me thrilling? +Am I a God? It grows so bright to me! +Each character on which my eye reposes +Nature in act before my soul discloses. +The sage's word was truth, at last I see: +"The spirit-world, unbarred, is waiting; +Thy sense is locked, thy heart is dead! +Up, scholar, bathe, unhesitating, +The earthly breast in morning-red!" + [_He contemplates the sign._] +How all one whole harmonious weaves, +Each in the other works and lives! +See heavenly powers ascending and descending, +The golden buckets, one long line, extending! +See them with bliss-exhaling pinions winging +Their way from heaven through earth--their singing +Harmonious through the universe is ringing! + Majestic show! but ah! a show alone! +Nature! where find I thee, immense, unknown? +Where you, ye breasts? Ye founts all life sustaining, +On which hang heaven and earth, and where +Men's withered hearts their waste repair-- +Ye gush, ye nurse, and I must sit complaining? + [_He opens reluctantly the book and sees the sign of the earth-spirit._] +How differently works on me this sign! +Thou, spirit of the earth, art to me nearer; +I feel my powers already higher, clearer, +I glow already as with new-pressed wine, +I feel the mood to brave life's ceaseless clashing, +To bear its frowning woes, its raptures flashing, +To mingle in the tempest's dashing, +And not to tremble in the shipwreck's crashing; +Clouds gather o'er my head-- +Them moon conceals her light-- +The lamp goes out! +It smokes!--Red rays are darting, quivering +Around my head--comes down +A horror from the vaulted roof +And seizes me! +Spirit that I invoked, thou near me art, +Unveil thyself! +Ha! what a tearing in my heart! +Upheaved like an ocean +My senses toss with strange emotion! +I feel my heart to thee entirely given! +Thou must! and though the price were life--were heaven! + [_He seizes the book and pronounces mysteriously the sign of the spirit. + A ruddy flame darts out, the spirit appears in the flame._] + +_Spirit_. Who calls upon me? + +_Faust. [Turning away.]_ Horrid sight! + +_Spirit_. Long have I felt the mighty action, +Upon my sphere, of thy attraction, +And now-- + +_Faust_. Away, intolerable sprite! + +_Spirit_. Thou breath'st a panting supplication +To hear my voice, my face to see; +Thy mighty prayer prevails on me, +I come!--what miserable agitation +Seizes this demigod! Where is the cry of thought? +Where is the breast? that in itself a world begot, +And bore and cherished, that with joy did tremble +And fondly dream us spirits to resemble. +Where art thou, Faust? whose voice rang through my ear, +Whose mighty yearning drew me from my sphere? +Is this thing thou? that, blasted by my breath, +Through all life's windings shuddereth, +A shrinking, cringing, writhing worm! + +_Faust_. Thee, flame-born creature, shall I fear? +'Tis I, 'tis Faust, behold thy peer! + +_Spirit_. In life's tide currents, in action's storm, +Up and down, like a wave, +Like the wind I sweep! +Cradle and grave-- +A limitless deep--- +An endless weaving +To and fro, +A restless heaving +Of life and glow,-- +So shape I, on Destiny's thundering loom, +The Godhead's live garment, eternal in bloom. + +_Faust_. Spirit that sweep'st the world from end to end, +How near, this hour, I feel myself to thee! + +_Spirit_. Thou'rt like the spirit thou canst comprehend, +Not me! [_Vanishes._] + +_Faust_. [_Collapsing_.] Not thee? + Whom then? + I, image of the Godhead, + And no peer for thee! + [_A knocking_.] +O Death! I know it!--'tis my Famulus-- +Good-bye, ye dreams of bliss Elysian! +Shame! that so many a glowing vision +This dried-up sneak must scatter thus! + + [WAGNER, _in sleeping-gown and night-cap, a lamp in his hand._ + FAUST _turns round with an annoyed look_.] + +_Wagner_. Excuse me! you're engaged in declamation; +'Twas a Greek tragedy no doubt you read? +I in this art should like initiation, +For nowadays it stands one well instead. +I've often heard them boast, a preacher +Might profit with a player for his teacher. + +_Faust_. Yes, when the preacher is a player, granted: +As often happens in our modern ways. + +_Wagner_. Ah! when one with such love of study's haunted, +And scarcely sees the world on holidays, +And takes a spy-glass, as it were, to read it, +How can one by persuasion hope to lead it? + +_Faust_. What you don't feel, you'll never catch by hunting, +It must gush out spontaneous from the soul, +And with a fresh delight enchanting +The hearts of all that hear control. +Sit there forever! Thaw your glue-pot,-- +Blow up your ash-heap to a flame, and brew, +With a dull fire, in your stew-pot, +Of other men's leavings a ragout! +Children and apes will gaze delighted, +If their critiques can pleasure impart; +But never a heart will be ignited, +Comes not the spark from the speaker's heart. + +_Wagner_. Delivery makes the orator's success; +There I'm still far behindhand, I confess. + +_Faust_. Seek honest gains, without pretence! +Be not a cymbal-tinkling fool! +Sound understanding and good sense +Speak out with little art or rule; +And when you've something earnest to utter, +Why hunt for words in such a flutter? +Yes, your discourses, that are so refined' +In which humanity's poor shreds you frizzle, +Are unrefreshing as the mist and wind +That through the withered leaves of autumn whistle! + +_Wagner_. Ah God! well, art is long! +And life is short and fleeting. +What headaches have I felt and what heart-beating, +When critical desire was strong. +How hard it is the ways and means to master +By which one gains each fountain-head! +And ere one yet has half the journey sped, +The poor fool dies--O sad disaster! + +_Faust_. Is parchment, then, the holy well-spring, thinkest, +A draught from which thy thirst forever slakes? +No quickening element thou drinkest, +Till up from thine own soul the fountain breaks. + +_Wagner_. Excuse me! in these olden pages +We catch the spirit of the by-gone ages, +We see what wisest men before our day have thought, +And to what glorious heights we their bequests have brought. + +_Faust_. O yes, we've reached the stars at last! +My friend, it is to us,--the buried past,-- +A book with seven seals protected; +Your spirit of the times is, then, +At bottom, your own spirit, gentlemen, +In which the times are seen reflected. +And often such a mess that none can bear it; +At the first sight of it they run away. +A dust-bin and a lumber-garret, +At most a mock-heroic play[8] +With fine, pragmatic maxims teeming, +The mouths of puppets well-beseeming! + +_Wagner_. But then the world! the heart and mind of man! +To know of these who would not pay attention? + +_Faust_. To know them, yes, as weaklings can! +Who dares the child's true name outright to mention? +The few who any thing thereof have learned, +Who out of their heart's fulness needs must gabble, +And show their thoughts and feelings to the rabble, +Have evermore been crucified and burned. +I pray you, friend, 'tis wearing into night, +Let us adjourn here, for the present. + +_Wagner_. I had been glad to stay till morning light, +This learned talk with you has been so pleasant, +But the first day of Easter comes to-morrow. +And then an hour or two I'll borrow. +With zeal have I applied myself to learning, +True, I know much, yet to know all am burning. + [_Exit_.] + +_Faust_. [_Alone_.] See how in _his_ head only, hope still lingers, +Who evermore to empty rubbish clings, +With greedy hand grubs after precious things, +And leaps for joy when some poor worm he fingers! + That such a human voice should dare intrude, +Where all was full of ghostly tones and features! +Yet ah! this once, my gratitude +Is due to thee, most wretched of earth's creatures. +Thou snatchedst me from the despairing state +In which my senses, well nigh crazed, were sunken. +The apparition was so giant-great, +That to a very dwarf my soul had shrunken. + I, godlike, who in fancy saw but now +Eternal truth's fair glass in wondrous nearness, +Rejoiced in heavenly radiance and clearness, +Leaving the earthly man below; +I, more than cherub, whose free force +Dreamed, through the veins of nature penetrating, +To taste the life of Gods, like them creating, +Behold me this presumption expiating! +A word of thunder sweeps me from my course. + Myself with thee no longer dare I measure; +Had I the power to draw thee down at pleasure; +To hold thee here I still had not the force. +Oh, in that blest, ecstatic hour, +I felt myself so small, so great; +Thou drovest me with cruel power +Back upon man's uncertain fate +What shall I do? what slum, thus lonely? +That impulse must I, then, obey? +Alas! our very deeds, and not our sufferings only, +How do they hem and choke life's way! + To all the mind conceives of great and glorious +A strange and baser mixture still adheres; +Striving for earthly good are we victorious? +A dream and cheat the better part appears. +The feelings that could once such noble life inspire +Are quenched and trampled out in passion's mire. + Where Fantasy, erewhile, with daring flight +Out to the infinite her wings expanded, +A little space can now suffice her quite, +When hope on hope time's gulf has wrecked and stranded. +Care builds her nest far down the heart's recesses, +There broods o'er dark, untold distresses, +Restless she sits, and scares thy joy and peace away; +She puts on some new mask with each new day, +Herself as house and home, as wife and child presenting, +As fire and water, bane and blade; +What never hits makes thee afraid, +And what is never lost she keeps thee still lamenting. + Not like the Gods am I! Too deep that truth is thrust! +But like the worm, that wriggles through the dust; +Who, as along the dust for food he feels, +Is crushed and buried by the traveller's heels. + Is it not dust that makes this lofty wall +Groan with its hundred shelves and cases; +The rubbish and the thousand trifles all +That crowd these dark, moth-peopled places? +Here shall my craving heart find rest? +Must I perchance a thousand books turn over, +To find that men are everywhere distrest, +And here and there one happy one discover? +Why grin'st thou down upon me, hollow skull? +But that thy brain, like mine, once trembling, hoping, +Sought the light day, yet ever sorrowful, +Burned for the truth in vain, in twilight groping? +Ye, instruments, of course, are mocking me; +Its wheels, cogs, bands, and barrels each one praises. +I waited at the door; you were the key; +Your ward is nicely turned, and yet no bolt it raises. +Unlifted in the broadest day, +Doth Nature's veil from prying eyes defend her, +And what (he chooses not before thee to display, +Not all thy screws and levers can force her to surrender. +Old trumpery! not that I e'er used thee, but +Because my father used thee, hang'st thou o'er me, +Old scroll! thou hast been stained with smoke and smut +Since, on this desk, the lamp first dimly gleamed before me. +Better have squandered, far, I now can clearly see, +My little all, than melt beneath it, in this Tophet! +That which thy fathers have bequeathed to thee, +Earn and become possessor of it! +What profits not a weary load will be; +What it brings forth alone can yield the moment profit. + Why do I gaze as if a spell had bound me +Up yonder? Is that flask a magnet to the eyes? +What lovely light, so sudden, blooms around me? +As when in nightly woods we hail the full-moon-rise. + I greet thee, rarest phial, precious potion! +As now I take thee down with deep devotion, +In thee I venerate man's wit and art. +Quintessence of all soporific flowers, +Extract of all the finest deadly powers, +Thy favor to thy master now impart! +I look on thee, the sight my pain appeases, +I handle thee, the strife of longing ceases, +The flood-tide of the spirit ebbs away. +Far out to sea I'm drawn, sweet voices listening, +The glassy waters at my feet are glistening, +To new shores beckons me a new-born day. + A fiery chariot floats, on airy pinions, +To where I sit! Willing, it beareth me, +On a new path, through ether's blue dominions, +To untried spheres of pure activity. +This lofty life, this bliss elysian, +Worm that thou waft erewhile, deservest thou? +Ay, on this earthly sun, this charming vision, +Turn thy back resolutely now! +Boldly draw near and rend the gates asunder, +By which each cowering mortal gladly steals. +Now is the time to show by deeds of wonder +That manly greatness not to godlike glory yields; +Before that gloomy pit to stand, unfearing, +Where Fantasy self-damned in its own torment lies, +Still onward to that pass-way steering, +Around whose narrow mouth hell-flames forever rise; +Calmly to dare the step, serene, unshrinking, +Though into nothingness the hour should see thee sinking. + Now, then, come down from thy old case, I bid thee, +Where thou, forgotten, many a year hast hid thee, +Into thy master's hand, pure, crystal glass! +The joy-feasts of the fathers thou hast brightened, +The hearts of gravest guests were lightened, +When, pledged, from hand to hand they saw thee pass. +Thy sides, with many a curious type bedight, +Which each, as with one draught he quaffed the liquor +Must read in rhyme from off the wondrous beaker, +Remind me, ah! of many a youthful night. +I shall not hand thee now to any neighbor, +Not now to show my wit upon thy carvings labor; +Here is a juice of quick-intoxicating might. +The rich brown flood adown thy sides is streaming, +With my own choice ingredients teeming; +Be this last draught, as morning now is gleaming, +Drained as a lofty pledge to greet the festal light! + [_He puts the goblet to his lips_. + +_Ringing of bells and choral song_. + +_Chorus of Angels_. Christ hath arisen! + Joy to humanity! + No more shall vanity, + Death and inanity + Hold thee in prison! + +_Faust_. What hum of music, what a radiant tone, +Thrills through me, from my lips the goblet stealing! +Ye murmuring bells, already make ye known +The Easter morn's first hour, with solemn pealing? +Sing you, ye choirs, e'en now, the glad, consoling song, +That once, from angel-lips, through gloom sepulchral rung, +A new immortal covenant sealing? + +_Chorus of Women_. Spices we carried, + Laid them upon his breast; + Tenderly buried + Him whom we loved the best; + + Cleanly to bind him + Took we the fondest care, + Ah! and we find him + Now no more there. + +_Chorus of Angels_. Christ hath ascended! + Reign in benignity! + Pain and indignity, + Scorn and malignity, + _Their_ work have ended. + +_Faust_. Why seek ye me in dust, forlorn, +Ye heavenly tones, with soft enchanting? +Go, greet pure-hearted men this holy morn! +Your message well I hear, but faith to me is wanting; +Wonder, its dearest child, of Faith is born. +To yonder spheres I dare no more aspire, +Whence the sweet tidings downward float; +And yet, from childhood heard, the old, familiar note +Calls back e'en now to life my warm desire. +Ah! once how sweetly fell on me the kiss +Of heavenly love in the still Sabbath stealing! +Prophetically rang the bells with solemn pealing; +A prayer was then the ecstasy of bliss; +A blessed and mysterious yearning +Drew me to roam through meadows, woods, and skies; +And, midst a thousand tear-drops burning, +I felt a world within me rise +That strain, oh, how it speaks youth's gleesome plays and feelings, +Joys of spring-festivals long past; +Remembrance holds me now, with childhood's fond appealings, +Back from the fatal step, the last. +Sound on, ye heavenly strains, that bliss restore me! +Tears gush, once more the spell of earth is o'er me + +_Chorus of Disciples_. Has the grave's lowly one + Risen victorious? + Sits he, God's Holy One, + High-throned and glorious? + He, in this blest new birth, + Rapture creative knows;[9] + Ah! on the breast of earth + Taste we still nature's woes. + Left here to languish + Lone in a world like this, + Fills us with anguish + Master, thy bliss! + +_Chorus of Angels_. Christ has arisen + Out of corruption's gloom. + Break from your prison, + Burst every tomb! + Livingly owning him, + Lovingly throning him, + Feasting fraternally, + Praying diurnally, + Bearing his messages, + Sharing his promises, + Find ye your master near, + Find ye him here![10] + + + + + BEFORE THE GATE. + + _Pedestrians of all descriptions stroll forth_. + +_Mechanics' Apprentices_. Where are you going to carouse? + +_Others_. We're all going out to the Hunter's House. + +_The First_. We're going, ourselves, out to the Mill-House, brothers. + +_An Apprentice_. The Fountain-House I rather recommend. + +_Second_. 'Tis not a pleasant road, my friend. + +_The second group_. What will you do, then? + +_A Third_. I go with the others. + +_Fourth_. Come up to Burgdorf, there you're sure to find good cheer, +The handsomest of girls and best of beer, +And rows, too, of the very first water. + +_Fifth_. You monstrous madcap, does your skin +Itch for the third time to try that inn? +I've had enough for _my_ taste in that quarter. + +_Servant-girl_. No! I'm going back again to town for one. + +_Others_. Under those poplars we are sure to meet him. + +_First Girl_. But that for me is no great fun; +For you are always sure to get him, +He never dances with any but you. +Great good to me your luck will do! + +_Others_. He's not alone, I heard him say, +The curly-head would be with him to-day. + +_Scholar_. Stars! how the buxom wenches stride there! +Quick, brother! we must fasten alongside there. +Strong beer, good smart tobacco, and the waist +Of a right handsome gall, well rigg'd, now that's my taste. + +_Citizen's Daughter_. Do see those fine, young fellows yonder! +'Tis, I declare, a great disgrace; +When they might have the very best, I wonder, +After these galls they needs must race! + +_Second scholar_ [_to the first_]. +Stop! not so fast! there come two more behind, +My eyes! but ain't they dressed up neatly? +One is my neighbor, or I'm blind; +I love the girl, she looks so sweetly. +Alone all quietly they go, +You'll find they'll take us, by and bye, in tow. + +_First_. No, brother! I don't like these starched up ways. +Make haste! before the game slips through our fingers. +The hand that swings the broom o' Saturdays +On Sundays round thy neck most sweetly lingers. + +_Citizen_. No, I don't like at all this new-made burgomaster! +His insolence grows daily ever faster. +No good from him the town will get! +Will things grow better with him? Never! +We're under more constraint than ever, +And pay more tax than ever yet. + +_Beggar_. [_Sings_.] Good gentlemen, and you, fair ladies, + With such red cheeks and handsome dress, + Think what my melancholy trade is, + And see and pity my distress! + Help the poor harper, sisters, brothers! + Who loves to give, alone is gay. + This day, a holiday to others, + Make it for me a harvest day. + +_Another citizen_. +Sundays and holidays, I like, of all things, a good prattle +Of war and fighting, and the whole array, +When back in Turkey, far away, +The peoples give each other battle. +One stands before the window, drinks his glass, +And sees the ships with flags glide slowly down the river; +Comes home at night, when out of sight they pass, +And sings with joy, "Oh, peace forever!" + +_Third citizen_. So I say, neighbor! let them have their way, +Crack skulls and in their crazy riot +Turn all things upside down they may, +But leave us here in peace and quiet. + +_Old Woman_ [_to the citizen's daughter_]. +Heyday, brave prinking this! the fine young blood! +Who is not smitten that has met you?-- +But not so proud! All very good! +And what you want I'll promise soon to get you. + +_Citizen's Daughter_. Come, Agatha! I dread in public sight +To prattle with such hags; don't stay, O, Luddy! +'Tis true she showed me, on St. Andrew's night, +My future sweetheart in the body. + +_The other_. She showed me mine, too, in a glass, +Right soldierlike, with daring comrades round him. +I look all round, I study all that pass, +But to this hour I have not found him. + +_Soldiers_. Castles with lowering + Bulwarks and towers, + Maidens with towering + Passions and powers, + Both shall be ours! + Daring the venture, + Glorious the pay! + + When the brass trumpet + Summons us loudly, + Joy-ward or death-ward, + On we march proudly. + That is a storming! + + Life in its splendor! + Castles and maidens + Both must surrender. + Daring the venture, + Glorious the pay. + There go the soldiers + Marching away! + + + FAUST _and_ WAGNER. + +_Faust_. Spring's warm look has unfettered the fountains, +Brooks go tinkling with silvery feet; +Hope's bright blossoms the valley greet; +Weakly and sickly up the rough mountains +Pale old Winter has made his retreat. +Thence he launches, in sheer despite, +Sleet and hail in impotent showers, +O'er the green lawn as he takes his flight; +But the sun will suffer no white, +Everywhere waking the formative powers, +Living colors he yearns to spread; +Yet, as he finds it too early for flowers, +Gayly dressed people he takes instead. +Look from this height whereon we find us +Back to the town we have left behind us, +Where from the dark and narrow door +Forth a motley multitude pour. +They sun themselves gladly and all are gay, +They celebrate Christ's resurrection to-day. +For have not they themselves arisen? +From smoky huts and hovels and stables, +From labor's bonds and traffic's prison, +From the confinement of roofs and gables, +From many a cramping street and alley, +From churches full of the old world's night, +All have come out to the day's broad light. +See, only see! how the masses sally +Streaming and swarming through gardens and fields +How the broad stream that bathes the valley +Is everywhere cut with pleasure boats' keels, +And that last skiff, so heavily laden, +Almost to sinking, puts off in the stream; +Ribbons and jewels of youngster and maiden +From the far paths of the mountain gleam. +How it hums o'er the fields and clangs from the steeple! +This is the real heaven of the people, +Both great and little are merry and gay, +I am a man, too, I can be, to-day. + +_Wagner_. With you, Sir Doctor, to go out walking +Is at all times honor and gain enough; +But to trust myself here alone would be shocking, +For I am a foe to all that is rough. +Fiddling and bowling and screams and laughter +To me are the hatefullest noises on earth; +They yell as if Satan himself were after, +And call it music and call it mirth. + + [_Peasants (under the linden). Dance and song._] + +The shepherd prinked him for the dance, +With jacket gay and spangle's glance, +And all his finest quiddle. +And round the linden lass and lad +They wheeled and whirled and danced like mad. +Huzza! huzza! +Huzza! Ha, ha, ha! +And tweedle-dee went the fiddle. + +And in he bounded through the whirl, +And with his elbow punched a girl, +Heigh diddle, diddle! +The buxom wench she turned round quick, +"Now that I call a scurvy trick!" +Huzza! huzza! +Huzza! ha, ha, ha! +Tweedle-dee, tweedle-dee went the fiddle. + +And petticoats and coat-tails flew +As up and down they went, and through, +Across and down the middle. +They all grew red, they all grew warm, +And rested, panting, arm in arm, +Huzza! huzza! +Ta-ra-la! +Tweedle-dee went the fiddle! + +"And don't be so familiar there! +How many a one, with speeches fair, +His trusting maid will diddle!" +But still he flattered her aside-- +And from the linden sounded wide: +Huzza! huzza! +Huzza! huzza! ha! ha! ha! +And tweedle-dee the fiddle. + +_Old Peasant._ Sir Doctor, this is kind of you, +That with us here you deign to talk, +And through the crowd of folk to-day +A man so highly larned, walk. +So take the fairest pitcher here, +Which we with freshest drink have filled, +I pledge it to you, praying aloud +That, while your thirst thereby is stilled, +So many days as the drops it contains +May fill out the life that to you remains. + +_Faust._ I take the quickening draught and call +For heaven's best blessing on one and all. + + [_The people form a circle round him._] + +_Old Peasant._ Your presence with us, this glad day, +We take it very kind, indeed! +In truth we've found you long ere this +In evil days a friend in need! +Full many a one stands living here, +Whom, at death's door already laid, +Your father snatched from fever's rage, +When, by his skill, the plague he stayed. +You, a young man, we daily saw +Go with him to the pest-house then, +And many a corpse was carried forth, +But you came out alive again. +With a charmed life you passed before us, +Helped by the Helper watching o'er us. + +_All._ The well-tried man, and may he live, +Long years a helping hand to give! + +_Faust._ Bow down to Him on high who sends +His heavenly help and helping friends! + [_He goes on with_ WAGNER.] + +_Wagner._ What feelings, O great man, thy heart must swell +Thus to receive a people's veneration! +O worthy all congratulation, +Whose gifts to such advantage tell. +The father to his son shows thee with exultation, +All run and crowd and ask, the circle closer draws, +The fiddle stops, the dancers pause, +Thou goest--the lines fall back for thee. +They fling their gay-decked caps on high; +A little more and they would bow the knee +As if the blessed Host came by. + +_Faust._ A few steps further on, until we reach that stone; +There will we rest us from our wandering. +How oft in prayer and penance there alone, +Fasting, I sate, on holy mysteries pondering. +There, rich in hope, in faith still firm, +I've wept, sighed, wrung my hands and striven +This plague's removal to extort (poor worm!) +From the almighty Lord of Heaven. +The crowd's applause has now a scornful tone; +O couldst thou hear my conscience tell its story, +How little either sire or son +Has done to merit such a glory! +My father was a worthy man, confused +And darkened with his narrow lucubrations, +Who with a whimsical, though well-meant patience, +On Nature's holy circles mused. +Shut up in his black laboratory, +Experimenting without end, +'Midst his adepts, till he grew hoary, +He sought the opposing powers to blend. +Thus, a red lion,[11] a bold suitor, married +The silver lily, in the lukewarm bath, +And, from one bride-bed to another harried, +The two were seen to fly before the flaming wrath. +If then, with colors gay and splendid, +The glass the youthful queen revealed, +Here was the physic, death the patients' sufferings ended, +And no one asked, who then was healed? +Thus, with electuaries so satanic, +Worse than the plague with all its panic, +We rioted through hill and vale; +Myself, with my own hands, the drug to thousands giving, +They passed away, and I am living +To hear men's thanks the murderers hail! + +_Wagner._ Forbear! far other name that service merits! +Can a brave man do more or less +Than with nice conscientiousness +To exercise the calling he inherits? +If thou, as youth, thy father honorest, +To learn from him thou wilt desire; +If thou, as man, men with new light hast blest, +Then may thy son to loftier heights aspire. + +_Faust._ O blest! who hopes to find repose, +Up from this mighty sea of error diving! +Man cannot use what he already knows, +To use the unknown ever striving. +But let not such dark thoughts a shadow throw +O'er the bright joy this hour inspires! +See how the setting sun, with ruddy glow, +The green-embosomed hamlet fires! +He sinks and fades, the day is lived and gone, +He hastens forth new scenes of life to waken. +O for a wing to lift and bear me on, +And on, to where his last rays beckon! +Then should I see the world's calm breast +In everlasting sunset glowing, +The summits all on fire, each valley steeped in rest, +The silver brook to golden rivers flowing. +No savage mountain climbing to the skies +Should stay the godlike course with wild abysses; +And now the sea, with sheltering, warm recesses +Spreads out before the astonished eyes. +At last it seems as if the God were sinking; +But a new impulse fires the mind, +Onward I speed, his endless glory drinking, +The day before me and the night behind, +The heavens above my head and under me the ocean. +A lovely dream,--meanwhile he's gone from sight. +Ah! sure, no earthly wing, in swiftest flight, +May with the spirit's wings hold equal motion. +Yet has each soul an inborn feeling +Impelling it to mount and soar away, +When, lost in heaven's blue depths, the lark is pealing +High overhead her airy lay; +When o'er the mountain pine's black shadow, +With outspread wing the eagle sweeps, +And, steering on o'er lake and meadow, +The crane his homeward journey keeps. + +_Wagner._ I've had myself full many a wayward hour, +But never yet felt such a passion's power. +One soon grows tired of field and wood and brook, +I envy not the fowl of heaven his pinions. +Far nobler joy to soar through thought's dominions +From page to page, from book to book! +Ah! winter nights, so dear to mind and soul! +Warm, blissful life through all the limbs is thrilling, +And when thy hands unfold a genuine ancient scroll, +It seems as if all heaven the room were filling. + +_Faust_. One passion only has thy heart possessed; +The other, friend, O, learn it never! +Two souls, alas! are lodged in my wild breast, +Which evermore opposing ways endeavor, +The one lives only on the joys of time, +Still to the world with clamp-like organs clinging; +The other leaves this earthly dust and slime, +To fields of sainted sires up-springing. +O, are there spirits in the air, +That empire hold 'twixt earth's and heaven's dominions, +Down from your realm of golden haze repair, +Waft me to new, rich life, upon your rosy pinions! +Ay! were a magic mantle only mine, +To soar o'er earth's wide wildernesses, +I would not sell it for the costliest dresses, +Not for a royal robe the gift resign. + +_Wagner_. O, call them not, the well known powers of air, +That swarm through all the middle kingdom, weaving +Their fairy webs, with many a fatal snare +The feeble race of men deceiving. +First, the sharp spirit-tooth, from out the North, +And arrowy tongues and fangs come thickly flying; +Then from the East they greedily dart forth, +Sucking thy lungs, thy life-juice drying; +If from the South they come with fever thirst, +Upon thy head noon's fiery splendors heaping; +The Westwind brings a swarm, refreshing first, +Then all thy world with thee in stupor steeping. +They listen gladly, aye on mischief bent, +Gladly draw near, each weak point to espy, +They make believe that they from heaven are sent, +Whispering like angels, while they lie. +But let us go! The earth looks gray, my friend, +The air grows cool, the mists ascend! +At night we learn our homes to prize.-- +Why dost thou stop and stare with all thy eyes? +What can so chain thy sight there, in the gloaming? + +_Faust_. Seest thou that black dog through stalks and stubble roaming? + +_Wagner_. I saw him some time since, he seemed not strange to me. + +_Faust_. Look sharply! What dost take the beast to be? + +_Wagner_. For some poor poodle who has lost his master, +And, dog-like, scents him o'er the ground. + +_Faust_. Markst thou how, ever nearer, ever faster, +Towards us his spiral track wheels round and round? +And if my senses suffer no confusion, +Behind him trails a fiery glare. + +_Wagner_. 'Tis probably an optical illusion; +I still see only a black poodle there. + +_Faust_. He seems to me as he were tracing slyly +His magic rings our feet at last to snare. + +_Wagner_. To me he seems to dart around our steps so shyly, +As if he said: is one of them my master there? + +_Faust_. The circle narrows, he is near! + +_Wagner_. Thou seest! a dog we have, no spectre, here! +He growls and stops, crawls on his belly, too, +And wags his tail,--as all dogs do. + +_Faust_. Come here, sir! come, our comrade be! + +_Wagner_. He has a poodle's drollery. +Stand still, and he, too, waits to see; +Speak to him, and he jumps on thee; +Lose something, drop thy cane or sling it +Into the stream, he'll run and bring it. + +_Faust_. I think you're right; I trace no spirit here, +'Tis all the fruit of training, that is clear. + +_Wagner_. A well-trained dog is a great treasure, +Wise men in such will oft take pleasure. +And he deserves your favor and a collar, +He, of the students the accomplished scholar. + + [_They go in through the town gate._] + + + + + STUDY-CHAMBER. + + _Enter_ FAUST _with the_ POODLE. + + +I leave behind me field and meadow +Veiled in the dusk of holy night, +Whose ominous and awful shadow +Awakes the better soul to light. +To sleep are lulled the wild desires, +The hand of passion lies at rest; +The love of man the bosom fires, +The love of God stirs up the breast. + +Be quiet, poodle! what worrisome fiend hath possest thee, +Nosing and snuffling so round the door? +Go behind the stove there and rest thee, +There's my best pillow--what wouldst thou more? +As, out on the mountain-paths, frisking and leaping, +Thou, to amuse us, hast done thy best, +So now in return lie still in my keeping, +A quiet, contented, and welcome guest. + +When, in our narrow chamber, nightly, +The friendly lamp begins to burn, +Then in the bosom thought beams brightly, +Homeward the heart will then return. +Reason once more bids passion ponder, +Hope blooms again and smiles on man; +Back to life's rills he yearns to wander, +Ah! to the source where life began. + +Stop growling, poodle! In the music Elysian +That laps my soul at this holy hour, +These bestial noises have jarring power. +We know that men will treat with derision +Whatever they cannot understand, +At goodness and truth and beauty's vision +Will shut their eyes and murmur and howl at it; +And must the dog, too, snarl and growl at it? + +But ah, with the best will, I feel already, +No peace will well up in me, clear and steady. +But why must hope so soon deceive us, +And the dried-up stream in fever leave us? +For in this I have had a full probation. +And yet for this want a supply is provided, +To a higher than earth the soul is guided, +We are ready and yearn for revelation: +And where are its light and warmth so blent +As here in the New Testament? +I feel, this moment, a mighty yearning +To expound for once the ground text of all, +The venerable original +Into my own loved German honestly turning. + [_He opens the volume, and applies himself to the task_.] +"In the beginning was the _Word_." I read. +But here I stick! Who helps me to proceed? +The _Word_--so high I cannot--dare not, rate it, +I must, then, otherwise translate it, +If by the spirit I am rightly taught. +It reads: "In the beginning was the _thought_." +But study well this first line's lesson, +Nor let thy pen to error overhasten! +Is it the _thought_ does all from time's first hour? +"In the beginning," read then, "was the _power_." +Yet even while I write it down, my finger +Is checked, a voice forbids me there to linger. +The spirit helps! At once I dare to read +And write: "In the beginning was the _deed_." + +If I with thee must share my chamber, +Poodle, now, remember, +No more howling, +No more growling! +I had as lief a bull should bellow, +As have for a chum such a noisy fellow. +Stop that yell, now, +One of us must quit this cell now! +'Tis hard to retract hospitality, +But the door is open, thy way is free. +But what ails the creature? +Is this in the course of nature? +Is it real? or one of Fancy's shows? + +How long and broad my poodle grows! +He rises from the ground; +That is no longer the form of a hound! +Heaven avert the curse from us! +He looks like a hippopotamus, +With his fiery eyes and the terrible white +Of his grinning teeth! oh what a fright +Have I brought with me into the house! Ah now, +No mystery art thou! +Methinks for such half hellish brood +The key of Solomon were good. + +_Spirits_ [_in the passage_]. Softly! a fellow is caught there! + Keep back, all of you, follow him not there! + Like the fox in the trap, + Mourns the old hell-lynx his mishap. + But give ye good heed! + This way hover, that way hover, + Over and over, + And he shall right soon be freed. + Help can you give him, + O do not leave him! + Many good turns he's done us, + Many a fortune won us. + +_Faust_. First, to encounter the creature +By the spell of the Four, says the teacher: + Salamander shall glisten,[12] + Undina lapse lightly, + Sylph vanish brightly, + Kobold quick listen. + +He to whom Nature +Shows not, as teacher, +Every force +And secret source, +Over the spirits +No power inherits. + + Vanish in glowing + Flame, Salamander! + Inward, spirally flowing, + Gurgle, Undine! + Gleam in meteoric splendor, + Airy Queen! + Thy homely help render, + Incubus! Incubus! + Forth and end the charm for us! + +No kingdom of Nature +Resides in the creature. +He lies there grinning--'tis clear, my charm +Has done the monster no mite of harm. +I'll try, for thy curing, +Stronger adjuring. + + Art thou a jail-bird, + A runaway hell-bird? + This sign,[13] then--adore it! + They tremble before it + All through the dark dwelling. + +His hair is bristling--his body swelling. + + Reprobate creature! + Canst read his nature? + The Uncreated, + Ineffably Holy, + With Deity mated, + Sin's victim lowly? + +Driven behind the stove by my spells, +Like an elephant he swells; +He fills the whole room, so huge he's grown, +He waxes shadowy faster and faster. +Rise not up to the ceiling--down! +Lay thyself at the feet of thy master! +Thou seest, there's reason to dread my ire. +I'll scorch thee with the holy fire! +Wait not for the sight +Of the thrice-glowing light! +Wait not to feel the might +Of the potentest spell in all my treasure! + + + MEPHISTOPHELES. + [_As the mist sinks, steps forth from behind the stove, + dressed as a travelling scholasticus_.] +Why all this noise? What is your worship's pleasure? + +_Faust_. This was the poodle's essence then! +A travelling clark? Ha! ha! The casus is too funny. + +_Mephistopheles_. I bow to the most learned among men! +'Faith you did sweat me without ceremony. + +_Faust_. What is thy name? + +_Mephistopheles_. The question seems too small +For one who holds the _word_ so very cheaply, +Who, far removed from shadows all, +For substances alone seeks deeply. + +_Faust_. With gentlemen like him in my presence, +The name is apt to express the essence, +Especially if, when you inquire, +You find it God of flies,[14] Destroyer, Slanderer, Liar. +Well now, who art thou then? + +_Mephistopheles_. A portion of that power, +Which wills the bad and works the good at every hour. + +_Faust_. Beneath thy riddle-word what meaning lies? + +_Mephistopheles_. I am the spirit that denies! +And justly so; for all that time creates, +He does well who annihilates! +Better, it ne'er had had beginning; +And so, then, all that you call sinning, +Destruction,--all you pronounce ill-meant,-- +Is my original element. + +_Faust_. Thou call'st thyself a part, yet lookst complete to me. + +_Mephistopheles_. I speak the modest truth to thee. +A world of folly in one little soul, +_Man_ loves to think himself a whole; +Part of the part am I, which once was all, the Gloom +That brought forth Light itself from out her mighty womb, +The upstart proud, that now with mother Night +Disputes her ancient rank and space and right, +Yet never shall prevail, since, do whate'er he will, +He cleaves, a slave, to bodies still; +From bodies flows, makes bodies fair to sight; +A body in his course can check him, +His doom, I therefore hope, will soon o'ertake him, +With bodies merged in nothingness and night. + +_Faust_. Ah, now I see thy high vocation! +In gross thou canst not harm creation, +And so in small hast now begun. + +_Mephistopheles_. And, truth to tell, e'en here, not much have done. +That which at nothing the gauntlet has hurled, +This, what's its name? this clumsy world, +So far as I have undertaken, +I have to own, remains unshaken +By wave, storm, earthquake, fiery brand. +Calm, after all, remain both sea and land. +And the damn'd living fluff, of man and beast the brood, +It laughs to scorn my utmost power. +I've buried myriads by the hour, +And still there circulates each hour a new, fresh blood. +It were enough to drive one to distraction! +Earth, water, air, in constant action, +Through moist and dry, through warm and cold, +Going forth in endless germination! +Had I not claimed of fire a reservation, +Not one thing I alone should hold. + +_Faust_. Thus, with the ever-working power +Of good dost thou in strife persist, +And in vain malice, to this hour, +Clenchest thy cold and devilish fist! +Go try some other occupation, +Singular son of Chaos, thou! + +_Mephistopheles_. We'll give the thing consideration, +When next we meet again! But now +Might I for once, with leave retire? + +_Faust_. Why thou shouldst ask I do not see. +Now that I know thee, when desire +Shall prompt thee, freely visit me. +Window and door give free admission. +At least there's left the chimney flue. + +_Mephistopheles_. Let me confess there's one small prohibition + +Lies on thy threshold, 'gainst my walking through, +The wizard-foot--[15] + +_Faust_. Does that delay thee? +The Pentagram disturbs thee? Now, +Come tell me, son of hell, I pray thee, +If that spell-binds thee, then how enteredst thou? +_Thou_ shouldst proceed more circumspectly! + +_Mephistopheles_. Mark well! the figure is not drawn correctly; +One of the angles, 'tis the outer one, +Is somewhat open, dost perceive it? + +_Faust_. That was a lucky hit, believe it! +And I have caught thee then? Well done! +'Twas wholly chance--I'm quite astounded! + +_Mephistopheles_. The _poodle_ took no heed, +as through the door he bounded; +The case looks differently now; +The _devil_ can leave the house no-how. + +_Faust_. The window offers free emission. + +_Mephistopheles_. Devils and ghosts are bound by this condition: + +The way they entered in, they must come out. Allow +In the first clause we're free, yet not so in the second. + +_Faust_. In hell itself, then, laws are reckoned? +Now that I like; so then, one may, in fact, +Conclude a binding compact with you gentry? + +_Mephistopheles_. Whatever promise on our books finds entry, +We strictly carry into act. +But hereby hangs a grave condition, +Of this we'll talk when next we meet; +But for the present I entreat +Most urgently your kind dismission. + +_Faust_. Do stay but just one moment longer, then, +Tell me good news and I'll release thee. + +_Mephistopheles_. Let me go now! I'll soon come back again, +Then may'st thou ask whate'er shall please thee. + +_Faust_. I laid no snare for thee, old chap! +Thou shouldst have watched and saved thy bacon. +Who has the devil in his trap +Must hold him fast, next time he'll not so soon be taken. + +_Mephistopheles_. Well, if it please thee, I'm content to stay +For company, on one condition, +That I, for thy amusement, may +To exercise my arts have free permission. + +_Faust_. I gladly grant it, if they be +Not disagreeable to me. + +_Mephistopheles_. Thy senses, friend, in this one hour +Shall grasp the world with clearer power +Than in a year's monotony. +The songs the tender spirits sing thee, +The lovely images they bring thee +Are not an idle magic play. +Thou shalt enjoy the daintiest savor, +Then feast thy taste on richest flavor, +Then thy charmed heart shall melt away. +Come, all are here, and all have been +Well trained and practised, now begin! + +_Spirits_. Vanish, ye gloomy + Vaulted abysses! + Tenderer, clearer, + Friendlier, nearer, + Ether, look through! + O that the darkling + Cloud-piles were riven! + Starlight is sparkling, + Purer is heaven, + Holier sunshine + Softens the blue. + Graces, adorning + Sons of the morning-- + Shadowy wavings-- + Float along over; + Yearnings and cravings + After them hover. + Garments ethereal, + Tresses aerial, + Float o'er the flowers, + Float o'er the bowers, + Where, with deep feeling, + Thoughtful and tender, + Lovers, embracing, + Life-vows are sealing. + Bowers on bowers! + Graceful and slender + Vines interlacing! + Purple and blushing, + Under the crushing + Wine-presses gushing, + Grape-blood, o'erflowing, + Down over gleaming + Precious stones streaming, + Leaves the bright glowing + Tops of the mountains, + Leaves the red fountains, + Widening and rushing, + Till it encloses + Green hills all flushing, + Laden with roses. + Happy ones, swarming, + Ply their swift pinions, + Glide through the charming + Airy dominions, + Sunward still fleering, + Onward, where peering + Far o'er the ocean, + Islets are dancing + With an entrancing, + Magical motion; + Hear them, in chorus, + Singing high o'er us; + Over the meadows + Flit the bright shadows; + Glad eyes are glancing, + Tiny feet dancing. + Up the high ridges + Some of them clamber, + Others are skimming + Sky-lakes of amber, + Others are swimming + Over the ocean;-- + All are in motion, + Life-ward all yearning, + Longingly turning + To the far-burning + Star-light of bliss. + +_Mephistopheles_. He sleeps! Ye airy, tender youths, your numbers +Have sung him into sweetest slumbers! +You put me greatly in your debt by this. +Thou art not yet the man that shall hold fast the devil! +Still cheat his senses with your magic revel, +Drown him in dreams of endless youth; +But this charm-mountain on the sill to level, +I need, O rat, thy pointed tooth! +Nor need I conjure long, they're near me, +E'en now comes scampering one, who presently will hear me. + +The sovereign lord of rats and mice, +Of flies and frogs and bugs and lice, +Commands thee to come forth this hour, +And gnaw this threshold with great power, +As he with oil the same shall smear-- +Ha! with a skip e'en now thou'rt here! +But brisk to work! The point by which I'm cowered, +Is on the ledge, the farthest forward. +Yet one more bite, the deed is done.-- +Now, Faust, until we meet again, dream on! + +_Faust_. [_Waking_.] Again has witchcraft triumphed o'er me? +Was it a ghostly show, so soon withdrawn? +I dream, the devil stands himself before me--wake, to find a poodle gone! + + + + + STUDY-CHAMBER. + + FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES. + + +_Faust_. A knock? Walk in! Who comes again to tease me? + +_Mephistopheles_. 'Tis I. + +_Faust_. Come in! + +_Mephistopheles_. Must say it thrice, to please me. + +_Faust_. Come in then! + +_Mephistopheles_. That I like to hear. +We shall, I hope, bear with each other; +For to dispel thy crotchets, brother, +As a young lord, I now appear, +In scarlet dress, trimmed with gold lacing, +A stiff silk cloak with stylish facing, +A tall cock's feather in my hat, +A long, sharp rapier to defend me, +And I advise thee, short and flat, +In the same costume to attend me; +If thou wouldst, unembarrassed, see +What sort of thing this life may be. + +_Faust_. In every dress I well may feel the sore +Of this low earth-life's melancholy. +I am too old to live for folly, +Too young, to wish for nothing more. +Am I content with all creation? +Renounce! renounce! Renunciation-- +Such is the everlasting song +That in the ears of all men rings, +Which every hour, our whole life long, +With brazen accents hoarsely sings. +With terror I behold each morning's light, +With bitter tears my eyes are filling, +To see the day that shall not in its flight +Fulfil for me one wish, not one, but killing +Every presentiment of zest +With wayward skepticism, chases +The fair creations from my breast +With all life's thousand cold grimaces. +And when at night I stretch me on my bed +And darkness spreads its shadow o'er me; +No rest comes then anigh my weary head, +Wild dreams and spectres dance before me. +The God who dwells within my soul +Can heave its depths at any hour; +Who holds o'er all my faculties control +Has o'er the outer world no power; +Existence lies a load upon my breast, +Life is a curse and death a long'd-for rest. + +_Mephistopheles_. And yet death never proves a wholly welcome guest. + +_Faust_. O blest! for whom, when victory's joy fire blazes, +Death round his brow the bloody laurel windeth, +Whom, weary with the dance's mazes, +He on a maiden's bosom findeth. +O that, beneath the exalted spirit's power, +I had expired, in rapture sinking! + +_Mephistopheles_. And yet I knew one, in a midnight hour, +Who a brown liquid shrank from drinking. + +_Faust_. Eaves-dropping seems a favorite game with thee. + +_Mephistopheles_. Omniscient am I not; yet much is known to me. + +_Faust_. Since that sweet tone, with fond appealing, +Drew me from witchcraft's horrid maze, +And woke the lingering childlike feeling +With harmonies of happier days; +My curse on all the mock-creations +That weave their spell around the soul, +And bind it with their incantations +And orgies to this wretched hole! +Accursed be the high opinion +Hugged by the self-exalting mind! +Accursed all the dream-dominion +That makes the dazzled senses blind! +Curs'd be each vision that befools us, +Of fame, outlasting earthly life! +Curs'd all that, as possession, rules us, +As house and barn, as child and wife! +Accurs'd be mammon, when with treasure +He fires our hearts for deeds of might, +When, for a dream of idle pleasure, +He makes our pillow smooth and light! +Curs'd be the grape-vine's balsam-juices! +On love's high grace my curses fall! +On faith! On hope that man seduces, +On patience last, not least, of all! + +_Choir of spirits_. [_Invisible_.] Woe! Woe! + Thou hast ground it to dust, + The beautiful world, + With mighty fist; + To ruins 'tis hurled; + A demi-god's blow hath done it! + A moment we look upon it, + Then carry (sad duty!) + The fragments over into nothingness, + With tears unavailing + Bewailing + All the departed beauty. + Lordlier + Than all sons of men, + Proudlier + Build it again, + Build it up in thy breast anew! + A fresh career pursue, + Before thee + A clearer view, + And, from the Empyréan, + A new-born Paean + Shall greet thee, too! + +_Mephistopheles_. Be pleased to admire + My juvenile choir! + Hear how they counsel in manly measure + Action and pleasure! + Out into life, + Its joy and strife, + Away from this lonely hole, + Where senses and soul + Rot in stagnation, + Calls thee their high invitation. + +Give over toying with thy sorrow +Which like a vulture feeds upon thy heart; +Thou shalt, in the worst company, to-morrow +Feel that with men a man thou art. +Yet I do not exactly intend +Among the canaille to plant thee. +I'm none of your magnates, I grant thee; +Yet if thou art willing, my friend, +Through life to jog on beside me, +Thy pleasure in all things shall guide me, +To thee will I bind me, +A friend thou shalt find me, +And, e'en to the grave, +Shalt make me thy servant, make me thy slave! + +_Faust_. And in return what service shall I render? + +_Mephistopheles_. There's ample grace--no hurry, not the least. + +_Faust_. No, no, the devil is an egotist, +And does not easily "for God's sake" tender +That which a neighbor may assist. +Speak plainly the conditions, come! +'Tis dangerous taking such a servant home. + +_Mephistopheles_. I to thy service _here_ agree to bind me, +To run and never rest at call of thee; +When _over yonder_ thou shalt find me, +Then thou shalt do as much for me. + +_Faust_. I care not much what's over yonder: +When thou hast knocked this world asunder, +Come if it will the other may! +Up from this earth my pleasures all are streaming, +Down on my woes this earthly sun is beaming; +Let me but end this fit of dreaming, +Then come what will, I've nought to say. +I'll hear no more of barren wonder +If in that world they hate and love, +And whether in that future yonder +There's a Below and an Above. + +_Mephistopheles._ In such a mood thou well mayst venture. +Bind thyself to me, and by this indenture +Thou shalt enjoy with relish keen +Fruits of my arts that man had never seen. + +_Faust_. And what hast thou to give, poor devil? +Was e'er a human mind, upon its lofty level, +Conceived of by the like of thee? +Yet hast thou food that brings satiety, +Not satisfaction; gold that reftlessly, +Like quicksilver, melts down within +The hands; a game in which men never win; +A maid that, hanging on my breast, +Ogles a neighbor with her wanton glances; +Of fame the glorious godlike zest, +That like a short-lived meteor dances-- +Show me the fruit that, ere it's plucked, will rot, +And trees from which new green is daily peeping! + +_Mephistopheles_. Such a requirement scares me not; +Such treasures have I in my keeping. +Yet shall there also come a time, good friend, +When we may feast on good things at our leisure. + +_Faust_. If e'er I lie content upon a lounge of pleasure-- +Then let there be of me an end! +When thou with flattery canst cajole me, +Till I self-satisfied shall be, +When thou with pleasure canst befool me, +Be that the last of days for me! +I lay the wager! + +_Mephistopheles_. Done! + +_Faust_. And heartily! +Whenever to the passing hour +I cry: O stay! thou art so fair! +To chain me down I give thee power +To the black bottom of despair! +Then let my knell no longer linger, +Then from my service thou art free, +Fall from the clock the index-finger, +Be time all over, then, for me! + +_Mephistopheles_. Think well, for we shall hold you to the letter. + +_Faust_. Full right to that just now I gave; +I spoke not as an idle braggart better. +Henceforward I remain a slave, +What care I who puts on the setter? + +_Mephistopheles_. I shall this very day, at Doctor's-feast,[16] +My bounden service duly pay thee. +But one thing!--For insurance' sake, I pray thee, +Grant me a line or two, at least. + +_Faust_. Pedant! will writing gain thy faith, alone? +In all thy life, no man, nor man's word hast thou known? +Is't not enough that I the fatal word +That passes on my future days have spoken? +The world-stream raves and rushes (hast not heard?) +And shall a promise hold, unbroken? +Yet this delusion haunts the human breast, +Who from his soul its roots would sever? +Thrice happy in whose heart pure truth finds rest. +No sacrifice shall he repent of ever! +But from a formal, written, sealed attest, +As from a spectre, all men shrink forever. +The word and spirit die together, +Killed by the sight of wax and leather. +What wilt thou, evil sprite, from me? +Brass, marble, parchment, paper, shall it be? +Shall I subscribe with pencil, pen or graver? +Among them all thy choice is free. + +_Mephistopheles_. This rhetoric of thine to me +Hath a somewhat bombastic savor. +Any small scrap of paper's good. +Thy signature will need a single drop of blood.[17] + +_Faust_. If this will satisfy thy mood, +I will consent thy whim to favor. + +_Mephistopheles._ Quite a peculiar juice is blood. + +_Faust_. Fear not that I shall break this bond; O, never! +My promise, rightly understood, +Fulfils my nature's whole endeavor. +I've puffed myself too high, I see; +To _thy_ rank only I belong. +The Lord of Spirits scorneth me, +Nature, shut up, resents the wrong. +The thread of thought is snapt asunder, +All science to me is a stupid blunder. +Let us in sensuality's deep +Quench the passions within us blazing! +And, the veil of sorcery raising, +Wake each miracle from its long sleep! +Plunge we into the billowy dance, +The rush and roll of time and chance! +Then may pleasure and distress, +Disappointment and success, +Follow each other as fast as they will; +Man's restless activity flourishes still. + +_Mephistopheles_. No bound or goal is set to you; +Where'er you like to wander sipping, +And catch a tit-bit in your skipping, +Eschew all coyness, just fall to, +And may you find a good digestion! + +_Faust_. Now, once for all, pleasure is not the question. +I'm sworn to passion's whirl, the agony of bliss, +The lover's hate, the sweets of bitterness. +My heart, no more by pride of science driven, +Shall open wide to let each sorrow enter, +And all the good that to man's race is given, +I will enjoy it to my being's centre, +Through life's whole range, upward and downward sweeping, +Their weal and woe upon my bosom heaping, +Thus in my single self their selves all comprehending +And with them in a common shipwreck ending. + +_Mephistopheles_. O trust me, who since first I fell from heaven, +Have chewed this tough meat many a thousand year, +No man digests the ancient leaven, +No mortal, from the cradle to the bier. +Trust one of _us_--the _whole_ creation +To God alone belongs by right; +_He_ has in endless day his habitation, +_Us_ He hath made for utter night, +_You_ for alternate dark and light. + +_Faust_. But then I _will!_ + +_Mephistopheles_. Now that's worth hearing! +But one thing haunts me, the old song, +That time is short and art is long. +You need some slight advice, I'm fearing. +Take to you one of the poet-feather, +Let the gentleman's thought, far-sweeping, +Bring all the noblest traits together, +On your one crown their honors heaping, +The lion's mood +The stag's rapidity, +The fiery blood of Italy, +The Northman's hardihood. +Bid him teach thee the art of combining +Greatness of soul with fly designing, +And how, with warm and youthful passion, +To fall in love by plan and fashion. +Should like, myself, to come across 'm, +Would name him Mr. Microcosm. + +_Faust_. What am I then? if that for which my heart +Yearns with invincible endeavor, +The crown of man, must hang unreached forever? + +_Mephistopheles_. Thou art at last--just what thou art. +Pile perukes on thy head whose curls cannot be counted, +On yard-high buskins let thy feet be mounted, +Still thou art only what thou art. + +_Faust_. Yes, I have vainly, let me not deny it, +Of human learning ransacked all the stores, +And when, at last, I set me down in quiet, +There gushes up within no new-born force; +I am not by a hair's-breadth higher, +Am to the Infinite no nigher. + +_Mephistopheles_. My worthy sir, you see the matter +As people generally see; +But we must learn to take things better, +Before life pleasures wholly flee. +The deuce! thy head and all that's in it, +Hands, feet and ------ are thine; +What I enjoy with zest each minute, +Is surely not the less mine? +If I've six horses in my span, +Is it not mine, their every power? +I fly along as an undoubted man, +On four and twenty legs the road I scour. +Cheer up, then! let all thinking be, +And out into the world with me! +I tell thee, friend, a speculating churl +Is like a beast, some evil spirit chases +Along a barren heath in one perpetual whirl, +While round about lie fair, green pasturing places. + +_Faust_. But how shall we begin? + +_Mephistopheles_. We sally forth e'en now. +What martyrdom endurest thou! +What kind of life is this to be living, +Ennui to thyself and youngsters giving? +Let Neighbor Belly that way go! +To stay here threshing straw why car'st thou? +The best that thou canst think and know +To tell the boys not for the whole world dar'st thou. +E'en now I hear one in the entry. + +_Faust_. I have no heart the youth to see. + +_Mephistopheles_. The poor boy waits there like a sentry, +He shall not want a word from me. +Come, give me, now, thy robe and bonnet; +This mask will suit me charmingly. + [_He puts them on_.] +Now for my wit--rely upon it! +'Twill take but fifteen minutes, I am sure. +Meanwhile prepare thyself to make the pleasant tour! + + [_Exit_ FAUST.] + +_Mephistopheles [in_ FAUST'S _long gown_]. +Only despise all human wit and lore, +The highest flights that thought can soar-- +Let but the lying spirit blind thee, +And with his spells of witchcraft bind thee, +Into my snare the victim creeps.-- +To him has destiny a spirit given, +That unrestrainedly still onward sweeps, +To scale the skies long since hath striven, +And all earth's pleasures overleaps. +He shall through life's wild scenes be driven, +And through its flat unmeaningness, +I'll make him writhe and stare and stiffen, +And midst all sensual excess, +His fevered lips, with thirst all parched and riven, +Insatiably shall haunt refreshment's brink; +And had he not, himself, his soul to Satan given, +Still must he to perdition sink! + + [_Enter_ A SCHOLAR.] + +_Scholar_. I have but lately left my home, +And with profound submission come, +To hold with one some conversation +Whom all men name with veneration. + +_Mephistopheles._ Your courtesy greatly flatters me +A man like many another you see. +Have you made any applications elsewhere? + +_Scholar_. Let me, I pray, your teachings share! +With all good dispositions I come, +A fresh young blood and money some; +My mother would hardly hear of my going; +But I long to learn here something worth knowing. + +_Mephistopheles_. You've come to the very place for it, then. + +_Scholar_. Sincerely, could wish I were off again: +My soul already has grown quite weary +Of walls and halls, so dark and dreary, +The narrowness oppresses me. +One sees no green thing, not a tree. +On the lecture-seats, I know not what ails me, +Sight, hearing, thinking, every thing fails me. + +_Mephistopheles_. 'Tis all in use, we daily see. +The child takes not the mother's breast +In the first instance willingly, +But soon it feeds itself with zest. +So you at wisdom's breast your pleasure +Will daily find in growing measure. + +_Scholar_. I'll hang upon her neck, a raptured wooer, +But only tell me, who shall lead me to her? + +_Mephistopheles_. Ere you go further, give your views +As to which faculty you choose? + +_Scholar_. To be right learn'd I've long desired, +And of the natural world aspired +To have a perfect comprehension +In this and in the heavenly sphere. + +_Mephistopheles_. I see you're on the right track here; +But you'll have to give undivided attention. + +_Scholar_. My heart and soul in the work'll be found; +Only, of course, it would give me pleasure, +When summer holidays come round, +To have for amusement a little leisure. + +_Mephistopheles_. Use well the precious time, it flips away so, +Yet method gains you time, if I may say so. +I counsel you therefore, my worthy friend, +The logical leisures first to attend. +Then is your mind well trained and cased +In Spanish boots,[18] all snugly laced, +So that henceforth it can creep ahead +On the road of thought with a cautious tread. +And not at random shoot and strike, +Zig-zagging Jack-o'-lanthorn-like. +Then will you many a day be taught +That what you once to do had thought +Like eating and drinking, extempore, +Requires the rule of one, two, three. +It is, to be sure, with the fabric of thought, +As with the _chef d'œuvre_ by weavers wrought, +Where a thousand threads one treadle plies, +Backward and forward the shuttles keep going, +Invisibly the threads keep flowing, +One stroke a thousand fastenings ties: +Comes the philosopher and cries: +I'll show you, it could not be otherwise: +The first being so, the second so, +The third and fourth must of course be so; +And were not the first and second, you see, +The third and fourth could never be. +The scholars everywhere call this clever, +But none have yet become weavers ever. +Whoever will know a live thing and expound it, +First kills out the spirit it had when he found it, +And then the parts are all in his hand, +Minus only the spiritual band! +Encheiresin naturæ's[19] the chemical name, +By which dunces themselves unwittingly shame. + +_Scholar_. Cannot entirely comprehend you. + +_Mephistopheles_. Better success will shortly attend you, +When you learn to analyze all creation +And give it a proper classification. + +_Scholar_. I feel as confused by all you've said, +As if 'twere a mill-wheel going round in my head! + +_Mephistopheles_. The next thing most important to mention, +Metaphysics will claim your attention! +There see that you can clearly explain +What fits not into the human brain: +For that which will not go into the head, +A pompous word will stand you in stead. +But, this half-year, at least, observe +From regularity never to swerve. +You'll have five lectures every day; +Be in at the stroke of the bell I pray! +And well prepared in every part; +Study each paragraph by heart, +So that you scarce may need to look +To see that he says no more than's in the book; +And when he dictates, be at your post, +As if you wrote for the Holy Ghost! + +_Scholar_. That caution is unnecessary! +I know it profits one to write, +For what one has in black and white, +He to his home can safely carry. + +_Mephistopheles_. But choose some faculty, I pray! + +_Scholar_. I feel a strong dislike to try the legal college. + +_Mephistopheles_. I cannot blame you much, I must acknowledge. +I know how this profession stands to-day. +Statutes and laws through all the ages +Like a transmitted malady you trace; +In every generation still it rages +And softly creeps from place to place. +Reason is nonsense, right an impudent suggestion; +Alas for thee, that thou a grandson art! +Of inborn law in which each man has part, +Of that, unfortunately, there's no question. + +_Scholar_. My loathing grows beneath your speech. +O happy he whom you shall teach! +To try theology I'm almost minded. + +_Mephistopheles_. I must not let you by zeal be blinded. +This is a science through whose field +Nine out of ten in the wrong road will blunder, +And in it so much poison lies concealed, +That mould you this mistake for physic, no great wonder. +Here also it were best, if only one you heard +And swore to that one master's word. +Upon the whole--words only heed you! +These through the temple door will lead you +Safe to the shrine of certainty. + +_Scholar_. Yet in the word a thought must surely be. + +_Mephistopheles_. All right! But one must not perplex himself about it; +For just where one must go without it, +The word comes in, a friend in need, to thee. +With words can one dispute most featly, +With words build up a system neatly, +In words thy faith may stand unshaken, +From words there can be no iota taken. + +_Scholar_. Forgive my keeping you with many questions, +Yet must I trouble you once more, +Will you not give me, on the score +Of medicine, some brief suggestions? +Three years are a short time, O God! +And then the field is quite too broad. +If one had only before his nose +Something else as a hint to follow!-- + +_Mephistopheles_ [_aside_]. I'm heartily tired of this dry prose, +Must play the devil again out hollow. + [_Aloud_.] +The healing art is quickly comprehended; +Through great and little world you look abroad, +And let it wag, when all is ended, +As pleases God. +Vain is it that your science sweeps the skies, +Each, after all, learns only what he can; +Who grasps the moment as it flies +He is the real man. +Your person somewhat takes the eye, +Boldness you'll find an easy science, +And if you on yourself rely, +Others on you will place reliance. +In the women's good graces seek first to be seated; +Their oh's and ah's, well known of old, +So thousand-fold, +Are all from a single point to be treated; +Be decently modest and then with ease +You may get the blind side of them when you please. +A title, first, their confidence must waken, +That _your_ art many another art transcends, +Then may you, lucky man, on all those trifles reckon +For which another years of groping spends: +Know how to press the little pulse that dances, +And fearlessly, with sly and fiery glances, +Clasp the dear creatures round the waist +To see how tightly they are laced. + +_Scholar_. This promises! One loves the How and Where to see! + +_Mephistopheles_. Gray, worthy friend, is all your theory +And green the golden tree of life. + +_Scholar_. I seem, +I swear to you, like one who walks in dream. +Might I another time, without encroaching, +Hear you the deepest things of wisdom broaching? + +_Mephistopheles_. So far as I have power, you may. + +_Scholar_. I cannot tear myself away, +Till I to you my album have presented. +Grant me one line and I'm contented! + +_Mephistopheles_. With pleasure. + [_Writes and returns it_.] + +_Scholar [reads]._ Eritis sicut Deus, scientes bonum et malum. + [_Shuts it reverently, and bows himself out_.] + +_Mephistopheles_. +Let but the brave old saw and my aunt, the serpent, guide thee, +And, with thy likeness to God, shall woe one day betide thee! + +_Faust [enters_]. Which way now shall we go? + +_Mephistopheles_. Which way it pleases thee. +The little world and then the great we see. +O with what gain, as well as pleasure, +Wilt thou the rollicking cursus measure! + +_Faust_. I fear the easy life and free +With my long beard will scarce agree. +'Tis vain for me to think of succeeding, +I never could learn what is called good-breeding. +In the presence of others I feel so small; +I never can be at my ease at all. + +_Mephistopheles_. Dear friend, vain trouble to yourself you're giving; +Whence once you trust yourself, you know the art of living. + +_Faust_. But how are we to start, I pray? +Where are thy servants, coach and horses? + +_Mephistopheles_. We spread the mantle, and away +It bears us on our airy courses. +But, on this bold excursion, thou +Must take no great portmanteau now. +A little oxygen, which I will soon make ready, +From earth uplifts us, quick and steady. +And if we're light, we'll soon surmount the sphere; +I give thee hearty joy in this thy new career. + + + + + AUERBACH'S CELLAR IN LEIPSIC.[20] + + _Carousal of Jolly Companions_. + + +_Frosch_.[21] Will nobody drink? Stop those grimaces! +I'll teach you how to be cutting your faces! +Laugh out! You're like wet straw to-day, +And blaze, at other times, like dry hay. + +_Brander_. 'Tis all your fault; no food for fun you bring, +Not a nonsensical nor nasty thing. + +_Frosch [dashes a glass of wine over his bead_]. There you have both! + +_Brander_. You hog twice o'er! + +_Frosch_. You wanted it, what would you more? + +_Siebel_ Out of the door with them that brawl! +Strike up a round; swill, shout there, one and all! +Wake up! Hurra! + +_Altmayer_. Woe's me, I'm lost! Bring cotton! +The rascal splits my ear-drum. + +_Siebel_. Only shout on! +When all the arches ring and yell, +Then does the base make felt its true ground-swell. + +_Frosch_. That's right, just throw him out, who undertakes to fret! +A! tara! lara da! + +_Altmayer_. A! tara! lara da! + +_Frosch_. Our whistles all are wet. + [_Sings_.] + The dear old holy Romish realm, + What holds it still together? + +_Brander_. A sorry song! Fie! a political song! +A tiresome song! Thank God each morning therefor, +That you have not the Romish realm to care for! +At least I count it a great gain that He +Kaiser nor chancellor has made of me. +E'en we can't do without a head, however; +To choose a pope let us endeavour. +You know what qualification throws +The casting vote and the true man shows. + +_Frosch [sings_]. + Lady Nightingale, upward soar, + Greet me my darling ten thousand times o'er. + +_Siebel_. No greetings to that girl! Who does so, I resent it! + +_Frosch_. A greeting and a kiss! And you will not prevent it! + [_Sings.]_ + Draw the bolts! the night is clear. + Draw the bolts! Love watches near. + Close the bolts! the dawn is here. + +_Siebel_. Ay, sing away and praise and glorify your dear! +Soon I shall have my time for laughter. +The jade has jilted me, and will you too hereafter; +May Kobold, for a lover, be her luck! +At night may he upon the cross-way meet her; +Or, coming from the Blocksberg, some old buck +May, as he gallops by, a good-night bleat her! +A fellow fine of real flesh and blood +Is for the wench a deal too good. +She'll get from me but one love-token, +That is to have her window broken! + +_Brander [striking on the table_]. Attend! attend! To me give ear! +I know what's life, ye gents, confess it: +We've lovesick people sitting near, +And it is proper they should hear +A good-night strain as well as I can dress it. +Give heed! And hear a bran-new song! +Join in the chorus loud and strong! + [_He sings_.] + A rat in the cellar had built his nest, + He daily grew sleeker and smoother, + He lined his paunch from larder and chest, + And was portly as Doctor Luther. + The cook had set him poison one day; + From that time forward he pined away + As if he had love in his body. + +_Chorus [flouting_]. As if he had love in his body. + +_Brander_. He raced about with a terrible touse, + From all the puddles went swilling, + He gnawed and he scratched all over the house, + His pain there was no stilling; + He made full many a jump of distress, + And soon the poor beast got enough, I guess, + As if he had love in his body. + +_Chorus_. As if he had love in his body. + +_Brander_. With pain he ran, in open day, + Right up into the kitchen; + He fell on the hearth and there he lay + Gasping and moaning and twitchin'. + Then laughed the poisoner: "He! he! he! + He's piping on the last hole," said she, + "As if he had love in his body." + +_Chorus_. As if he had love in his body. + +_Siebel_. Just hear now how the ninnies giggle! +That's what I call a genuine art, +To make poor rats with poison wriggle! + +_Brander_. You take their case so much to heart? + +_Altmayer_. The bald pate and the butter-belly! +The sad tale makes him mild and tame; +He sees in the swollen rat, poor fellow! +His own true likeness set in a frame. + + + FAUST _and_ MEPHISTOPHELES. + +_Mephistopheles_. Now, first of all, 'tis necessary +To show you people making merry, +That you may see how lightly life can run. +Each day to this small folk's a feast of fun; +Not over-witty, self-contented, +Still round and round in circle-dance they whirl, +As with their tails young kittens twirl. +If with no headache they're tormented, +Nor dunned by landlord for his pay, +They're careless, unconcerned, and gay. + +_Brander_. They're fresh from travel, one might know it, +Their air and manner plainly show it; +They came here not an hour ago. + +_Frosch_. Thou verily art right! My Leipsic well I know! +Paris in small it is, and cultivates its people. + +_Siebel_. What do the strangers seem to thee? + +_Frosch_. Just let me go! When wine our friendship mellows, +Easy as drawing a child's tooth 'twill be +To worm their secrets out of these two fellows. +They're of a noble house, I dare to swear, +They have a proud and discontented air. + +_Brander_. They're mountebanks, I'll bet a dollar! + +_Altmayer_. Perhaps. + +_Frosch_. I'll smoke them, mark you that! + +_Mephistopheles_ [_to Faust_]. These people never smell the old rat, +E'en when he has them by the collar. + +_Faust_. Fair greeting to you, sirs! + +_Siebel_. The same, and thanks to boot. + [_In a low tone, faking a side look at MEPHISTOPHELES_.] +Why has the churl one halting foot? + +_Mephistopheles_. With your permission, shall we make one party? +Instead of a good drink, which get here no one can, +Good company must make us hearty. + +_Altmayer_. You seem a very fastidious man. + +_Frosch_. I think you spent some time at Rippach[22] lately? +You supped with Mister Hans not long since, I dare say? + +_Mephistopheles_. We passed him on the road today! +Fine man! it grieved us parting with him, greatly. +He'd much to say to us about his cousins, +And sent to each, through us, his compliments by dozens. + [_He bows to_ FROSCH.] + +_Altmayer_ [_softly_]. You've got it there! he takes! + +_Siebel_. The chap don't want for wit! + +_Frosch_. I'll have him next time, wait a bit! + +_Mephistopheles_. If I mistook not, didn't we hear +Some well-trained voices chorus singing? +'Faith, music must sound finely here. +From all these echoing arches ringing! + +_Frosch_. You are perhaps a connoisseur? + +_Mephistopheles_. O no! my powers are small, I'm but an amateur. + +_Altmayer_. Give us a song! + +_Mephistopheles_. As many's you desire. + +_Siebel_. But let it be a bran-new strain! + +_Mephistopheles_. No fear of that! We've just come back from Spain, +The lovely land of wine and song and lyre. + [_Sings_.] + There was a king, right stately, + Who had a great, big flea,-- + +_Frosch_. Hear him! A flea! D'ye take there, boys? A flea! +I call that genteel company. + +_Mephistopheles_ [_resumes_]. There was a king, right stately, + Who had a great, big flea, + And loved him very greatly, + As if his own son were he. + He called the knight of stitches; + The tailor came straightway: + Ho! measure the youngster for breeches, + And make him a coat to-day! + +_Brander_. But don't forget to charge the knight of stitches, +The measure carefully to take, +And, as he loves his precious neck, +To leave no wrinkles in the breeches. + +_Mephistopheles_. In silk and velvet splendid + The creature now was drest, + To his coat were ribbons appended, + A cross was on his breast. + He had a great star on his collar, + Was a minister, in short; + And his relatives, greater and smaller, + Became great people at court. + + The lords and ladies of honor + Fared worse than if they were hung, + The queen, she got them upon her, + And all were bitten and stung, + And did not dare to attack them, + Nor scratch, but let them stick. + We choke them and we crack them + The moment we feel one prick. + +_Chorus_ [_loud_]. We choke 'em and we crack 'em +The moment we feel one prick. + +_Frosch_. Bravo! Bravo! That was fine! + +_Siebel_. So shall each flea his life resign! + +_Brander_. Point your fingers and nip them fine! + +_Altmayer_. Hurra for Liberty! Hurra for Wine! + +_Mephistopheles_. I'd pledge the goddess, too, to show how high I set her, +Right gladly, if your wines were just a trifle better. + +_Siebel_. Don't say that thing again, you fretter! + +_Mephistopheles_. Did I not fear the landlord to affront; +I'd show these worthy guests this minute +What kind of stuff our stock has in it. + +_Siebel_. Just bring it on! I'll bear the brunt. + +_Frosch_. Give us a brimming glass, our praise shall then be ample, +But don't dole out too small a sample; +For if I'm to judge and criticize, +I need a good mouthful to make me wise. + +_Altmayer_ [_softly_]. They're from the Rhine, as near as I can make it. + +_Mephistopheles_. Bring us a gimlet here! + +_Brander_. What shall be done with that? +You've not the casks before the door, I take it? + +_Altmayer_. The landlord's tool-chest there is easily got at. + +_Mephistopheles_ [_takes the gimlet_] (_to Frosch_). +What will you have? It costs but speaking. + +_Frosch_. How do you mean? Have you so many kinds? + +_Mephistopheles_. Enough to suit all sorts of minds. + +_Altmayer_. Aha! old sot, your lips already licking! + +_Frosch_. Well, then! if I must choose, let Rhine-wine fill my beaker, +Our fatherland supplies the noblest liquor. + + MEPHISTOPHELES + [_boring a hole in the rim of the table near the place + where_ FROSCH _sits_]. +Get us a little wax right off to make the stoppers! + +_Altmayer_. Ah, these are jugglers' tricks, and whappers! + +_Mephistopheles_ [_to Brander_]. And you? + +_Brander_. Champaigne's the wine for me, +But then right sparkling it must be! + + [MEPHISTOPHELES _bores; meanwhile one of them has made + the wax-stoppers and stopped the holes_.] + +_Brander_. Hankerings for foreign things will sometimes haunt you, +The good so far one often finds; +Your real German man can't bear the French, I grant you, +And yet will gladly drink their wines. + +_Siebel_ [_while Mephistopheles approaches his seat_]. +I don't like sour, it sets my mouth awry, +Let mine have real sweetness in it! + +_Mephistopheles_ [_bores_]. Well, you shall have Tokay this minute. + +_Altmayer_. No, sirs, just look me in the eye! +I see through this, 'tis what the chaps call smoking. + +_Mephistopheles_. Come now! That would be serious joking, +To make so free with worthy men. +But quickly now! Speak out again! +With what description can I serve you? + +_Altmayer_. Wait not to ask; with any, then. + + [_After all the holes are bored and stopped_.] + +_Mephistopheles_ [_with singular gestures_]. +From the vine-stock grapes we pluck; +Horns grow on the buck; +Wine is juicy, the wooden table, +Like wooden vines, to give wine is able. +An eye for nature's depths receive! +Here is a miracle, only believe! +Now draw the plugs and drink your fill! + + ALL + [_drawing the stoppers, and catching each in his glass + the wine he had desired_]. +Sweet spring, that yields us what we will! + +_Mephistopheles_. Only be careful not a drop to spill! + [_They drink repeatedly_.] + +_All_ [_sing_]. We're happy all as cannibals, + Five hundred hogs together. + +_Mephistopheles_. Look at them now, they're happy as can be! + +_Faust_. To go would suit my inclination. + +_Mephistopheles_. But first give heed, their bestiality +Will make a glorious demonstration. + + SIEBEL + [_drinks carelessly; the wine is spilt upon the ground + and turns to flame_]. +Help! fire! Ho! Help! The flames of hell! + +_Mephistopheles [_conjuring the flame_]. +Peace, friendly element, be still! + [_To the Toper_.] +This time 'twas but a drop of fire from purgatory. + +_Siebel_. What does this mean? Wait there, or you'll be sorry! +It seems you do not know us well. + +_Frosch_. Not twice, in this way, will it do to joke us! + +_Altmayer_. I vote, we give him leave himself here _scarce_ to make. + +_Siebel_. What, sir! How dare you undertake +To carry on here your old hocus-pocus? + +_Mephistopheles_. Be still, old wine-cask! + +_Siebel_. Broomstick, you! +Insult to injury add? Confound you! + +_Brander_. Stop there! Or blows shall rain down round you! + + ALTMAYER + [_draws a stopper out of the table; fire flies at him_]. +I burn! I burn! + +_Siebel_. Foul sorcery! Shame! +Lay on! the rascal is fair game! + + [_They draw their knives and rush at_ MEPHISTOPHELES.] + +_Mephistopheles_ [_with a serious mien_]. +Word and shape of air! +Change place, new meaning wear! +Be here--and there! + + [_They stand astounded and look at each other_.] + +_Altmayer_. Where am I? What a charming land! + +_Frosch_. Vine hills! My eyes! Is't true? + +_Siebel_. And grapes, too, close at hand! + +_Brander_. Beneath this green see what a stem is growing! +See what a bunch of grapes is glowing! + [_He seizes_ SIEBEL _by the nose. The rest do the same to each + other and raise their knives._] + +_Mephistopheles_ [_as above_]. Loose, Error, from their eyes the band! +How Satan plays his tricks, you need not now be told of. + [_He vanishes with_ FAUST, _the companions start back from each + other_.] + +_Siebel_. What ails me? + +_Altmayer_. How? + +_Frosch_. Was that thy nose, friend, I had hold of? + +_Brander_ [_to Siebel_]. And I have thine, too, in my hand! + +_Altmayer_. O what a shock! through all my limbs 'tis crawling! +Get me a chair, be quick, I'm falling! + +_Frosch_. No, say what was the real case? + +_Siebel_. O show me where the churl is hiding! +Alive he shall not leave the place! + +_Altmayer_. Out through the cellar-door I saw him riding-- +Upon a cask--he went full chase.-- +Heavy as lead my feet are growing. + + [_Turning towards the table_.] + +My! If the wine should yet be flowing. + +_Siebel_. 'Twas all deception and moonshine. + +_Frosch_. Yet I was sure I did drink wine. + +_Brander_. But how about the bunches, brother? + +_Altmayer_. After such miracles, I'll doubt no other! + + + + + WITCHES' KITCHEN. + + [_On a low hearth stands a great kettle over the fire. In the smoke, +which rises from it, are seen various forms. A female monkey[28] sits by +the kettle and skims it, and takes care that it does not run over. The +male monkey with the young ones sits close by, warming himself. Walls and +ceiling are adorned 'with the most singular witch-household stuff_.] + + + FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES. + +_Faust_. Would that this vile witch-business were well over! +Dost promise me I shall recover +In this hodge-podge of craziness? +From an old hag do I advice require? +And will this filthy cooked-up mess +My youth by thirty years bring nigher? +Woe's me, if that's the best you know! +Already hope is from my bosom banished. +Has not a noble mind found long ago +Some balsam to restore a youth that's vanished? + +_Mephistopheles_. My friend, again thou speakest a wise thought! +I know a natural way to make thee young,--none apter! +But in another book it must be sought, +And is a quite peculiar chapter. + +_Faust_. I beg to know it. + +_Mephistopheles_. Well! here's one that needs no pay, +No help of physic, nor enchanting. +Out to the fields without delay, +And take to hacking, digging, planting; +Run the same round from day to day, +A treadmill-life, contented, leading, +With simple fare both mind and body feeding, +Live with the beast as beast, nor count it robbery +Shouldst thou manure, thyself, the field thou reapest; +Follow this course and, trust to me, +For eighty years thy youth thou keepest! + +_Faust_. I am not used to that, I ne'er could bring me to it, +To wield the spade, I could not do it. +The narrow life befits me not at all. + +_Mephistopheles_. So must we on the witch, then, call. + +_Faust_. But why just that old hag? Canst thou +Not brew thyself the needful liquor? + +_Mephistopheles_. That were a pretty pastime now +I'd build about a thousand bridges quicker. +Science and art alone won't do, +The work will call for patience, too; +Costs a still spirit years of occupation: +Time, only, strengthens the fine fermentation. +To tell each thing that forms a part +Would sound to thee like wildest fable! +The devil indeed has taught the art; +To make it not the devil is able. + [_Espying the animals_.] +See, what a genteel breed we here parade! +This is the house-boy! that's the maid! + [_To the animals_.] +Where's the old lady gone a mousing? + +_The animals_. Carousing; +Out she went +By the chimney-vent! + +_Mephistopheles_. How long does she spend in gadding and storming? + +_The animals_. While we are giving our paws a warming. + +_Mephistopheles_ [_to Faust_]. How do you find the dainty creatures? + +_Faust_. Disgusting as I ever chanced to see! + +_Mephistopheles_. No! a discourse like this to me, +I own, is one of life's most pleasant features; + [_To the animals_.] +Say, cursed dolls, that sweat, there, toiling! +What are you twirling with the spoon? + +_Animals_. A common beggar-soup we're boiling. + +_Mephistopheles_. You'll have a run of custom soon. + + THE HE-MONKEY + [_Comes along and fawns on_ MEPHISTOPHELES]. + O fling up the dice, + Make me rich in a trice, + Turn fortune's wheel over! + My lot is right bad, + If money I had, + My wits would recover. + +_Mephistopheles_. The monkey'd be as merry as a cricket, +Would somebody give him a lottery-ticket! + + [_Meanwhile the young monkeys have been playing with a great + ball, which they roll backward and forward_.] + +_The monkey_. 'The world's the ball; + See't rise and fall, + Its roll you follow; + Like glass it rings: + Both, brittle things! + Within 'tis hollow. + There it shines clear, + And brighter here,-- + I live--by 'Pollo!-- + Dear son, I pray, + Keep hands away! + _Thou_ shalt fall so! + 'Tis made of clay, + Pots are, also. + +_Mephistopheles_. What means the sieve? + +_The monkey [takes it down_]. Wert thou a thief, + 'Twould show the thief and shame him. + [_Runs to his mate and makes her look through_.] + Look through the sieve! + Discern'st thou the thief, + And darest not name him? + +_Mephistopheles [approaching the fire_]. And what's this pot? + +_The monkeys_. The dunce! I'll be shot! + He knows not the pot, + He knows not the kettle! + +_Mephistopheles_. Impertinence! Hush! + +_The monkey_. Here, take you the brush, + And sit on the settle! + [_He forces_ MEPHISTOPHELES _to sit down_.] + + FAUST + [_who all this time has been standing before a looking-glass, + now approaching and now receding from it_]. + +What do I see? What heavenly face +Doth, in this magic glass, enchant me! +O love, in mercy, now, thy swiftest pinions grant me! +And bear me to her field of space! +Ah, if I seek to approach what doth so haunt me, +If from this spot I dare to stir, +Dimly as through a mist I gaze on her!-- +The loveliest vision of a woman! +Such lovely woman can there be? +Must I in these reposing limbs naught human. +But of all heavens the finest essence see? +Was such a thing on earth seen ever? + +_Mephistopheles_. Why, when you see a God six days in hard work spend, +And then cry bravo at the end, +Of course you look for something clever. +Look now thy fill; I have for thee +Just such a jewel, and will lead thee to her; +And happy, whose good fortune it shall be, +To bear her home, a prospered wooer! + +[FAUST _keeps on looking into the mirror_. MEPHISTOPHELES +_stretching himself out on the settle and playing with the brush, +continues speaking_.] +Here sit I like a king upon his throne, +The sceptre in my hand,--I want the crown alone. + + THE ANIMALS + [_who up to this time have been going through all sorts of queer antics + with each other, bring_ MEPHISTOPHELES _a crown with a loud cry_]. + O do be so good,-- + With sweat and with blood, + To take it and lime it; + [_They go about clumsily with the crown and break it into two pieces, + with which they jump round_.] + 'Tis done now! We're free! + We speak and we see, + We hear and we rhyme it; + +_Faust [facing the mirror_]. Woe's me! I've almost lost my wits. + +_Mephistopheles [pointing to the animals_]. +My head, too, I confess, is very near to spinning. + +_The animals_. And then if it hits + And every thing fits, + We've thoughts for our winning. + +_Faust [as before_]. Up to my heart the flame is flying! +Let us begone--there's danger near! + +_Mephistopheles [in the former position_]. +Well, this, at least, there's no denying, +That we have undissembled poets here. + +[The kettle, which the she-monkey has hitherto left unmatched, begins to +run over; a great flame breaks out, which roars up the chimney. The_ WITCH +_comes riding down through the flame with a terrible outcry_.] + +_Witch_. Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! + The damned beast! The cursed sow! + Neglected the kettle, scorched the Frau! + The cursed crew! + [_Seeing_ FAUST _and_ MEPHISTOPHELES.] + And who are you? + And what d'ye do? + And what d'ye want? + And who sneaked in? + The fire-plague grim + Shall light on him + In every limb! + + [_She makes a dive at the kettle with the skimmer and spatters flames + at _FAUST, MEPHISTOPHELES_, and the creatures. These last whimper_.] + + MEPHISTOPHELES + [_inverting the brush which he holds in his hand, and striking + among the glasses and pots_]. + + In two! In two! + There lies the brew! + There lies the glass! + This joke must pass; + For time-beat, ass! + To thy melody, 'twill do. + [_While the_ WITCH _starts back full of wrath and horror.] +Skeleton! Scarcecrow! Spectre! Know'st thou me, +Thy lord and master? What prevents my dashing +Right in among thy cursed company, +Thyself and all thy monkey spirits smashing? +Has the red waistcoat thy respect no more? +Has the cock's-feather, too, escaped attention? +Hast never seen this face before? +My name, perchance, wouldst have me mention? + +_The witch_. Pardon the rudeness, sir, in me! +But sure no cloven foot I see. +Nor find I your two ravens either. + +_Mephistopheles_. I'll let thee off for this once so; +For a long while has passed, full well I know, +Since the last time we met together. +The culture, too, which licks the world to shape, +The devil himself cannot escape; +The phantom of the North men's thoughts have left behind them, +Horns, tail, and claws, where now d'ye find them? +And for the foot, with which dispense I nowise can, +'Twould with good circles hurt my standing; +And so I've worn, some years, like many a fine young man, +False calves to make me more commanding. + +_The witch [dancing_]. O I shall lose my wits, I fear, +Do I, again, see Squire Satan here! + +_Mephistopheles_. Woman, the name offends my ear! + +_The witch_. Why so? What has it done to you? + +_Mephistopheles_. It has long since to fable-books been banished; +But men are none the better for it; true, +The wicked _one_, but not the wicked _ones_, has vanished. +Herr Baron callst thou me, then all is right and good; +I am a cavalier, like others. Doubt me? +Doubt for a moment of my noble blood? +See here the family arms I bear about me! + [_He makes an indecent gesture.] + +The witch [laughs immoderately_]. Ha! ha! full well I know you, sir! +You are the same old rogue you always were! + +_Mephistopheles [to Faust_]. I pray you, carefully attend, +This is the way to deal with witches, friend. + +_The witch_. Now, gentles, what shall I produce? + +_Mephistopheles_. A right good glassful of the well-known juice! +And pray you, let it be the oldest; +Age makes it doubly strong for use. + +_The witch_. Right gladly! Here I have a bottle, +From which, at times, I wet my throttle; +Which now, not in the slightest, stinks; +A glass to you I don't mind giving; + [_Softly_.] +But if this man, without preparing, drinks, +He has not, well you know, another hour for living. + +_Mephistopheles_. +'Tis a good friend of mine, whom it shall straight cheer up; +Thy kitchen's best to give him don't delay thee. +Thy ring--thy spell, now, quick, I pray thee, +And give him then a good full cup. + +[_The_ WITCH, _with strange gestures, draws a circle, and places singular +things in it; mean-while the glasses begin to ring, the kettle to sound +and make music. Finally, she brings a great book and places the monkeys in +the circle, whom she uses as a reading-desk and to hold the torches. She +beckons_ FAUST _to come to her_.] + +_Faust [to Mephistopheles_]. +Hold! what will come of this? These creatures, +These frantic gestures and distorted features, +And all the crazy, juggling fluff, +I've known and loathed it long enough! + +_Mephistopheles_. Pugh! that is only done to smoke us; +Don't be so serious, my man! +She must, as Doctor, play her hocus-pocus +To make the dose work better, that's the plan. + [_He constrains_ FAUST _to step into the circle_.] + + THE WITCH + [_beginning with great emphasis to declaim out of the book_] + + Remember then! + Of One make Ten, + The Two let be, + Make even Three, + There's wealth for thee. + The Four pass o'er! + Of Five and Six, + (The witch so speaks,) + Make Seven and Eight, + The thing is straight: + And Nine is One + And Ten is none-- + This is the witch's one-time-one![24] + +_Faust_. The old hag talks like one delirious. + +_Mephistopheles_. There's much more still, no less mysterious, +I know it well, the whole book sounds just so! +I've lost full many a year in poring o'er it, +For perfect contradiction, you must know, +A mystery stands, and fools and wise men bow before it, +The art is old and new, my son. +Men, in all times, by craft and terror, +With One and Three, and Three and One, +For truth have propagated error. +They've gone on gabbling so a thousand years; +Who on the fools would waste a minute? +Man generally thinks, if words he only hears, +Articulated noise must have some meaning in it. + +_The witch [goes on_]. Deep wisdom's power + Has, to this hour, + From all the world been hidden! + Whoso thinks not, + To him 'tis brought, + To him it comes unbidden. + +_Faust_. What nonsense is she talking here? +My heart is on the point of cracking. +In one great choir I seem to hear +A hundred thousand ninnies clacking. + +_Mephistopheles_. Enough, enough, rare Sibyl, sing us +These runes no more, thy beverage bring us, +And quickly fill the goblet to the brim; +This drink may by my friend be safely taken: +Full many grades the man can reckon, +Many good swigs have entered him. + + [_The_ WITCH, _with many ceremonies, pours the drink into a cup; + as she puts it to_ FAUST'S _lips, there rises a light flame_.] + +_Mephistopheles_. Down with it! Gulp it down! 'Twill prove +All that thy heart's wild wants desire. +Thou, with the devil, hand and glove,[25] +And yet wilt be afraid of fire? + + [_The_ WITCH _breaks the circle_; FAUST _steps out_.] + +_Mephistopheles_. Now briskly forth! No rest for thee! + +_The witch_. Much comfort may the drink afford you! + +_Mephistopheles [to the witch_]. And any favor you may ask of me, +I'll gladly on Walpurgis' night accord you. + +_The witch_. Here is a song, which if you sometimes sing, +'Twill stir up in your heart a special fire. + +_Mephistopheles [to Faust_]. Only make haste; and even shouldst thou tire, +Still follow me; one must perspire, +That it may set his nerves all quivering. +I'll teach thee by and bye to prize a noble leisure, +And soon, too, shalt thou feel with hearty pleasure, +How busy Cupid stirs, and shakes his nimble wing. + +_Faust_. But first one look in yonder glass, I pray thee! +Such beauty I no more may find! + +_Mephistopheles_. Nay! in the flesh thine eyes shall soon display thee +The model of all woman-kind. + [_Softly_.] +Soon will, when once this drink shall heat thee, +In every girl a Helen meet thee! + + + + + A STREET. + + FAUST. MARGARET [_passing over_]. + +_Faust_. My fair young lady, will it offend her +If I offer my arm and escort to lend her? + +_Margaret_. Am neither lady, nor yet am fair! +Can find my way home without any one's care. + [_Disengages herself and exit_.] + +_Faust_. By heavens, but then the child _is_ fair! +I've never seen the like, I swear. +So modest is she and so pure, +And somewhat saucy, too, to be sure. +The light of the cheek, the lip's red bloom, +I shall never forget to the day of doom! +How me cast down her lovely eyes, +Deep in my soul imprinted lies; +How she spoke up, so curt and tart, +Ah, that went right to my ravished heart! + [_Enter_ MEPHISTOPHELES.] + +_Faust_. Hark, thou shalt find me a way to address her! + +_Mephistopheles_. Which one? + +_Faust_. She just went by. + +_Mephistopheles_. What! She? +She came just now from her father confessor, +Who from all sins pronounced her free; +I stole behind her noiselessly, +'Tis an innocent thing, who, for nothing at all, +Must go to the confessional; +O'er such as she no power I hold! + +_Faust_. But then she's over fourteen years old. + +_Mephistopheles_. Thou speak'st exactly like Jack Rake, +Who every fair flower his own would make. +And thinks there can be no favor nor fame, +But one may straightway pluck the same. +But 'twill not always do, we see. + +_Faust_. My worthy Master Gravity, +Let not a word of the Law be spoken! +One thing be clearly understood,-- +Unless I clasp the sweet, young blood +This night in my arms--then, well and good: +When midnight strikes, our bond is broken. + +_Mephistopheles_. Reflect on all that lies in the way! +I need a fortnight, at least, to a day, +For finding so much as a way to reach her. + +_Faust_. Had I seven hours, to call my own, +Without the devil's aid, alone +I'd snare with ease so young a creature. + +_Mephistopheles_. You talk quite Frenchman-like to-day; +But don't be vexed beyond all measure. +What boots it thus to snatch at pleasure? +'Tis not so great, by a long way, +As if you first, with tender twaddle, +And every sort of fiddle-faddle, +Your little doll should mould and knead, +As one in French romances may read. + +_Faust_. My appetite needs no such spur. + +_Mephistopheles_. Now, then, without a jest or slur, +I tell you, once for all, such speed +With the fair creature won't succeed. +Nothing will here by storm be taken; +We must perforce on intrigue reckon. + +_Faust_. Get me some trinket the angel has blest! +Lead me to her chamber of rest! +Get me a 'kerchief from her neck, +A garter get me for love's sweet sake! + +_Mephistopheles_. To prove to you my willingness +To aid and serve you in this distress; +You shall visit her chamber, by me attended, +Before the passing day is ended. + +_Faust_. And see her, too? and have her? + +_Mephistopheles_. Nay! +She will to a neighbor's have gone away. +Meanwhile alone by yourself you may, +There in her atmosphere, feast at leisure +And revel in dreams of future pleasure. + +_Faust_. Shall we start at once? + +_Mephistopheles_. 'Tis too early yet. + +_Faust_. Some present to take her for me you must get. + + [_Exit_.] + +_Mephistopheles_. Presents already! Brave! He's on the right foundation! +Full many a noble place I know, +And treasure buried long ago; +Must make a bit of exploration. + + [_Exit_.] + + + + + EVENING. + + _A little cleanly Chamber_. + +MARGARET [_braiding and tying up her hair_.] +I'd give a penny just to say +What gentleman that was to-day! +How very gallant he seemed to be, +He's of a noble family; +That I could read from his brow and bearing-- +And he would not have otherwise been so daring. + [_Exit_.] + + FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES. + +_Mephistopheles_. Come in, step softly, do not fear! + +_Faust [after a pause_]. Leave me alone, I prithee, here! + +_Mephistopheles [peering round_]. Not every maiden keeps so neat. + [_Exit_.] + +_Faust [gazing round_]. Welcome this hallowed still retreat! +Where twilight weaves its magic glow. +Seize on my heart, love-longing, sad and sweet, +That on the dew of hope dost feed thy woe! +How breathes around the sense of stillness, +Of quiet, order, and content! +In all this poverty what fulness! +What blessedness within this prison pent! + [_He throws himself into a leathern chair by the bed_.] +Take me, too! as thou hast, in years long flown, +In joy and grief, so many a generation! +Ah me! how oft, on this ancestral throne, +Have troops of children climbed with exultation! +Perhaps, when Christmas brought the Holy Guest, +My love has here, in grateful veneration +The grandsire's withered hand with child-lips prest. +I feel, O maiden, circling me, +Thy spirit of grace and fulness hover, +Which daily like a mother teaches thee +The table-cloth to spread in snowy purity, +And even, with crinkled sand the floor to cover. +Dear, godlike hand! a touch of thine +Makes this low house a heavenly kingdom slime! +And here! + [_He lifts a bed-curtain_.] +What blissful awe my heart thrills through! +Here for long hours could I linger. +Here, Nature! in light dreams, thy airy finger +The inborn angel's features drew! +Here lay the child, when life's fresh heavings +Its tender bosom first made warm, +And here with pure, mysterious weavings +The spirit wrought its godlike form! + And thou! What brought thee here? what power +Stirs in my deepest soul this hour? +What wouldst thou here? What makes thy heart so sore? +Unhappy Faust! I know thee thus no more. + Breathe I a magic atmosphere? +The will to enjoy how strong I felt it,-- +And in a dream of love am now all melted! +Are we the sport of every puff of air? + And if she suddenly should enter now, +How would she thy presumptuous folly humble! +Big John-o'dreams! ah, how wouldst thou +Sink at her feet, collapse and crumble! + +_Mephistopheles_. Quick, now! She comes! I'm looking at her. + +_Faust_. Away! Away! O cruel fate! + +_Mephistopheles_. Here is a box of moderate weight; +I got it somewhere else--no matter! +Just shut it up, here, in the press, +I swear to you, 'twill turn her senses; +I meant the trifles, I confess, +To scale another fair one's fences. +True, child is child and play is play. + +_Faust_. Shall I? I know not. + +_Mephistopheles_. Why delay? +You mean perhaps to keep the bauble? +If so, I counsel you to spare +From idle passion hours so fair, +And me, henceforth, all further trouble. +I hope you are not avaricious! +I rub my hands, I scratch my head-- + [_He places the casket in the press and locks it up again_.] + (Quick! Time we sped!)-- +That the dear creature may be led +And moulded by your will and wishes; +And you stand here as glum, +As one at the door of the auditorium, +As if before your eyes you saw +In bodily shape, with breathless awe, +Metaphysics and physics, grim and gray! +Away! + [_Exit_.] + +_Margaret [with a lamp_]. It seems so close, so sultry here. + [_She opens the window_.] +Yet it isn't so very warm out there, +I feel--I know not how--oh dear! +I wish my mother 'ld come home, I declare! +I feel a shudder all over me crawl-- +I'm a silly, timid thing, that's all! + [_She begins to sing, while undressing_.] + There was a king in Thulè, + To whom, when near her grave, + The mistress he loved so truly + A golden goblet gave. + + He cherished it as a lover, + He drained it, every bout; + His eyes with tears ran over, + As oft as he drank thereout. + + And when he found himself dying, + His towns and cities he told; + Naught else to his heir denying + Save only the goblet of gold. + + His knights he straightway gathers + And in the midst sate he, + In the banquet hall of the fathers + In the castle over the sea. + + There stood th' old knight of liquor, + And drank the last life-glow, + Then flung the holy beaker + Into the flood below. + + He saw it plunging, drinking + And sinking in the roar, + His eyes in death were sinking, + He never drank one drop more. + [_She opens the press, to put away her clothes, + and discovers the casket_.] + +How in the world came this fine casket here? +I locked the press, I'm very clear. +I wonder what's inside! Dear me! it's very queer! +Perhaps 'twas brought here as a pawn, +In place of something mother lent. +Here is a little key hung on, +A single peep I shan't repent! +What's here? Good gracious! only see! +I never saw the like in my born days! +On some chief festival such finery +Might on some noble lady blaze. +How would this chain become my neck! +Whose may this splendor be, so lonely? + [_She arrays herself in it, and steps before the glass_.] +Could I but claim the ear-rings only! +A different figure one would make. +What's beauty worth to thee, young blood! +May all be very well and good; +What then? 'Tis half for pity's sake +They praise your pretty features. +Each burns for gold, +All turns on gold,-- +Alas for us! poor creatures! + + + + + PROMENADE. + + + FAUST [_going up and down in thought_.] MEPHISTOPHELES _to him_. + +_Mephistopheles_. By all that ever was jilted! By all the infernal fires! +I wish I knew something worse, to curse as my heart desires! + +_Faust_. What griping pain has hold of thee? +Such grins ne'er saw I in the worst stage-ranter! + +_Mephistopheles_. Oh, to the devil I'd give myself instanter, +If I were not already he! + +_Faust_. Some pin's loose in your head, old fellow! +That fits you, like a madman thus to bellow! + +_Mephistopheles_. Just think, the pretty toy we got for Peg, +A priest has hooked, the cursed plague I-- +The thing came under the eye of the mother, +And caused her a dreadful internal pother: +The woman's scent is fine and strong; +Snuffles over her prayer-book all day long, +And knows, by the smell of an article, plain, +Whether the thing is holy or profane; +And as to the box she was soon aware +There could not be much blessing there. +"My child," she cried, "unrighteous gains +Ensnare the soul, dry up the veins. +We'll consecrate it to God's mother, +She'll give us some heavenly manna or other!" +Little Margaret made a wry face; "I see +'Tis, after all, a gift horse," said she; +"And sure, no godless one is he +Who brought it here so handsomely." +The mother sent for a priest (they're cunning); +Who scarce had found what game was running, +When he rolled his greedy eyes like a lizard, +And, "all is rightly disposed," said he, +"Who conquers wins, for a certainty. +The church has of old a famous gizzard, +She calls it little whole lands to devour, +Yet never a surfeit got to this hour; +The church alone, dear ladies; _sans_ question, +Can give unrighteous gains digestion." + +_Faust_. That is a general pratice, too, +Common alike with king and Jew. + +_Mephistopheles_. Then pocketed bracelets and chains and rings +As if they were mushrooms or some such things, +With no more thanks, (the greedy-guts!) +Than if it had been a basket of nuts, +Promised them all sorts of heavenly pay-- +And greatly edified were they. + +_Faust_. And Margery? + +_Mephistopheles_. Sits there in distress, +And what to do she cannot guess, +The jewels her daily and nightly thought, +And he still more by whom they were brought. + +_Faust._ My heart is troubled for my pet. +Get her at once another set! +The first were no great things in their way. + +_Mephistopheles._ O yes, my gentleman finds all child's play! + +_Faust._ And what I wish, that mind and do! +Stick closely to her neighbor, too. +Don't be a devil soft as pap, +And fetch me some new jewels, old chap! + +_Mephistopheles._ Yes, gracious Sir, I will with pleasure. + [_Exit_ FAUST.] +Such love-sick fools will puff away +Sun, moon, and stars, and all in the azure, +To please a maiden's whimsies, any day. + [_Exit._] + + + + + THE NEIGHBOR'S HOUSE. + + + MARTHA [_alone]._ +My dear good man--whom God forgive! +He has not treated me well, as I live! +Right off into the world he's gone +And left me on the straw alone. +I never did vex him, I say it sincerely, +I always loved him, God knows how dearly. + [_She weeps_.] +Perhaps he's dead!--O cruel fate!-- +If I only had a certificate! + + _Enter_ MARGARET. +Dame Martha! + +_Martha_. What now, Margery? + +_Margaret_. I scarce can keep my knees from sinking! +Within my press, again, not thinking, +I find a box of ebony, +With things--can't tell how grand they are,-- +More splendid than the first by far. + +_Martha_. You must not tell it to your mother, +She'd serve it as she did the other. + +_Margaret_. Ah, only look! Behold and see! + +_Martha [puts them on her_]. Fortunate thing! I envy thee! + +_Margaret._ Alas, in the street or at church I never +Could be seen on any account whatever. + +_Martha._ Come here as often as you've leisure, +And prink yourself quite privately; +Before the looking-glass walk up and down at pleasure, +Fine times for both us 'twill be; +Then, on occasions, say at some great feast, +Can show them to the world, one at a time, at least. +A chain, and then an ear-pearl comes to view; +Your mother may not see, we'll make some pretext, too. + +_Margaret._ Who could have brought both caskets in succession? +There's something here for just suspicion! + [_A knock._ ] +Ah, God! If that's my mother--then! + +_Martha_ [_peeping through the blind_]. +'Tis a strange gentleman--come in! + + [_Enter_ MEPHISTOPHELES.] +Must, ladies, on your kindness reckon +To excuse the freedom I have taken; + [_Steps back with profound respect at seeing_ MARGARET.] +I would for Dame Martha Schwerdtlein inquire! + +_Martha._ I'm she, what, sir, is your desire? + +_Mephistopheles_ [_aside to her_]. I know your face, for now 'twill do; +A distinguished lady is visiting you. +For a call so abrupt be pardon meted, +This afternoon it shall be repeated. + +_Martha [aloud]._ For all the world, think, child! my sakes! +The gentleman you for a lady takes. + +_Margaret_. Ah, God! I am a poor young blood; +The gentleman is quite too good; +The jewels and trinkets are none of my own. + +_Mephistopheles_. Ah, 'tis not the jewels and trinkets alone; +Her look is so piercing, so _distinguè_! +How glad I am to be suffered to stay. + +_Martha_. What bring you, sir? I long to hear-- + +_Mephistopheles_. Would I'd a happier tale for your ear! +I hope you'll forgive me this one for repeating: +Your husband is dead and sends you a greeting. + +_Martha_. Is dead? the faithful heart! Woe! Woe! +My husband dead! I, too, shall go! + +_Margaret_. Ah, dearest Dame, despair not thou! + +_Mephistopheles_ Then, hear the mournful story now! + +_Margaret_. Ah, keep me free from love forever, +I should never survive such a loss, no, never! + +_Mephistopheles_. Joy and woe, woe and joy, must have each other. + +_Martha_. Describe his closing hours to me! + +_Mephistopheles_. In Padua lies our departed brother, +In the churchyard of St. Anthony, +In a cool and quiet bed lies sleeping, +In a sacred spot's eternal keeping. + +_Martha_. And this was all you had to bring me? + +_Mephistopheles_. All but one weighty, grave request! +"Bid her, when I am dead, three hundred masses sing me!" +With this I have made a clean pocket and breast. + +_Martha_. What! not a medal, pin nor stone? +Such as, for memory's sake, no journeyman will lack, +Saved in the bottom of his sack, +And sooner would hunger, be a pauper-- + +_Mephistopheles_. Madam, your case is hard, I own! +But blame him not, he squandered ne'er a copper. +He too bewailed his faults with penance sore, +Ay, and his wretched luck bemoaned a great deal more. + +_Margaret_. Alas! that mortals so unhappy prove! +I surely will for him pray many a requiem duly. + +_Mephistopheles_. You're worthy of a spouse this moment; truly +You are a child a man might love. + +_Margaret_. It's not yet time for that, ah no! + +_Mephistopheles_. If not a husband, say, meanwhile a beau. +It is a choice and heavenly blessing, +Such a dear thing to one's bosom pressing. + +_Margaret_. With us the custom is not so. + +_Mephistopheles_. Custom or not! It happens, though. + +_Martha_. Tell on! + +_Mephistopheles_. I slood beside his bed, as he lay dying, +Better than dung it was somewhat,-- +Half-rotten straw; but then, he died as Christian ought, +And found an unpaid score, on Heaven's account-book lying. +"How must I hate myself," he cried, "inhuman! +So to forsake my business and my woman! +Oh! the remembrance murders me! +Would she might still forgive me this side heaven!" + +_Martha_ [_weeping_]. The dear good man! he has been long forgiven. + +_Mephistopheles_. "But God knows, I was less to blame than she." + +_Martha_. A lie! And at death's door! abominable! + +_Mephistopheles_. If I to judge of men half-way am able, +He surely fibbed while passing hence. +"Ways to kill time, (he said)--be sure, I did not need them; +First to get children--and then bread to feed them, +And bread, too, in the widest sense, +And even to eat my bit in peace could not be thought on." + +_Martha_. Has he all faithfulness, all love, so far forgotten, +The drudgery by day and night! + +_Mephistopheles_. Not so, he thought of you with all his might. +He said: "When I from Malta went away, +For wife and children my warm prayers ascended; +And Heaven so far our cause befriended, +Our ship a Turkish cruiser took one day, +Which for the mighty Sultan bore a treasure. +Then valor got its well-earned pay, +And I too, who received but my just measure, +A goodly portion bore away." + +_Martha_. How? Where? And he has left it somewhere buried? + +_Mephistopheles_. Who knows which way by the four winds 'twas carried? +He chanced to take a pretty damsel's eye, +As, a strange sailor, he through Naples jaunted; +All that she did for him so tenderly, +E'en to his blessed end the poor man haunted. + +_Martha_. The scamp! his children thus to plunder! +And could not all his troubles sore +Arrest his vile career, I wonder? + +_Mephistopheles_. But mark! his death wipes off the score. +Were I in your place now, good lady; +One year I'd mourn him piously +And look about, meanwhiles, for a new flame already. + +_Martha_. Ah, God! another such as he +I may not find with ease on this side heaven! +Few such kind fools as this dear spouse of mine. +Only to roving he was too much given, +And foreign women and foreign wine, +And that accursed game of dice. + +_Mephistopheles_. Mere trifles these; you need not heed 'em, +If he, on his part, not o'er-nice, +Winked at, in you, an occasional freedom. +I swear, on that condition, too, +I would, myself, 'change rings with you! + +_Martha_. The gentleman is pleased to jest now! + +_Mephistopheles [aside_]. I see it's now high time I stirred! +She'd take the very devil at his word. + [_To_ MARGERY.] +How is it with your heart, my best, now? + +_Margaret_. What means the gentleman? + +_Mephistopheles. [aside_]. Thou innocent young heart! + [_Aloud_.] +Ladies, farewell! + +_Margaret_. Farewell! + +_Martha_. But quick, before we part!-- +I'd like some witness, vouching truly +Where, how and when my love died and was buried duly. +I've always paid to order great attention, +Would of his death read some newspaper mention. + +_Mephistopheles_. Ay, my dear lady, in the mouths of two +Good witnesses each word is true; +I've a friend, a fine fellow, who, when you desire, +Will render on oath what you require. +I'll bring him here. + +_Martha_. O pray, sir, do! + +_Mephistopheles_. And this young lady 'll be there too? +Fine boy! has travelled everywhere, +And all politeness to the fair. + +_Margaret_. Before him shame my face must cover. + +_Mephistopheles_. Before no king the wide world over! + +_Martha_. Behind the house, in my garden, at leisure, +We'll wait this eve the gentlemen's pleasure. + + + + + STREET. + + FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES. + +_Faust_. How now? What progress? Will 't come right? + +_Mephistopheles_. Ha, bravo? So you're all on fire? +Full soon you'll see whom you desire. +In neighbor Martha's grounds we are to meet tonight. +That woman's one of nature's picking +For pandering and gipsy-tricking! + +_Faust_. So far, so good! + +_Mephistopheles_. But one thing we must do. + +_Faust_. Well, one good turn deserves another, true. + +_Mephistopheles_. We simply make a solemn deposition +That her lord's bones are laid in good condition +In holy ground at Padua, hid from view. + +_Faust_. That's wise! But then we first must make the journey thither? + +_Mephistopheles. Sancta simplicitas_! no need of such to-do; +Just swear, and ask not why or whether. + +_Faust_. If that's the best you have, the plan's not worth a feather. + +_Mephistopheles_. O holy man! now that's just you! +In all thy life hast never, to this hour, +To give false witness taken pains? +Have you of God, the world, and all that it contains, +Of man, and all that stirs within his heart and brains, +Not given definitions with great power, +Unscrupulous breast, unblushing brow? +And if you search the matter clearly, +Knew you as much thereof, to speak sincerely, +As of Herr Schwerdtlein's death? Confess it now! + +_Faust_. Thou always wast a sophist and a liar. + +_Mephistopheles_. Ay, if one did not look a little nigher. +For will you not, in honor, to-morrow +Befool poor Margery to her sorrow, +And all the oaths of true love borrow? + +_Faust_. And from the heart, too. + +_Mephistopheles_. Well and fair! +Then there'll be talk of truth unending, +Of love o'ermastering, all transcending-- +Will every word be heart-born there? + +_Faust_. Enough! It will!--If, for the passion +That fills and thrills my being's frame, +I find no name, no fit expression, +Then, through the world, with all my senses, ranging, +Seek what most strongly speaks the unchanging. +And call this glow, within me burning, +Infinite--endless--endless yearning, +Is that a devilish lying game? + +_Mephistopheles_. I'm right, nathless! + +_Faust_. Now, hark to me-- +This once, I pray, and spare my lungs, old fellow-- +Whoever _will_ be right, and has a tongue to bellow, +Is sure to be. +But come, enough of swaggering, let's be quit, +For thou art right, because I must submit. + + + + + GARDEN. + + MARGARET _on_ FAUST'S _arm_. MARTHA _with_ MEPHISTOPHELES. + [_Promenading up and down_.] + +_Margaret_. The gentleman but makes me more confused +With all his condescending goodness. +Men who have travelled wide are used +To bear with much from dread of rudeness; +I know too well, a man of so much mind +In my poor talk can little pleasure find. + +_Faust_. One look from thee, one word, delights me more +Than this world's wisdom o'er and o'er. + [_Kisses her hand_.] + +_Margaret_. Don't take that trouble, sir! How could you bear to kiss it? +A hand so ugly, coarse, and rough! +How much I've had to do! must I confess it-- +Mother is more than close enough. + [_They pass on_.] + +_Martha_. And you, sir, are you always travelling so? + +_Mephistopheles_. Alas, that business forces us to do it! +With what regret from many a place we go, +Though tenderest bonds may bind us to it! + +_Martha_. 'Twill do in youth's tumultuous maze +To wander round the world, a careless rover; +But soon will come the evil days, +And then, a lone dry stick, on the grave's brink to hover, +For that nobody ever prays. + +_Mephistopheles_. The distant prospect shakes my reason. + +_Martha_. Then, worthy sir, bethink yourself in season. + [_They pass on_.] + +_Margaret_. Yes, out of sight and out of mind! +Politeness you find no hard matter; +But you have friends in plenty, better +Than I, more sensible, more refined. + +_Faust_. Dear girl, what one calls sensible on earth, +Is often vanity and nonsense. + +_Margaret_. How? + +_Faust_. Ah, that the pure and simple never know +Aught of themselves and all their holy worth! +That meekness, lowliness, the highest measure +Of gifts by nature lavished, full and free-- + +_Margaret_. One little moment, only, think of me, +I shall to think of you have ample time and leisure. + +_Faust_. You're, may be, much alone? + +_Margaret_. Our household is but small, I own, +And yet needs care, if truth were known. +We have no maid; so I attend to cooking, sweeping, +Knit, sew, do every thing, in fact; +And mother, in all branches of housekeeping, +Is so exact! +Not that she need be tied so very closely down; +We might stand higher than some others, rather; +A nice estate was left us by my father, +A house and garden not far out of town. +Yet, after all, my life runs pretty quiet; +My brother is a soldier, +My little sister's dead; +With the dear child indeed a wearing life I led; +And yet with all its plagues again would gladly try it, +The child was such a pet. + +_Faust_. An angel, if like thee! + +_Margaret_. I reared her and she heartily loved me. +She and my father never saw each other, +He died before her birth, and mother +Was given up, so low she lay, +But me, by slow degrees, recovered, day by day. +Of course she now, long time so feeble, +To nurse the poor little worm was unable, +And so I reared it all alone, +With milk and water; 'twas my own. +Upon my bosom all day long +It smiled and sprawled and so grew strong. + +_Faust_. Ah! thou hast truly known joy's fairest flower. + +_Margaret_. But no less truly many a heavy hour. +The wee thing's cradle stood at night +Close to my bed; did the least thing awake her, +My sleep took flight; +'Twas now to nurse her, now in bed to take her, +Then, if she was not still, to rise, +Walk up and down the room, and dance away her cries, +And at the wash-tub stand, when morning streaked the skies; +Then came the marketing and kitchen-tending, +Day in, day out, work never-ending. +One cannot always, sir, good temper keep; +But then it sweetens food and sweetens sleep. + [_They pass on_.] + +_Martha_. But the poor women suffer, you must own: +A bachelor is hard of reformation. + +_Mephistopheles_. Madam, it rests with such as you, alone, +To help me mend my situation. + +_Martha_. Speak plainly, sir, has none your fancy taken? +Has none made out a tender flame to waken? + +_Mephistopheles_. The proverb says: A man's own hearth, +And a brave wife, all gold and pearls are worth. + +_Martha_. I mean, has ne'er your heart been smitten slightly? + +_Mephistopheles_. I have, on every hand, been entertained politely. + +_Martha_. Have you not felt, I mean, a serious intention? + +_Mephistopheles_. +Jesting with women, that's a thing one ne'er should mention. + +_Martha_. Ah, you misunderstand! + +_Mephistopheles_. It grieves me that I should! +But this I understand--that you are good. + [_They pass on_.] + +_Faust_. So then, my little angel recognized me, +As I came through the garden gate? + +_Margaret_. Did not my downcast eyes show you surprised me? + +_Faust_. And thou forgav'st that liberty, of late? +That impudence of mine, so daring, +As thou wast home from church repairing? + +_Margaret_. I was confused, the like was new to me; +No one could say a word to my dishonor. +Ah, thought I, has he, haply, in thy manner +Seen any boldness--impropriety? +It seemed as if the feeling seized him, +That he might treat this girl just as it pleased him. +Let me confess! I knew not from what cause, +Some flight relentings here began to threaten danger; +I know, right angry with myself I was, +That I could not be angrier with the stranger. + +_Faust_. Sweet darling! + +_Margaret_. Let me once! + + [_She plucks a china-aster and picks off the leaves one after another_.] + +_Faust_. What's that for? A bouquet? + +_Margaret_. No, just for sport. + +_Faust_. How? + +_Margaret_. Go! you'll laugh at me; away! + [_She picks and murmurs to herself_.] + +_Faust_. What murmurest thou? + +_Margaret [half aloud_]. He loves me--loves me not. + +_Faust_. Sweet face! from heaven that look was caught! + +_Margaret [goes on_]. Loves me--not--loves me--not-- + [_picking off the last leaf with tender joy_] +He loves me! + +_Faust_. Yes, my child! And be this floral word +An oracle to thee. He loves thee! +Knowest thou all it mean? He loves thee! + [_Clasping both her hands_.] + +_Margaret_. What thrill is this! + +_Faust_. O, shudder not! This look of mine. +This pressure of the hand shall tell thee +What cannot be expressed: +Give thyself up at once and feel a rapture, +An ecstasy never to end! +Never!--It's end were nothing but blank despair. +No, unending! unending! + + [MARGARET _presses his hands, extricates herself, and runs away. + He stands a moment in thought, then follows her_]. + +_Martha [coming_]. The night falls fast. + +_Mephistopheles_. Ay, and we must away. + +_Martha_. If it were not for one vexation, +I would insist upon your longer stay. +Nobody seems to have no occupation, +No care nor labor, +Except to play the spy upon his neighbor; +And one becomes town-talk, do whatsoe'er they may. +But where's our pair of doves? + +_Mephistopheles_. Flown up the alley yonder. +Light summer-birds! + +_Martha_. He seems attached to her. + +_Mephistopheles_. No wonder. +And she to him. So goes the world, they say. + + + + + A SUMMER-HOUSE. + + MARGARET [_darts in, hides behind the door, presses the tip of + her finger to her lips, and peeps through the crack_]. + +_Margaret_. He comes! + + _Enter_ FAUST. + +_Faust_. Ah rogue, how sly thou art! +I've caught thee! + [_Kisses her_.] + +_Margaret [embracing him and returning the kiss_]. +Dear good man! I love thee from my heart! + + [MEPHISTOPHELES _knocks_.] + +_Faust [stamping_]. Who's there? + +_Mephistopheles_. A friend! + +_Faust_. A beast! + +_Mephistopheles_. Time flies, I don't offend you? + +_Martha [entering_]. Yes, sir, 'tis growing late. + +_Faust_. May I not now attend you? + +_Margaret_. Mother would--Fare thee well! + +_Faust_. And must I leave thee then? Farewell! + +_Martha_. Adé! + +_Margaret_. Till, soon, we meet again! + + [_Exeunt_ FAUST _and_ MEPHISTOPHELES.] + +_Margaret_. Good heavens! what such a man's one brain +Can in itself alone contain! +I blush my rudeness to confess, +And answer all he says with yes. +Am a poor, ignorant child, don't see +What he can possibly find in me. + + [_Exit_.] + + + + + WOODS AND CAVERN. + +_Faust_ [_alone_]. Spirit sublime, thou gav'st me, gav'st me all +For which I prayed. Thou didst not lift in vain +Thy face upon me in a flame of fire. +Gav'st me majestic nature for a realm, +The power to feel, enjoy her. Not alone +A freezing, formal visit didst thou grant; +Deep down into her breast invitedst me +To look, as if she were a bosom-friend. +The series of animated things +Thou bidst pass by me, teaching me to know +My brothers in the waters, woods, and air. +And when the storm-swept forest creaks and groans, +The giant pine-tree crashes, rending off +The neighboring boughs and limbs, and with deep roar +The thundering mountain echoes to its fall, +To a safe cavern then thou leadest me, +Showst me myself; and my own bosom's deep +Mysterious wonders open on my view. +And when before my sight the moon comes up +With soft effulgence; from the walls of rock, +From the damp thicket, slowly float around +The silvery shadows of a world gone by, +And temper meditation's sterner joy. + O! nothing perfect is vouchsafed to man: +I feel it now! Attendant on this bliss, +Which brings me ever nearer to the Gods, +Thou gav'st me the companion, whom I now +No more can spare, though cold and insolent; +He makes me hate, despise myself, and turns +Thy gifts to nothing with a word--a breath. +He kindles up a wild-fire in my breast, +Of restless longing for that lovely form. +Thus from desire I hurry to enjoyment, +And in enjoyment languish for desire. + + _Enter_ MEPHISTOPHELES. + +_Mephistopheles_. Will not this life have tired you by and bye? +I wonder it so long delights you? +'Tis well enough for once the thing to try; +Then off to where a new invites you! + +_Faust_. Would thou hadst something else to do, +That thus to spoil my joy thou burnest. + +_Mephistopheles_. Well! well! I'll leave thee, gladly too!-- +Thou dar'st not tell me that in earnest! +'Twere no great loss, a fellow such as you, +So crazy, snappish, and uncivil. +One has, all day, his hands full, and more too; +To worm out from him what he'd have one do, +Or not do, puzzles e'en the very devil. + +_Faust_. Now, that I like! That's just the tone! +Wants thanks for boring me till I'm half dead! + +_Mephistopheles_. Poor son of earth, if left alone, +What sort of life wouldst thou have led? +How oft, by methods all my own, +I've chased the cobweb fancies from thy head! +And but for me, to parts unknown +Thou from this earth hadst long since fled. +What dost thou here through cave and crevice groping? +Why like a hornèd owl sit moping? +And why from dripping stone, damp moss, and rotten wood +Here, like a toad, suck in thy food? +Delicious pastime! Ah, I see, +Somewhat of Doctor sticks to thee. + +_Faust_. What new life-power it gives me, canst thou guess-- +This conversation with the wilderness? +Ay, couldst thou dream how sweet the employment, +Thou wouldst be devil enough to grudge me my enjoyment. + +_Mephistopheles_. Ay, joy from super-earthly fountains! +By night and day to lie upon the mountains, +To clasp in ecstasy both earth and heaven, +Swelled to a deity by fancy's leaven, +Pierce, like a nervous thrill, earth's very marrow, +Feel the whole six days' work for thee too narrow, +To enjoy, I know not what, in blest elation, +Then with thy lavish love o'erflow the whole creation. +Below thy sight the mortal cast, +And to the glorious vision give at last-- + [_with a gesture_] +I must not say what termination! + +_Faust_. Shame on thee! + +_Mephistopheles_. This displeases thee; well, surely, +Thou hast a right to say "for shame" demurely. +One must not mention that to chaste ears--never, +Which chaste hearts cannot do without, however. +And, in one word, I grudge you not the pleasure +Of lying to yourself in moderate measure; +But 'twill not hold out long, I know; +Already thou art fast recoiling, +And soon, at this rate, wilt be boiling +With madness or despair and woe. +Enough of this! Thy sweetheart sits there lonely, +And all to her is close and drear. +Her thoughts are on thy image only, +She holds thee, past all utterance, dear. +At first thy passion came bounding and rushing +Like a brooklet o'erflowing with melted snow and rain; +Into her heart thou hast poured it gushing: +And now thy brooklet's dry again. +Methinks, thy woodland throne resigning, +'Twould better suit so great a lord +The poor young monkey to reward +For all the love with which she's pining. +She finds the time dismally long; +Stands at the window, sees the clouds on high +Over the old town-wall go by. +"Were I a little bird!"[26] so runneth her song +All the day, half the night long. +At times she'll be laughing, seldom smile, +At times wept-out she'll seem, +Then again tranquil, you'd deem,-- +Lovesick all the while. + +_Faust_. Viper! Viper! + +_Mephistopheles_ [_aside_]. Ay! and the prey grows riper! + +_Faust_. Reprobate! take thee far behind me! +No more that lovely woman name! +Bid not desire for her sweet person flame +Through each half-maddened sense, again to blind me! + +_Mephistopheles_. What then's to do? She fancies thou hast flown, +And more than half she's right, I own. + +_Faust_. I'm near her, and, though far away, my word, +I'd not forget her, lose her; never fear it! +I envy e'en the body of the Lord, +Oft as those precious lips of hers draw near it. + +_Mephistopheles_. No doubt; and oft my envious thought reposes +On the twin-pair that feed among the roses. + +_Faust_. Out, pimp! + +_Mephistopheles_. Well done! Your jeers I find fair game for laughter. +The God, who made both lad and lass, +Unwilling for a bungling hand to pass, +Made opportunity right after. +But come! fine cause for lamentation! +Her chamber is your destination, +And not the grave, I guess. + +_Faust_. What are the joys of heaven while her fond arms enfold me? +O let her kindling bosom hold me! +Feel I not always her distress? +The houseless am I not? the unbefriended? +The monster without aim or rest? +That, like a cataract, from rock to rock descended +To the abyss, with maddening greed possest: +She, on its brink, with childlike thoughts and lowly,-- +Perched on the little Alpine field her cot,-- +This narrow world, so still and holy +Ensphering, like a heaven, her lot. +And I, God's hatred daring, +Could not be content +The rocks all headlong bearing, +By me to ruins rent,-- +Her, yea her peace, must I o'erwhelm and bury! +This victim, hell, to thee was necessary! +Help me, thou fiend, the pang soon ending! +What must be, let it quickly be! +And let her fate upon my head descending, +Crush, at one blow, both her and me. + +_Mephistopheles_. Ha! how it seethes again and glows! +Go in and comfort her, thou dunce! +Where such a dolt no outlet sees or knows, +He thinks he's reached the end at once. +None but the brave deserve the fair! +Thou _hast_ had devil enough to make a decent show of. +For all the world a devil in despair +Is just the insipidest thing I know of. + + + + + MARGERY'S ROOM. + + MARGERY [_at the spinning-wheel alone_]. + My heart is heavy, + My peace is o'er; + I never--ah! never-- + Shall find it more. + While him I crave, + Each place is the grave, + The world is all + Turned into gall. + My wretched brain + Has lost its wits, + My wretched sense + Is all in bits. + My heart is heavy, + My peace is o'er; + I never--ah! never-- + Shall find it more. + Him only to greet, I + The street look down, + Him only to meet, I + Roam through town. + His lofty step, + His noble height, + His smile of sweetness, + His eye of might, + His words of magic, + Breathing bliss, + His hand's warm pressure + And ah! his kiss. + My heart is heavy, + My peace is o'er, + I never--ah! never-- + Shall find it more. + My bosom yearns + To behold him again. + Ah, could I find him + That best of men! + I'd tell him then + How I did miss him, + And kiss him + As much as I could, + Die on his kisses + I surely should! + + + + + MARTHA'S GARDEN. + + MARGARET. FAUST. + +_Margaret_. Promise me, Henry. + +_Faust_. What I can. + +_Margaret_. How is it now with thy religion, say? +I know thou art a dear good man, +But fear thy thoughts do not run much that way. + +_Faust_. Leave that, my child! Enough, thou hast my heart; +For those I love with life I'd freely part; +I would not harm a soul, nor of its faith bereave it. + +_Margaret_. That's wrong, there's one true faith--one must believe it? + +_Faust_. Must one? + +_Margaret_. Ah, could I influence thee, dearest! +The holy sacraments thou scarce reverest. + +_Faust_. I honor them. + +_Margaret_. But yet without desire. +Of mass and confession both thou'st long begun to tire. +Believest thou in God? + +_Faust_. My. darling, who engages +To say, I do believe in God? +The question put to priests or sages: +Their answer seems as if it sought +To mock the asker. + +_Margaret_. Then believ'st thou not? + +_Faust_. Sweet face, do not misunderstand my thought! +Who dares express him? +And who confess him, +Saying, I do believe? +A man's heart bearing, +What man has the daring +To say: I acknowledge him not? +The All-enfolder, +The All-upholder, +Enfolds, upholds He not +Thee, me, Himself? +Upsprings not Heaven's blue arch high o'er thee? +Underneath thee does not earth stand fast? +See'st thou not, nightly climbing, +Tenderly glancing eternal stars? +Am I not gazing eye to eye on thee? +Through brain and bosom +Throngs not all life to thee, +Weaving in everlasting mystery +Obscurely, clearly, on all sides of thee? +Fill with it, to its utmost stretch, thy breast, +And in the consciousness when thou art wholly blest, +Then call it what thou wilt, +Joy! Heart! Love! God! +I have no name to give it! +All comes at last to feeling; +Name is but sound and smoke, +Beclouding Heaven's warm glow. + +_Margaret_. That is all fine and good, I know; +And just as the priest has often spoke, +Only with somewhat different phrases. + +_Faust_. All hearts, too, in all places, +Wherever Heaven pours down the day's broad blessing, +Each in its way the truth is confessing; +And why not I in mine, too? + +_Margaret_. Well, all have a way that they incline to, +But still there is something wrong with thee; +Thou hast no Christianity. + +_Faust_. Dear child! + +_Margaret_. It long has troubled me +That thou shouldst keep such company. + +_Faust_. How so? + +_Margaret_. The man whom thou for crony hast, +Is one whom I with all my soul detest. +Nothing in all my life has ever +Stirred up in my heart such a deep disfavor +As the ugly face that man has got. + +_Faust_. Sweet plaything; fear him not! + +_Margaret_. His presence stirs my blood, I own. +I can love almost all men I've ever known; +But much as thy presence with pleasure thrills me, +That man with a secret horror fills me. +And then for a knave I've suspected him long! +God pardon me, if I do him wrong! + +_Faust_. To make up a world such odd sticks are needed. + +_Margaret_. Shouldn't like to live in the house where he did! +Whenever I see him coming in, +He always wears such a mocking grin. +Half cold, half grim; +One sees, that naught has interest for him; +'Tis writ on his brow and can't be mistaken, +No soul in him can love awaken. +I feel in thy arms so happy, so free, +I yield myself up so blissfully, +He comes, and all in me is closed and frozen now. + +_Faust_. Ah, thou mistrustful angel, thou! + +_Margaret_. This weighs on me so sore, +That when we meet, and he is by me, +I feel, as if I loved thee now no more. +Nor could I ever pray, if he were nigh me, +That eats the very heart in me; +Henry, it must be so with thee. + +_Faust_. 'Tis an antipathy of thine! + +_Margaret_. Farewell! + +_Faust_. Ah, can I ne'er recline +One little hour upon thy bosom, pressing +My heart to thine and all my soul confessing? + +_Margaret_. Ah, if my chamber were alone, +This night the bolt should give thee free admission; +But mother wakes at every tone, +And if she had the least suspicion, +Heavens! I should die upon the spot! + +_Faust_. Thou angel, need of that there's not. +Here is a flask! Three drops alone +Mix with her drink, and nature +Into a deep and pleasant sleep is thrown. + +_Margaret_. Refuse thee, what can I, poor creature? +I hope, of course, it will not harm her! + +_Faust_. Would I advise it then, my charmer? + +_Margaret_. Best man, when thou dost look at me, +I know not what, moves me to do thy will; +I have already done so much for thee, +Scarce any thing seems left me to fulfil. + [_Exit_.] + + Enter_ MEPHISTOPHELES. + +_Mephtftopheles_. The monkey! is she gone? + +_Faust_. Hast played the spy again? + +_Mephistopheles_. I overheard it all quite fully. +The Doctor has been well catechized then? +Hope it will sit well on him truly. +The maidens won't rest till they know if the men +Believe as good old custom bids them do. +They think: if there he yields, he'll follow our will too. + +_Faust_. Monster, thou wilt not, canst not see, +How this true soul that loves so dearly, +Yet hugs, at every cost, +The faith which she +Counts Heaven itself, is horror-struck sincerely +To think of giving up her dearest man for lost. + +_Mephistopheles_. Thou supersensual, sensual wooer, +A girl by the nose is leading thee. + +_Faust_. Abortion vile of fire and sewer! + +_Mephistopheles_. In physiognomy, too, her skill is masterly. +When I am near she feels she knows not how, +My little mask some secret meaning shows; +She thinks, I'm certainly a genius, now, +Perhaps the very devil--who knows? +To-night then?-- + +_Faust_. Well, what's that to you? + +_Mephistopheles_. I find my pleasure in it, too! + + + + + AT THE WELL. + + MARGERY _and_ LIZZY _with Pitchers._ + +_Lizzy_. Hast heard no news of Barbara to-day? + +_Margery_. No, not a word. I've not been out much lately. + +_Lizzy_. It came to me through Sybill very straightly. +She's made a fool of herself at last, they say. +That comes of taking airs! + +_Margery_. What meanst thou? + +_Lizzy_. Pah! +She daily eats and drinks for two now. + +_Margery_. Ah! + +_Lizzy_. It serves the jade right for being so callow. +How long she's been hanging upon the fellow! +Such a promenading! +To fair and dance parading! +Everywhere as first she must shine, +He was treating her always with tarts and wine; +She began to think herself something fine, +And let her vanity so degrade her +That she even accepted the presents he made her. +There was hugging and smacking, and so it went on-- +And lo! and behold! the flower is gone! + +_Margery_. Poor thing! + +_Lizzy_. Canst any pity for her feel! +When such as we spun at the wheel, +Our mothers kept us in-doors after dark; +While she stood cozy with her spark, +Or sate on the door-bench, or sauntered round, +And never an hour too long they found. +But now her pride may let itself down, +To do penance at church in the sinner's gown! + +_Margery_. He'll certainly take her for his wife. + +_Lizzy_. He'd be a fool! A spruce young blade +Has room enough to ply his trade. +Besides, he's gone. + +_Margery_. Now, that's not fair! + +_Lizzy_. If she gets him, her lot'll be hard to bear. +The boys will tear up her wreath, and what's more, +We'll strew chopped straw before her door. + + [_Exit._] + +_Margery [going home]_. Time was when I, too, instead of bewailing, +Could boldly jeer at a poor girl's failing! +When my scorn could scarcely find expression +At hearing of another's transgression! +How black it seemed! though black as could be, +It never was black enough for me. +I blessed my soul, and felt so high, +And now, myself, in sin I lie! +Yet--all that led me to it, sure, +O God! it was so dear, so pure! + + + + + DONJON.[27] + + [_In a niche a devotional image of the Mater Dolorosa, + before it pots of flowers._] + +MARGERY [_puts fresh flowers into the pots_]. + Ah, hear me, + Draw kindly near me, + Mother of sorrows, heal my woe! + + Sword-pierced, and stricken + With pangs that sicken, + Thou seest thy son's last life-blood flow! + + Thy look--thy sighing--- + To God are crying, + Charged with a son's and mother's woe! + + Sad mother! + What other + Knows the pangs that eat me to the bone? + What within my poor heart burneth, + How it trembleth, how it yearneth, + Thou canst feel and thou alone! + + Go where I will, I never + Find peace or hope--forever + Woe, woe and misery! + + Alone, when all are sleeping, + I'm weeping, weeping, weeping, + My heart is crushed in me. + + The pots before my window, + In the early morning-hours, + Alas, my tears bedewed them, + As I plucked for thee these flowers, + + When the bright sun good morrow + In at my window said, + Already, in my anguish, + I sate there in my bed. + + From shame and death redeem me, oh! + Draw near me, + And, pitying, hear me, + Mother of sorrows, heal my woe! + + + + + NIGHT. + + _Street before_ MARGERY'S _Door._ + + + VALENTINE [_soldier,_ MARGERY'S _brother_]. + +When at the mess I used to sit, +Where many a one will show his wit, +And heard my comrades one and all +The flower of the sex extol, +Drowning their praise with bumpers high, +Leaning upon my elbows, I +Would hear the braggadocios through, +And then, when it came my turn, too, +Would stroke my beard and, smiling, say, +A brimming bumper in my hand: +All very decent in their way! +But is there one, in all the land, +With my sweet Margy to compare, +A candle to hold to my sister fair? +Bravo! Kling! Klang! it echoed round! +One party cried: 'tis truth he speaks, +She is the jewel of the sex! +And the braggarts all in silence were bound. +And now!--one could pull out his hair with vexation, +And run up the walls for mortification!-- +Every two-legged creature that goes in breeches +Can mock me with sneers and stinging speeches! +And I like a guilty debtor sitting, +For fear of each casual word am sweating! +And though I could smash them in my ire, +I dare not call a soul of them liar. + +What's that comes yonder, sneaking along? +There are two of them there, if I see not wrong. +Is't he, I'll give him a dose that'll cure him, +He'll not leave the spot alive, I assure him! + + + FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES. + +_Faust_. How from yon window of the sacristy +The ever-burning lamp sends up its glimmer, +And round the edge grows ever dimmer, +Till in the gloom its flickerings die! +So in my bosom all is nightlike. + +_Mephistopheles_. A starving tom-cat I feel quite like, +That o'er the fire ladders crawls +Then softly creeps, ground the walls. +My aim's quite virtuous ne'ertheless, +A bit of thievish lust, a bit of wantonness. +I feel it all my members haunting-- +The glorious Walpurgis night. +One day--then comes the feast enchanting +That shall all pinings well requite. + +_Faust_. Meanwhile can that the casket be, I wonder, +I see behind rise glittering yonder.[28] + +_Mephistopheles_. Yes, and thou soon shalt have the pleasure +Of lifting out the precious treasure. +I lately 'neath the lid did squint, +Has piles of lion-dollars[29] in't. + +_Faust_. But not a jewel? Not a ring? +To deck my mistress not a trinket? + +_Mephistopheles_. I caught a glimpse of some such thing, +Sort of pearl bracelet I should think it. + +_Faust_. That's well! I always like to bear +Some present when I visit my fair. + +_Mephistopheles_. You should not murmur if your fate is, +To have a bit of pleasure gratis. +Now, as the stars fill heaven with their bright throng, +List a fine piece, artistic purely: +I sing her here a moral song, +To make a fool of her more surely. + [_Sings to the guitar_.][30] + What dost thou here, + Katrina dear, + At daybreak drear, + Before thy lover's chamber? + Give o'er, give o'er! + The maid his door + Lets in, no more + Goes out a maid--remember! + + Take heed! take heed! + Once done, the deed + Ye'll rue with speed-- + And then--good night--poor thing--a! + Though ne'er so fair + His speech, beware, + Until you bear + His ring upon your finger. + +_Valentine_ [_comes forward_]. +Whom lur'ft thou here? what prey dost scent? +Rat-catching[81] offspring of perdition! +To hell goes first the instrument! +To hell then follows the musician! + +_Mephistopheles_. He 's broken the guitar! to music, then, good-bye, now. + +_Valentine_. A game of cracking skulls we'll try now! + +_Mephistopbeles_ [_to Faust_]. Never you flinch, Sir Doctor! Brisk! +Mind every word I say---be wary! +Stand close by me, out with your whisk! +Thrust home upon the churl! I'll parry. + +_Valentine_. Then parry that! + +_Mephistopheles_. Be sure. Why not? + +_Valentine_. And that! + +_Mephistopheles_. With ease! + +_Valentine_. The devil's aid he's got! +But what is this? My hand's already lame. + +_Mephistopheles_ [_to Faust_]. Thrust home! + +_Valentine_ [_falls_]. O woe! + +_Mephistopheles_. Now is the lubber tame! +But come! We must be off. I hear a clatter; +And cries of murder, too, that fast increase. +I'm an old hand to manage the police, +But then the penal court's another matter. + +_Martha_. Come out! Come out! + +_Margery_ [_at the window_]. Bring on a light! + +_Martha_ [_as above_]. They swear and scuffle, scream and fight. + +_People_. There's one, has got's death-blow! + +_Martha_ [_coming out_]. Where are the murderers, have they flown? + +_Margery_ [_coming out_]. Who's lying here? + +_People_. Thy mother's son. + +_Margery_. Almighty God! What woe! + +_Valentine_. I'm dying! that is quickly said, +And even quicklier done. +Women! Why howl, as if half-dead? +Come, hear me, every one! + [_All gather round him_.] +My Margery, look! Young art thou still, +But managest thy matters ill, +Hast not learned out yet quite. +I say in confidence--think it o'er: +Thou art just once for all a whore; +Why, be one, then, outright. + +_Margery_. My brother! God! What words to me! + +_Valentine_. In this game let our Lord God be! +That which is done, alas! is done. +And every thing its course will run. +With one you secretly begin, +Presently more of them come in, +And when a dozen share in thee, +Thou art the whole town's property. + +When shame is born to this world of sorrow, +The birth is carefully hid from sight, +And the mysterious veil of night +To cover her head they borrow; +Yes, they would gladly stifle the wearer; +But as she grows and holds herself high, +She walks uncovered in day's broad eye, +Though she has not become a whit fairer. +The uglier her face to sight, +The more she courts the noonday light. + +Already I the time can see +When all good souls shall shrink from thee, +Thou prostitute, when thou go'st by them, +As if a tainted corpse were nigh them. +Thy heart within thy breast shall quake then, +When they look thee in the face. +Shalt wear no gold chain more on thy neck then! +Shalt stand no more in the holy place! +No pleasure in point-lace collars take then, +Nor for the dance thy person deck then! +But into some dark corner gliding, +'Mong beggars and cripples wilt be hiding; +And even should God thy sin forgive, +Wilt be curs'd on earth while thou shalt live! + +_Martha_. Your soul to the mercy of God surrender! +Will you add to your load the sin of slander? + +_Valentine_. Could I get at thy dried-up frame, +Vile bawd, so lost to all sense of shame! +Then might I hope, e'en this side Heaven, +Richly to find my sins forgiven. + +_Margery_. My brother! This is hell to me! + +_Valentine_. I tell thee, let these weak tears be! +When thy last hold of honor broke, +Thou gav'st my heart the heaviest stroke. +I'm going home now through the grave +To God, a soldier and a brave. + [_Dies_.] + + + + + CATHEDRAL. + + _Service, Organ, and Singing._ + + + [MARGERY _amidst a crowd of people._ EVIL SPIRIT _behind_ MARGERY.] + +_Evil Spirit_. How different was it with thee, Margy, +When, innocent and artless, +Thou cam'st here to the altar, +From the well-thumbed little prayer-book, +Petitions lisping, +Half full of child's play, +Half full of Heaven! +Margy! +Where are thy thoughts? +What crime is buried +Deep within thy heart? +Prayest thou haply for thy mother, who +Slept over into long, long pain, on thy account? +Whose blood upon thy threshold lies? +--And stirs there not, already +Beneath thy heart a life +Tormenting itself and thee +With bodings of its coming hour? + +_Margery_. Woe! Woe! +Could I rid me of the thoughts, +Still through my brain backward and forward flitting, +Against my will! + +_Chorus_. Dies irae, dies illa +Solvet saeclum in favillâ. + + [_Organ plays_.] + +_Evil Spirit_. Wrath smites thee! +Hark! the trumpet sounds! +The graves are trembling! +And thy heart, +Made o'er again +For fiery torments, +Waking from its ashes +Starts up! + +_Margery_. Would I were hence! +I feel as if the organ's peal +My breath were stifling, +The choral chant +My heart were melting. + +_Chorus_. Judex ergo cum sedebit, +Quidquid latet apparebit. +Nil inultum remanebit. + +_Margery_. How cramped it feels! +The walls and pillars +Imprison me! +And the arches +Crush me!--Air! + +_Evil Spirit_. What! hide thee! sin and shame +Will not be hidden! +Air? Light? +Woe's thee! + +_Chorus_. Quid sum miser tunc dicturus? +Quem patronum rogaturus? +Cum vix justus sit securus. + +_Evil Spirit_. They turn their faces, +The glorified, from thee. +To take thy hand, the pure ones +Shudder with horror. +Woe! + +_Chorus_. Quid sum miser tunc dicturus? + +_Margery_. Neighbor! your phial!-- + [_She swoons._] + + + + + WALPURGIS NIGHT.[32] + + _Harz Mountains._ + + _District of Schirke and Elend._ + + + FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES. + +_Mephistopheles_. Wouldst thou not like a broomstick, now, to ride on? +At this rate we are, still, a long way off; +I'd rather have a good tough goat, by half, +Than the best legs a man e'er set his pride on. + +_Faust_. So long as I've a pair of good fresh legs to stride on, +Enough for me this knotty staff. +What use of shortening the way! +Following the valley's labyrinthine winding, +Then up this rock a pathway finding, +From which the spring leaps down in bubbling play, +That is what spices such a walk, I say! +Spring through the birch-tree's veins is flowing, +The very pine is feeling it; +Should not its influence set our limbs a-glowing? + +_Mephistopheles_. I do not feel it, not a bit! +My wintry blood runs very slowly; +I wish my path were filled with frost and snow. +The moon's imperfect disk, how melancholy +It rises there with red, belated glow, +And shines so badly, turn where'er one can turn, +At every step he hits a rock or tree! +With leave I'll beg a Jack-o'lantern! +I see one yonder burning merrily. +Heigh, there! my friend! May I thy aid desire? +Why waste at such a rate thy fire? +Come, light us up yon path, good fellow, pray! + +_Jack-o'lantern_. Out of respect, I hope I shall be able +To rein a nature quite unstable; +We usually take a zigzag way. + +_Mephistopheles_. Heigh! heigh! He thinks man's crooked course to travel. +Go straight ahead, or, by the devil, +I'll blow your flickering life out with a puff. + +_Jack-o'lantern_. You're master of the house, that's plain enough, +So I'll comply with your desire. +But see! The mountain's magic-mad to-night, +And if your guide's to be a Jack-o'lantern's light, +Strict rectitude you'll scarce require. + +FAUST, MEPHISTOPHELES, JACK-O'LANTERN, _in alternate song_. + + Spheres of magic, dream, and vision, + Now, it seems, are opening o'er us. + For thy credit, use precision! + Let the way be plain before us + Through the lengthening desert regions. + + See how trees on trees, in legions, + Hurrying by us, change their places, + And the bowing crags make faces, + And the rocks, long noses showing, + Hear them snoring, hear them blowing![33] + + Down through stones, through mosses flowing, + See the brook and brooklet springing. + Hear I rustling? hear I singing? + Love-plaints, sweet and melancholy, + Voices of those days so holy? + All our loving, longing, yearning? + Echo, like a strain returning + From the olden times, is ringing. + + Uhu! Schuhu! Tu-whit! Tu-whit! + Are the jay, and owl, and pewit + All awake and loudly calling? + What goes through the bushes yonder? + Can it be the Salamander-- + Belly thick and legs a-sprawling? + Roots and fibres, snake-like, crawling, + Out from rocky, sandy places, + Wheresoe'er we turn our faces, + Stretch enormous fingers round us, + Here to catch us, there confound us; + Thick, black knars to life are starting, + Polypusses'-feelers darting + At the traveller. Field-mice, swarming, + Thousand-colored armies forming, + Scamper on through moss and heather! + And the glow-worms, in the darkling, + With their crowded escort sparkling, + Would confound us altogether. + + But to guess I'm vainly trying-- + Are we stopping? are we hieing? + Round and round us all seems flying, + Rocks and trees, that make grimaces, + And the mist-lights of the places + Ever swelling, multiplying. + +_Mephistopheles_. Here's my coat-tail--tightly thumb it! +We have reached a middle summit, +Whence one stares to see how shines +Mammon in the mountain-mines. + +_Faust_. How strangely through the dim recesses +A dreary dawning seems to glow! +And even down the deep abysses +Its melancholy quiverings throw! +Here smoke is boiling, mist exhaling; +Here from a vapory veil it gleams, +Then, a fine thread of light, goes trailing, +Then gushes up in fiery streams. +The valley, here, you see it follow, +One mighty flood, with hundred rills, +And here, pent up in some deep hollow, +It breaks on all sides down the hills. +Here, spark-showers, darting up before us, +Like golden sand-clouds rise and fall. +But yonder see how blazes o'er us, +All up and down, the rocky wall! + +_Mephistopheles_. Has not Sir Mammon gloriously lighted +His palace for this festive night? +Count thyself lucky for the sight: +I catch e'en now a glimpse of noisy guests invited. + +_Faust_. How the mad tempest[34] sweeps the air! +On cheek and neck the wind-gusts how they flout me. + +_Mephistopheles_. Must seize the rock's old ribs and hold on stoutly! +Else will they hurl thee down the dark abysses there. +A mist-rain thickens the gloom. +Hark, how the forests crash and boom! +Out fly the owls in dread and wonder; +Splitting their columns asunder, +Hear it, the evergreen palaces shaking! +Boughs are twisting and breaking! +Of stems what a grinding and moaning! +Of roots what a creaking and groaning! +In frightful confusion, headlong tumbling, +They fall, with a sound of thunder rumbling, +And, through the wreck-piled ravines and abysses, +The tempest howls and hisses. +Hearst thou voices high up o'er us? +Close around us--far before us? +Through the mountain, all along, +Swells a torrent of magic song. + +_Witches_ [_in chorus_]. The witches go to the Brocken's top, + The stubble is yellow, and green the crop. + They gather there at the well-known call, + Sir Urian[85] sits at the head of all. + Then on we go o'er stone and stock: + The witch, she--and--the buck. + +_Voice_. Old Baubo comes along, I vow! +She rides upon a farrow-sow. + +_Chorus_. Then honor to whom honor's due! + Ma'am Baubo ahead! and lead the crew! + A good fat sow, and ma'am on her back, + Then follow the witches all in a pack. + +_Voice_. Which way didst thou come? + +_Voice_. By the Ilsenstein! +Peeped into an owl's nest, mother of mine! +What a pair of eyes! + +_Voice_. To hell with your flurry! +Why ride in such hurry! + +_Voice_. The hag be confounded! +My skin flie has wounded! + +_Witches_ [_chorus]._ The way is broad, the way is long, + What means this noisy, crazy throng? + The broom it scratches, the fork it flicks, + The child is stifled, the mother breaks. + +_Wizards_ [_semi-chorus_]. Like housed-up snails we're creeping on, +The women all ahead are gone. +When to the Bad One's house we go, +She gains a thousand steps, you know. + +_The other half_. We take it not precisely so; +What she in thousand steps can go, +Make all the haste she ever can, +'Tis done in just one leap by man. + +_Voice_ [_above_]. Come on, come on, from Felsensee! + +_Voices_ [_from below_]. We'd gladly join your airy way. +For wash and clean us as much as we will, +We always prove unfruitful still. + +_Both chorusses_. The wind is hushed, the star shoots by, + The moon she hides her sickly eye. + The whirling, whizzing magic-choir + Darts forth ten thousand sparks of fire. + +_Voice_ [_from below_]. Ho, there! whoa, there! + +_Voice_ [_from above_]. Who calls from the rocky cleft below there? + +_Voice_ [_below_]. Take me too! take me too! +Three hundred years I've climbed to you, +Seeking in vain my mates to come at, +For I can never reach the summit. + +_Both chorusses_. Can ride the besom, the stick can ride, + Can stride the pitchfork, the goat can stride; + Who neither will ride to-night, nor can, + Must be forever a ruined man. + +_Half-witch_ [_below_]. I hobble on--I'm out of wind-- +And still they leave me far behind! +To find peace here in vain I come, +I get no more than I left at home. + +_Chorus of witches_. The witch's salve can never fail, + A rag will answer for a sail, + Any trough will do for a ship, that's tight; + He'll never fly who flies not to-night. + +_Both chorusses_. And when the highest peak we round, + Then lightly graze along the ground, + And cover the heath, where eye can see, + With the flower of witch-errantry. + [_They alight_.] + +_Mephistopheles._ What squeezing and pushing, what rustling and hustling! +What hissing and twirling, what chattering and bustling! +How it shines and sparkles and burns and stinks! +A true witch-element, methinks! +Keep close! or we are parted in two winks. +Where art thou? + +_Faust_ [_in the distance_]. Here! + +_Mephistopheles_. What! carried off already? +Then I must use my house-right.--Steady! +Room! Squire Voland[36] comes. Sweet people, Clear the ground! +Here, Doctor, grasp my arm! and, at a single bound; +Let us escape, while yet 'tis easy; +E'en for the like of me they're far too crazy. +See! yonder, something shines with quite peculiar glare, +And draws me to those bushes mazy. +Come! come! and let us slip in there. + +_Faust_. All-contradicting sprite! To follow thee I'm fated. +But I must say, thy plan was very bright! +We seek the Brocken here, on the Walpurgis night, +Then hold ourselves, when here, completely isolated! + +_Mephistopheles_. What motley flames light up the heather! +A merry club is met together, +In a small group one's not alone. + +_Faust_. I'd rather be up there, I own! +See! curling smoke and flames right blue! +To see the Evil One they travel; +There many a riddle to unravel. + +_Mephistopheles_. And tie up many another, too. +Let the great world there rave and riot, +We here will house ourselves in quiet. +The saying has been long well known: +In the great world one makes a small one of his own. +I see young witches there quite naked all, +And old ones who, more prudent, cover. +For my sake some flight things look over; +The fun is great, the trouble small. +I hear them tuning instruments! Curs'd jangle! +Well! one must learn with such things not to wrangle. +Come on! Come on! For so it needs must be, +Thou shalt at once be introduced by me. +And I new thanks from thee be earning. +That is no scanty space; what sayst thou, friend? +Just take a look! thou scarce canst see the end. +There, in a row, a hundred fires are burning; +They dance, chat, cook, drink, love; where can be found +Any thing better, now, the wide world round? + +_Faust_. Wilt thou, as things are now in this condition, +Present thyself for devil, or magician? + +_Mephistopheles_. I've been much used, indeed, to going incognito; + +But then, on gala-day, one will his order show. +No garter makes my rank appear, +But then the cloven foot stands high in honor here. +Seest thou the snail? Look there! where she comes creeping yonder! +Had she already smelt the rat, +I should not very greatly wonder. +Disguise is useless now, depend on that. +Come, then! we will from fire to fire wander, +Thou shalt the wooer be and I the pander. + [_To a party who sit round expiring embers_.] +Old gentlemen, you scarce can hear the fiddle! +You'd gain more praise from me, ensconced there in the middle, +'Mongst that young rousing, tousing set. +One can, at home, enough retirement get. + +_General_. Trust not the people's fickle favor! +However much thou mayst for them have done. +Nations, as well as women, ever, +Worship the rising, not the setting sun. + +_Minister_. From the right path we've drifted far away, +The good old past my heart engages; +Those were the real golden ages, +When such as we held all the sway. + +_Parvenu_. We were no simpletons, I trow, +And often did the thing we should not; +But all is turning topsy-turvy now, +And if we tried to stem the wave, we could not. + +_Author_. Who on the whole will read a work today, +Of moderate sense, with any pleasure? +And as regards the dear young people, they +Pert and precocious are beyond all measure. + +_Mephistopheles_ [_who all at once appears very old_]. +The race is ripened for the judgment day: +So I, for the last time, climb the witch-mountain, thinking, +And, as my cask runs thick, I say, +The world, too, on its lees is sinking. + +_Witch-broker_. Good gentlemen, don't hurry by! +The opportunity's a rare one! +My stock is an uncommon fair one, +Please give it an attentive eye. +There's nothing in my shop, whatever, +But on the earth its mate is found; +That has not proved itself right clever +To deal mankind some fatal wound. +No dagger here, but blood has some time stained it; +No cup, that has not held some hot and poisonous juice, +And stung to death the throat that drained it; +No trinket, but did once a maid seduce; +No sword, but hath some tie of sacred honor riven, +Or haply from behind through foeman's neck been driven. + +_Mephistopheles_. You're quite behind the times, I tell you, Aunty! +By-gones be by-gones! done is done! +Get us up something new and jaunty! +For new things now the people run. + +_Faust_. To keep my wits I must endeavor! +Call this a fair! I swear, I never--! + +_Mephistopheles_. Upward the billowy mass is moving; +You're shoved along and think, meanwhile, you're shoving. + +_Faust_. What woman's that? + +_Mephistopheles_. Mark her attentively. +That's Lilith.[37] + +_Faust_. Who? + +_Mephistopbeles_. Adam's first wife is she. +Beware of her one charm, those lovely tresses, +In which she shines preeminently fair. +When those soft meshes once a young man snare, +How hard 'twill be to escape he little guesses. + +_Faust_. There sit an old one and a young together; +They've skipped it well along the heather! + +_Mephistopheles_. No rest from that till night is through. +Another dance is up; come on! let us fall to. + +_Faust_ [_dancing with the young one_]. A lovely dream once came to me; +In it I saw an apple-tree; +Two beauteous apples beckoned there, +I climbed to pluck the fruit so fair. + +_The Fair one_. Apples you greatly seem to prize, +And did so even in Paradise. +I feel myself delighted much +That in my garden I have such. + +_Mephistopheles_ [_with the old hag_]. A dismal dream once came to me; +In it I saw a cloven tree, +It had a ------ but still, +I looked on it with right good-will. + +_The Hog_. With best respect I here salute +The noble knight of the cloven foot! +Let him hold a ------ near, +If a ------ he does not fear. + +_Proctophantasmist_.[38] What's this ye undertake? Confounded crew! +Have we not giv'n you demonstration? +No spirit stands on legs in all creation, +And here you dance just as we mortals do! + +_The Fair one_ [_dancing_]. What does that fellow at our ball? + +_Faust_ [_dancing_]. Eh! he must have a hand in all. +What others dance that he appraises. +Unless each step he criticizes, +The step as good as no step he will call. +But when we move ahead, that plagues him more than all. +If in a circle you would still keep turning, +As he himself in his old mill goes round, +He would be sure to call that sound! +And most so, if you went by his superior learning. + +_Proctophantasmist_. What, and you still are here! Unheard off obstinates! +Begone! We've cleared it up! You shallow pates! +The devilish pack from rules deliverance boasts. +We've grown so wise, and Tegel[39] still sees ghosts. +How long I've toiled to sweep these cobwebs from the brain, +And yet--unheard of folly! all in vain. + +_The Fair one_. And yet on us the stupid bore still tries it! + +_Proctophantasmist_. I tell you spirits, to the face, +I give to spirit-tyranny no place, +My spirit cannot exercise it. + [_They dance on_.] +I can't succeed to-day, I know it; +Still, there's the journey, which I like to make, +And hope, before the final step I take, +To rid the world of devil and of poet. + +_Mephistopheles_. You'll see him shortly sit into a puddle, +In that way his heart is reassured; +When on his rump the leeches well shall fuddle, +Of spirits and of spirit he'll be cured. + [_To_ FAUST, _who has left the dance_.] +Why let the lovely girl slip through thy fingers, +Who to thy dance so sweetly sang? + +_Faust_. Ah, right amidst her singing, sprang +A wee red mouse from her mouth and made me cower. + +_Mephistopheles_. That's nothing wrong! You're in a dainty way; +Enough, the mouse at least wan't gray. +Who minds such thing in happy amorous hour? + +_Faust_. Then saw I-- + +_Mephistopheles_. What? + +_Faust_. Mephisto, seest thou not +Yon pale, fair child afar, who stands so sad and lonely, +And moves so slowly from the spot, +Her feet seem locked, and she drags them only. +I must confess, she seems to me +To look like my own good Margery. + +_Mephistopheles_. Leave that alone! The sight no health can bring. +it is a magic shape, an idol, no live thing. +To meet it never can be good! +Its haggard look congeals a mortal's blood, +And almost turns him into stone; +The story of Medusa thou hast known. + +_Faust_. Yes, 'tis a dead one's eyes that stare upon me, +Eyes that no loving hand e'er closed; +That is the angel form of her who won me, +Tis the dear breast on which I once reposed. + +_Mephistopheles_. 'Tis sorcery all, thou fool, misled by passion's dreams! +For she to every one his own love seems. + +_Faust_. What bliss! what woe! Methinks I never +My sight from that sweet form can sever. +Seeft thou, not thicker than a knife-blade's back, +A small red ribbon, fitting sweetly +The lovely neck it clasps so neatly? + +_Mephistopheles_. I see the streak around her neck. +Her head beneath her arm, you'll next behold her; +Perseus has lopped it from her shoulder,-- +But let thy crazy passion rest! +Come, climb with me yon hillock's breast, +Was e'er the Prater[40] merrier then? +And if no sorcerer's charm is o'er me, +That is a theatre before me. +What's doing there? + +_Servibilis_. They'll straight begin again. +A bran-new piece, the very last of seven; +To have so much, the fashion here thinks fit. +By Dilettantes it is given; +'Twas by a Dilettante writ. +Excuse me, sirs, I go to greet you; +I am the curtain-raising Dilettant. + +_Mephistopheles_. When I upon the Blocksberg meet you, +That I approve; for there's your place, I grant. + + + + + WALPURGIS-NIGHT'S DREAM, OR OBERON AND TITANIA'S GOLDEN NUPTIALS. + + _Intermezzo_. + + +_Theatre manager_. Here, for once, we rest, to-day, +Heirs of Mieding's[41] glory. +All the scenery we display-- +Damp vale and mountain hoary! + +_Herald_. To make the wedding a golden one, +Must fifty years expire; +But when once the strife is done, +I prize the _gold_ the higher. + +_Oberon_. Spirits, if my good ye mean, +Now let all wrongs be righted; +For to-day your king and queen +Are once again united. + +_Puck_. Once let Puck coming whirling round, +And set his foot to whisking, +Hundreds with him throng the ground, +Frolicking and frisking. + +_Ariel_. Ariel awakes the song +With many a heavenly measure; +Fools not few he draws along, +But fair ones hear with pleasure. + +_Oberon_. Spouses who your feuds would smother, +Take from us a moral! +Two who wish to love each other, +Need only first to quarrel. + +_Titania_. If she pouts and he looks grim, +Take them both together, +To the north pole carry him, +And off with her to t'other. + + _Orchestra Tutti_. + +_Fortissimo_. Fly-snouts and gnats'-noses, these, +And kin in all conditions, +Grass-hid crickets, frogs in trees, +We take for our musicians! + +_Solo_. See, the Bagpipe comes! fall back! +Soap-bubble's name he owneth. +How the _Schnecke-schnicke-schnack_ +Through his snub-nose droneth! +_Spirit that is just shaping itself_. Spider-foot, toad's-belly, too, +Give the child, and winglet! +'Tis no animalcule, true, +But a poetic thinglet. + +_A pair of lovers_. Little step and lofty bound +Through honey-dew and flowers; +Well thou trippest o'er the ground, +But soarst not o'er the bowers. + +_Curious traveller_. This must be masquerade! +How odd! +My very eyes believe I? +Oberon, the beauteous God +Here, to-night perceive I! + +_Orthodox_. Neither claws, nor tail I see! +And yet, without a cavil, +Just as "the Gods of Greece"[42] were, he +Must also be a devil. + +_Northern artist_. What here I catch is, to be sure, +But sketchy recreation; +And yet for my Italian tour +'Tis timely preparation. + +_Purist_. Bad luck has brought me here, I see! +The rioting grows louder. +And of the whole witch company, +There are but two, wear powder. + +_Young witch_. Powder becomes, like petticoat, +Your little, gray old woman: +Naked I sit upon my goat, +And show the untrimmed human. + +_Matron_. To stand here jawing[43] with you, we +Too much good-breeding cherish; +But young and tender though you be, +I hope you'll rot and perish. + +_Leader of the music_. Fly-snouts and gnat-noses, please, +Swarm not so round the naked! +Grass-hid crickets, frogs in trees, +Keep time and don't forsake it! + +_Weathercock_ [_towards one side_]. Find better company, who can! +Here, brides attended duly! +There, bachelors, ranged man by man, +Most hopeful people truly! + +_Weathercock [towards the other side_]. +And if the ground don't open straight, +The crazy crew to swallow, +You'll see me, at a furious rate, +Jump down to hell's black hollow. + +_Xenia[_44] We are here as insects, ah! +Small, sharp nippers wielding, +Satan, as our _cher papa_, +Worthy honor yielding. + +_Hennings_. See how naïvely, there, the throng +Among themselves are jesting, +You'll hear them, I've no doubt, ere long, +Their good kind hearts protesting. + +_Musagetes_. Apollo in this witches' group +Himself right gladly loses; +For truly I could lead this troop +Much easier than the muses. + +_Ci-devant genius of the age_. Right company will raise man up. +Come, grasp my skirt, Lord bless us! +The Blocksberg has a good broad top, +Like Germany's Parnassus. + +_Curious traveller_. Tell me who is that stiff man? +With what stiff step he travels! +He noses out whate'er he can. +"He scents the Jesuit devils." + +_Crane_. In clear, and muddy water, too, +The long-billed gentleman fishes; +Our pious gentlemen we view +Fingering in devils' dishes. + +_Child of this world_. Yes, with the pious ones, 'tis clear, +"All's grist that comes to their mill;" +They build their tabernacles here, +On Blocksberg, as on Carmel. + +_Dancer_. Hark! a new choir salutes my ear! +I hear a distant drumming. +"Be not disturbed! 'mong reeds you hear +The one-toned bitterns bumming." + +_Dancing-master._ How each his legs kicks up and flings, +Pulls foot as best he's able! +The clumsy hops, the crooked springs, +'Tis quite disreputable! + +_Fiddler_. The scurvy pack, they hate, 'tis clear, +Like cats and dogs, each other. +Like Orpheus' lute, the bagpipe here +Binds beast to beast as brother. + +_Dogmatist_. You'll not scream down my reason, though, +By criticism's cavils. +The devil's something, that I know, +Else how could there be devils? + +_Idealist_. Ah, phantasy, for once thy sway +Is guilty of high treason. +If all I see is I, to-day, +'Tis plain I've lost my reason. + +_Realist_. To me, of all life's woes and plagues, +Substance is most provoking, +For the first time I feel my legs +Beneath me almost rocking. + +_Supernaturalist_. I'm overjoyed at being here, +And even among these rude ones; +For if bad spirits are, 'tis clear, +There also must be good ones. + +_Skeptic_. Where'er they spy the flame they roam, +And think rich stores to rifle, +Here such as I are quite at home, +For _Zweifel_ rhymes with _Teufel_.[45] + +_Leader of the music_. Grass-hid cricket, frogs in trees, +You cursed dilettanti! +Fly-snouts and gnats'-noses, peace! +Musicians you, right jaunty! + +_The Clever ones_. Sans-souci we call this band +Of merry ones that skip it; +Unable on our feet to stand, +Upon our heads we trip it. + +_The Bunglers_. Time was, we caught our tit-bits, too, +God help us now! that's done with! +We've danced our leathers entirely through, +And have only bare soles to run with. + +_Jack-o'lanterns_. From the dirty bog we come, +Whence we've just arisen: +Soon in the dance here, quite at home, +As gay young _sparks_ we'll glisten. + +_Shooting star_. Trailing from the sky I shot, +Not a star there missed me: +Crooked up in this grassy spot, +Who to my legs will assist me? + +_The solid men_. Room there! room there! clear the ground! +Grass-blades well may fall so; +Spirits are we, but 'tis found +They have plump limbs also. + +_Puck_. Heavy men! do not, I say, +Like elephants' calves go stumping: +Let the plumpest one to-day +Be Puck, the ever-jumping. + +_Ariel_. If the spirit gave, indeed, +If nature gave you, pinions, +Follow up my airy lead +To the rose-dominions! + +_Orchestra_ [_pianissimo_]. Gauzy mist and fleecy cloud +Sun and wind have banished. +Foliage rustles, reeds pipe loud, +All the show has vanished. + + + + + DREARY DAY.[46] + + _Field_. + + + FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES. + +_Faust_. In wretchedness! In despair! Long hunted up and down the earth, a +miserable fugitive, and caught at last! Locked up as a malefactor in +prison, to converse with horrible torments--the sweet, unhappy creature! +Even to this pass! even to this!--Treacherous, worthless spirit, and this +thou hast hidden from me!--Stand up here--stand up! Roll thy devilish eyes +round grimly in thy head! Stand and defy me with thy intolerable presence! +Imprisoned! In irretrievable misery! Given over to evil spirits and to the +judgment of unfeeling humanity, and me meanwhile thou lullest in insipid +dissipations, concealest from me her growing anguish, and leavest her +without help to perish! + +_Mephistopheles_. She is not the first! + +_Faust_. Dog! abominable monster! Change him, thou Infinite Spirit! change +the worm back into his canine form, as he was often pleased in the night +to trot before me, to roll before the feet of the harmless wanderer, and, +when he fell, to hang on his shoulders. Change him again into his favorite +shape, that he may crawl before me on his belly in the sand, and that I +may tread him under foot, the reprobate!--Not the first! Misery! Misery! +inconceivable by any human soul! that more than one creature ever sank +into the depth of this wretchedness, that the first in its writhing +death-agony did not atone for the guilt of all the rest before the eyes of +the eternally Forgiving! My very marrow and life are consumed by the +misery of this single one; thou grinnest away composedly at the fate of +thousands! + +_Mephistopheles_. Here we are again at our wits' ends already, where the +thread of sense, with you mortals, snaps short. Why make a partnership +with us, if thou canst not carry it through? Wilt fly, and art not proof +against dizziness? Did we thrust ourselves on thee, or thou on us? + +_Faust_. Gnash not so thy greedy teeth against me! It disgusts me!--Great +and glorious spirit, thou that deignedst to appear to me, who knowest my +heart and soul, why yoke me to this shame-fellow, who feeds on mischief +and feasts on ruin? + +_Mephistopheles_. Hast thou done? + +_Faust_. Rescue her! O woe be unto thee! The most horrible curse on thee +for thousands of years! + +_Mephistopheles_. I cannot loose the bonds of the avenger, nor open his +bolts.--Rescue her!--Who was it that plunged her into ruin? I or thou? + [FAUST _looks wildly round_.] +Grasp'st thou after the thunder? Well that it was not given to you +miserable mortals! To crush an innocent respondent, that is a sort of +tyrant's-way of getting room to breathe in embarrassment. + +_Faust_. Lead me to her! She shall be free! + +_Mephistopheles_. And the danger which thou incurrest? Know that the guilt +of blood at thy hand still lies upon the town. Over the place of the +slain, avenging spirits hover and lurk for the returning murderer. + +_Faust_. That, too, from thee? Murder and death of a world upon thee, +monster! Lead me thither, I say, and free her! + +_Mephistopheles_. I will lead thee, and hear what I can do! Have I all +power in heaven and on earth? I will becloud the turnkey's senses; possess +thyself of the keys, and bear her out with human hand. I will watch! The +magic horses shall be ready, and I will bear you away. So much I can do. + +_Faust_. Up and away! + + + + + NIGHT. OPEN FIELD. + + FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES. + _Scudding along on black horses_. + +_Faust_. What's doing, off there, round the gallows-tree?[47] + +_Mephistopheles_. Know not what they are doing and brewing. + +_Faust_. Up they go--down they go--wheel about, reel about. + +_Mephistopheles_. A witches'-crew. + +_Faust_. They're strewing and vowing. + +_Mephistopheles_. Pass on! Pass on! + + + + + PRISON. + + FAUST [_with a bunch of keys and a lamp, before an iron door_] +A long unwonted chill comes o'er me, +I feel the whole great load of human woe. +Within this clammy wall that frowns before me +Lies one whom blinded love, not guilt, brought low! +Thou lingerest, in hope to grow bolder! +Thou fearest again to behold her! +On! Thy shrinking slowly hastens the blow! + [_He grasps the key. Singing from within_.] +My mother, the harlot, +That strung me up! +My father, the varlet, +That ate me up! +My sister small, +She gathered up all +The bones that day, +And in a cool place did lay; +Then I woke, a sweet bird, at a magic call; +Fly away, fly away! + +_Faust [unlocking_]. She little dreams, her lover is so near, +The clanking chains, the rustling straw can hear; + [_He enters_.] + +_Margaret [burying herself in the bed_]. Woe! woe! +They come. O death of bitterness! + +_Faust_ [_softly_]. Hush! hush! I come to free thee; thou art dreaming. + +_Margaret_ [_prostrating herself before him_]. +Art thou a man, then feel for my distress. + +_Faust_. Thou'lt wake the guards with thy loud screaming! + [_He seizes the chains to tin lock them._] + +_Margaret_ [_on her knees_]. Headsman, who's given thee this right +O'er me, this power! +Thou com'st for me at dead of night; +In pity spare me, one short hour! +Wilt't not be time when Matin bell has rung? + [_She stands up._] +Ah, I am yet so young, so young! +And death pursuing! +Fair was I too, and that was my undoing. +My love was near, far is he now! +Tom is the wreath, the scattered flowers lie low. +Take not such violent hold of me! +Spare me! what harm have I done to thee? +Let me not in vain implore thee. +Thou ne'er till now sawft her who lies before thee! + +_Faust_. O sorrow worse than death is o'er me! + +_Margaret_. Now I am wholly in thy power. +But first I'd nurse my child--do not prevent me. +I hugged it through the black night hour; +They took it from me to torment me, +And now they say I killed the pretty flower. +I shall never be happy again, I know. +They sing vile songs at me! 'Tis bad in them to do it! +There's an old tale that ends just so, +Who gave that meaning to it? + +_Faust [prostrates himself_]. A lover at thy feet is bending, +Thy bonds of misery would be rending. + +_Margaret [flings herself beside him_]. +O let us kneel, the saints for aid invoking! +See! 'neath the threshold smoking, +Fire-breathing, +Hell is seething! +There prowling, +And grim under cover, +Satan is howling! + +_Faust [aloud_]. Margery! Margery! + +_Margaret [listening_]. That was the voice of my lover! + [_She springs up. The chains fall off_.] + +Where is he? Where? He calls. I hear him. +I'm free! Who hinders? I will be near him. +I'll fly to his neck! I'll hold him! +To my bosom I'll enfold him! +He stood on the threshold--called Margery plainly! +Hell's howling and clattering to drown it sought vainly,-- +Through the devilish, grim scoffs, that might turn one to stone, +I caught the sweet, loving, enrapturing tone. + +_Faust_. 'Tis I! + +_Margaret_. 'Tis thou! O say it once again. + [_Clasping again._] +'Tis he! 'tis he! Where now is all my pain? +And where the dungeon's anguish? Joy-giver! +'Tis thou! And come to deliver! +I am delivered! +Again before me lies the street, +Where for the first time thou and I did meet. +And the garden-bower, +Where we spent that evening hour. + +_Faust_ [_trying to draw her away_]. Come! Come with me! + +_Margaret_. O tarry! +I tarry so gladly where thou tarriest. + [_Caressing him._] + +_Faust_. Hurry! +Unless thou hurriest, +Bitterly we both must rue it. + +_Margaret_. Kiss me! Canst no more do it? +So short an absence, love, as this, +And forgot how to kiss? +What saddens me so as I hang about thy neck? +When once, in thy words, thy looks, such a heaven of blisses +Came o'er me, I thought my heart would break, +And it seemed as if thou wouldst smother me with kisses. +Kiss thou me! +Else I kiss thee! + [_She embraces him._] +Woe! woe! thy lips are cold, +Stone-dumb. +Where's thy love left? +Oh! I'm bereft! +Who robbed me? + [_She turns from him_] + +_Faust_. O come! +Take courage, my darling! Let us go; +I clasp-thee with unutterable glow; +But follow me! For this alone I plead! + +_Margaret [turning to him_]. Is it, then, thou? +And is it thou indeed? + +_Faust_. 'Tis I! Come, follow me! + +_Margaret_. Thou break'st my chain, +And tak'st me to thy breast again! +How comes it, then, that thou art not afraid of me? +And dost thou know, my friend, who 'tis thou settest free? + +_Faust_. Come! come! The night is on the wane. + +_Margaret_. Woe! woe! My mother I've slain! +Have drowned the babe of mine! +Was it not sent to be mine and thine? +Thine, too--'tis thou! Scarce true doth it seem. +Give me thy hand! 'Tis not a dream! +Thy blessed hand!--But ah! there's dampness here! +Go, wipe it off! I fear +There's blood thereon. +Ah God! what hast thou done! +Put up thy sword again; +I pray thee, do! + +_Faust_. The past is past--there leave it then, +Thou kill'st me too! + +_Margaret_. No, thou must longer tarry! +I'll tell thee how each thou shalt bury; +The places of sorrow +Make ready to-morrow; +Must give the best place to my mother, +The very next to my brother, +Me a little aside, +But make not the space too wide! +And on my right breast let the little one lie. +No one else will be sleeping by me. +Once, to feel _thy_ heart beat nigh me, +Oh, 'twas a precious, a tender joy! +But I shall have it no more--no, never; +I seem to be forcing myself on thee ever, +And thou repelling me freezingly; +And 'tis thou, the same good soul, I see. + +_Faust_. If thou feelest 'tis I, then come with me + +_Margaret_. Out yonder? + +_Faust_. Into the open air. + +_Margaret_. If the grave is there, +If death is lurking; then come! +From here to the endless resting-place, +And not another pace--Thou +go'st e'en now? O, Henry, might I too. + +_Faust_. Thou canst! 'Tis but to will! The door stands open. + +_Margaret_. I dare not go; for me there's no more hoping. +What use to fly? They lie in wait for me. +So wretched the lot to go round begging, +With an evil conscience thy spirit plaguing! +So wretched the lot, an exile roaming--And +then on my heels they are ever coming! + +_Faust_. I shall be with thee. + +_Margaret_. Make haste! make haste! +No time to waste! +Save thy poor child! +Quick! follow the edge +Of the rushing rill, +Over the bridge +And by the mill, +Then into the woods beyond +On the left where lies the plank +Over the pond. +Seize hold of it quick! +To rise 'tis trying, +It struggles still! +Rescue! rescue! + +_Faust_. Bethink thyself, pray! +A single step and thou art free! + +_Margaret_. Would we were by the mountain. See! +There sits my mother on a stone, +The sight on my brain is preying! +There sits my mother on a stone, +And her head is constantly swaying; +She beckons not, nods not, her head falls o'er, +So long she's been sleeping, she'll wake no more. +She slept that we might take pleasure. +O that was bliss without measure! + +_Faust_. Since neither reason nor prayer thou hearest; +I must venture by force to take thee, dearest. + +_Margaret_. Let go! No violence will I bear! +Take not such a murderous hold of me! +I once did all I could to gratify thee. + +_Faust_. The day is breaking! Dearest! dearest! + +_Margaret_. Day! Ay, it is day! the last great day breaks in! +My wedding-day it should have been! +Tell no one thou hast been with Margery! +Alas for my garland! The hour's advancing! +Retreat is in vain! +We meet again, +But not at the dancing. +The multitude presses, no word is spoke. +Square, streets, all places-- +sea of faces-- +The bell is tolling, the staff is broke. +How they seize me and bind me! +They hurry me off to the bloody block.[48] +The blade that quivers behind me, +Quivers at every neck with convulsive shock; +Dumb lies the world as the grave! + +_Faust_. O had I ne'er been born! + +_Mephistopheles [appears without_]. Up! or thou'rt lost! The morn +Flushes the sky. +Idle delaying! Praying and playing! +My horses are neighing, +They shudder and snort for the bound. + +_Margaret_. What's that, comes up from the ground? +He! He! Avaunt! that face! +What will he in the sacred place? +He seeks me! + +_Faust_. Thou shalt live! + +_Margaret_. Great God in heaven! +Unto thy judgment my soul have I given! + +_Mephistopheles [to Faust_]. +Come! come! or in the lurch I leave both her and thee! + +_Margaret_. Thine am I, Father! Rescue me! +Ye angels, holy bands, attend me! +And camp around me to defend me I +Henry! I dread to look on thee. + +_Mephistopheles_. She's judged! + +_Voice [from above_]. She's saved! + +_Mephistopheles [to Faust_]. Come thou to me! + [_Vanishes with_ FAUST.] + +_Voice [from within, dying away_]. Henry! Henry! + + + + +NOTES. + + +[Footnote 1: Dedication. The idea of Faust had early entered into Goethe's +mind. He probably began the work when he was about twenty years old. It +was first published, as a fragment, in 1790, and did not appear in its +present form till 1808, when its author's age was nearly sixty. By the +"forms" are meant, of course, the shadowy personages and scenes of the +drama.] + +[Footnote 2: --"Thy messengers"-- + "He maketh the winds his-messengers, + The flaming lightnings his ministers." + _Noyes's Psalms_, c. iv. 4.] + +[Footnote 3: "The Word Divine." In translating the German "Werdende" +(literally, the _becoming, developing_, or _growing_) by the term _word_, +I mean the _word_ in the largest sense: "In the beginning was the Word, +&c." Perhaps "nature" would be a pretty good rendering, but "word," being +derived from "werden," and expressing philosophically and scripturally the +going forth or manifestation of mind, seemed to me as appropriate a +translation as any.] + +[Footnote 4: "The old fellow." The commentators do not seem quite agreed +whether "den Alten" (the old one) is an entirely reverential phrase here, +like the "ancient of days," or savors a little of profane pleasantry, like +the title "old man" given by boys to their schoolmaster or of "the old +gentleman" to their fathers. Considering who the speaker is, I have +naturally inclined to the latter alternative.] + +[Footnote 5: "Nostradamus" (properly named Michel Notre Dame) lived +through the first half of the sixteenth century. He was born in the south +of France and was of Jewish extraction. As physician and astrologer, he +was held in high honor by the French nobility and kings.] + +[Footnote 6: The "Macrocosm" is the great world of outward things, in +contrast with its epitome, the little world in man, called the microcosm +(or world in miniature).] + +[Footnote 7: "Famulus" seems to mean a cross between a servant and a +scholar. The Dominie Sampson called Wagner, is appended to Faust for the +time somewhat as Sancho is to Don Quixote. The Doctor Faust of the legend +has a servant by that name, who seems to have been more of a _Sancho_, in +the sense given to the word by the old New England mothers when upbraiding +bad boys (you Sanch'!). Curiously enough, Goethe had in early life a +(treacherous) friend named Wagner, who plagiarized part of Faust and made +a tragedy of it.] + +[Footnote 8: "Mock-heroic play." We have Schlegel's authority for thus +rendering the phrase "Haupt- und Staats-Action," (literally, "head and +State-action,") who says that this title was given to dramas designed for +puppets, when they treated of heroic and historical subjects.] + +[Footnote 9: The literal sense of this couplet in the original is:-- + "Is he, in the bliss of becoming, + To creative joy near--" +"Werde-lust" presents the same difficulty that we found in note 3. This +same word, "Werden," is also used by the poet in the introductory theatre +scene (page 7), where he longs for the time when he himself was +_ripening_, growing, becoming, or _forming_, (as Hayward renders it.) I +agree with Hayward, "the meaning probably is, that our Saviour enjoys, in +coming to life again," (I should say, in being born into the upper life,) +"a happiness nearly equal to that of the Creator in creating."] + +[Footnote 10: The Angel-chorusses in this scene present the only instances +in which the translator, for the sake of retaining the ring and swing of +the melody, has felt himself obliged to give a transfusion of the spirit +of the thought, instead of its exact form. + +The literal meaning of the first chorus is:-- + + Christ is arisen! + Joy to the Mortal, + Whom the ruinous, + Creeping, hereditary + Infirmities wound round. + +Dr. Hedge has come nearer than any one to reconciling meaning and melody +thus:-- + + "Christ has arisen! + Joy to our buried Head! + Whom the unmerited, + Trailing, inherited + Woes did imprison." + +The present translator, without losing sight of the fact that "the Mortal" +means Christ, has taken the liberty (constrained by rhyme,--which is +sometimes more than the _rudder_ of verse,) of making the congratulation +include Humanity, as incarnated in Christ, "the second Adam." + +In the closing Chorus of Angels, the translator found that he could best +preserve the spirit of the five-fold rhyme:-- + + "Thätig ihn preisenden, + Liebe beweisenden, + Brüderlich speisenden, + Predigend reisenden, + Wonne verheissenden," + +by running it into three couplets.] + +[Footnote 11: The prose account of the alchymical process is as follows:-- + +"There was red mercury, a powerfully acting body, united with the tincture +of antimony, at a gentle heat of the water-bath. Then, being exposed to +the heat of open fire in an aludel, (or alembic,) a sublimate filled its +heads in succession, which, if it appeared with various hues, was the +desired medicine."] + +[Footnote 12: "Salamander, &c." The four represent the spirits of the +four elements, fire, water, air, and earth, which Faust successively +conjures, so that, if the monster belongs in any respect to this mundane +sphere, he may be exorcized. But it turns out that he is beyond and +beneath all.] + +[Footnote 13: Here, of course, Faust makes the sign of the cross, or holds +out a crucifix.] + +[Footnote 14: "Fly-God," _i.e._ Beelzebub.] + +[Footnote 15: The "Drudenfuss," or pentagram, was a pentagonal figure +composed of three triangles, thus: +[Illustration] + +[Footnote 16: Doctor's Feast. The inaugural feast given at taking a +degree.] + +[Footnote 17: "Blood." When at the first invention of printing, the art +was ascribed to the devil, the illuminated red ink parts were said by the +people to be done in blood.] + +[Footnote 18: "The Spanish boot" was an instrument of torture, like the +Scottish boot mentioned in Old Mortality.] + +[Footnote 19: "Encheiresin Naturæ." Literally, a handling of nature.] + +[Footnote 20: Still a famous place of public resort and entertainment. On +the wall are two old paintings of Faust's carousal and his ride out of the +door on a cask. One is accompanied by the following inscription, being two +lines (Hexameter and Pentameter) broken into halves:-- + + "Vive, bibe, obgregare, memor + Fausti hujus et hujus + Pœnæ. Aderat clauda haec, + Ast erat ampla gradû. 1525." + + "Live, drink, be merry, remembering + This Faust and his + Punishment. It came slowly + But was in ample measure."] + +[Footnote 21:_Frosch, Brander_, &c. These names seem to be chosen with an +eye to adaptation, Frosch meaning frog, and Brander fireship. "Frog" +happens also to be the nickname the students give to a pupil of the +gymnasium, or school preparatory to the university.] + +[Footnote 22: Rippach is a village near Leipsic, and Mr. Hans was a +fictitious personage about whom the students used to quiz greenhorns.] + +[Footnote 23: The original means literally _sea-cat_. Retzsch says, it is +the little ring-tailed monkey.] + +[Footnote 24: One-time-one, _i.e._ multiplication-table.] + +[Footnote 25: "Hand and glove." The translator's coincidence with Miss +Swanwick here was entirely accidental. The German is "thou and thou," +alluding to the fact that intimate friends among the Germans, like the +sect of Friends, call each other _thou_.] + +[Footnote 26: The following is a literal translation of the song referred +to:-- + + Were I a little bird, + Had I two wings of mine, + I'd fly to my dear; + But that can never be, + So I stay here. + + Though I am far from thee, + Sleeping I'm near to thee, + Talk with my dear; + When I awake again, + I am alone. + + Scarce is there an hour in the night, + When sleep does not take its flight, + And I think of thee, + How many thousand times + Thou gav'st thy heart to me.] + +[Footnote 27: Donjon. The original is _Zwinger_, which Hayward says is +untranslatable. It probably means an old tower, such as is often found in +the free cities, where, in a dark passage-way, a lamp is sometimes placed, +and a devotional image near it.] + +[Footnote 28: It was a superstitious belief that the presence of buried +treasure was indicated by a blue flame.] + +[Footnote 29: Lion-dollars--a Bohemian coin, first minted three centuries +ago, by Count Schlick, from the mines of Joachim's-Thal. The one side +bears a lion, the other a full length image of St. John.] + +[Footnote 30: An imitation of Ophelia's song: _Hamlet_, act 14, scene 5.] + +[Footnote 31: The Rat-catcher was supposed to have the art of drawing rats +after him by his whistle, like a sort of Orpheus.] + +[Footnote 32: Walpurgis Night. May-night. Walpurgis is the female saint +who converted the Saxons to Christianity.--The Brocken or Blocksberg is +the highest peak of the Harz mountains, which comprise about 1350 square +miles.--Schirke and Elend are two villages in the neighborhood.] + +[Footnote 33: Shelley's translation of this couplet is very fine: +("_O si sic omnia!_") + + "The giant-snouted crags, ho! ho! + How they snort and how they blow!"] + +[Footnote 34: The original is _Windsbraut_, (wind's-bride,) the word used +in Luther's Bible to translate Paul's _Euroclydon_.] + +[Footnote 35: One of the names of the devil in Germany.] + +[Footnote 36: One of the names of Beelzebub.] + +[Footnote 37: "The Talmudists say that Adam had a wife called Lilis before +he married Eve, and of her he begat nothing but devils." + _Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy_. + +A learned writer says that _Lullaby_ is derived from "Lilla, abi!" "Begone +Lilleth!" she having been supposed to lie in wait for children to kill +them.] + +[Footnote 38: This name, derived from two Greek words meaning _rump_ and +_fancy_, was meant for Nicolai of Berlin, a great hater of Goethe's +writings, and is explained by the fact that the man had for a long time a +violent affection of the nerves, and by the application he made of leeches +as a remedy, (alluded to by Mephistopheles.)] + +[Footnote 39: Tegel (mistranslated _pond_ by Shelley) is a small place a +few miles from Berlin, whose inhabitants were, in 1799, hoaxed by a ghost +story, of which the scene was laid in the former place.] + +[Footnote 40: The park in Vienna.] + +[Footnote 41: He was scene-painter to the Weimar theatre.] + +[Footnote 42: A poem of Schiller's, which gave great offence to the +religious people of his day.] + +[Footnote 43: A literal translation of _Maulen_, but a slang-term in +Yankee land.] + +[Footnote 44: Epigrams, published from time to time by Goethe and Schiller +jointly. Hennings (whose name heads the next quatrain) was editor of the +_Musaget_, (a title of Apollo, "leader of the muses,") and also of the +_Genius of the Age_. The other satirical allusions to classes of +notabilities will, without difficulty, be guessed out by the readers.] + +[Footnote 45: "_Doubt_ is the only rhyme for devil," in German.] + +[Footnote 46: The French translator, Stapfer, assigns as the probable +reason why this scene alone, of the whole drama, should have been left in +prose, "that it might not be said that Faust wanted any one of the +possible forms of style."] + +[Footnote 47: Literally the _raven-stone_.] + +[Footnote 48: The _blood-seat_, in allusion to the old German custom of +tying a woman, who was to be beheaded, into a wooden chair.] + + * * * * * + +P. S. There is a passage on page 84, the speech of Faust, ending with the +lines:-- + + Show me the fruit that, ere it's plucked, will rot, + And trees from which new green is daily peeping, + +which seems to have puzzled or misled so much, not only English +translators, but even German critics, that the present translator has +concluded, for once, to depart from his usual course, and play the +commentator, by giving his idea of Goethe's meaning, which is this: Faust +admits that the devil has all the different kinds of Sodom-apples which he +has just enumerated, gold that melts away in the hand, glory that vanishes +like a meteor, and pleasure that perishes in the possession. But all these +torments are too insipid for Faust's morbid and mad hankering after the +luxury of spiritual pain. Show me, he says, the fruit that rots _before_ +one can pluck it, and [a still stronger expression of his diseased craving +for agony] trees that fade so quickly as to be every day just putting +forth new green, only to tantalize one with perpetual promise and +perpetual disappointment. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Faust, by Goethe + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FAUST *** + +***** This file should be named 14460-8.txt or 14460-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/4/6/14460/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Bidwell and the PG Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/14460-8.zip b/old/14460-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..717b3ee --- /dev/null +++ b/old/14460-8.zip diff --git a/old/14460.txt b/old/14460.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..54b2392 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/14460.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7101 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Faust, by Goethe + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Faust + +Author: Goethe + +Release Date: December 25, 2004 [EBook #14460] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FAUST *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Bidwell and the PG Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + +FAUST + + +A TRAGEDY + +TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN + +OF + +GOETHE + + +WITH NOTES + +BY + +CHARLES T BROOKS + + +SEVENTH EDITION. + +BOSTON +TICKNOR AND FIELDS + +MDCCCLXVIII. + + + +Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, +by CHARLES T. BROOKS, +In the Clerk's Office of the District Court +of the District of Rhode Island. + +UNIVERSITY PRESS: +WELCH, BIGELOW, AND COMPANY, +CAMBRIDGE. + + + + +TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. + + +Perhaps some apology ought to be given to English scholars, that is, those +who do not know German, (to those, at least, who do not know what sort of +a thing Faust is in the original,) for offering another translation to the +public, of a poem which has been already translated, not only in a literal +prose form, but also, twenty or thirty times, in metre, and sometimes with +great spirit, beauty, and power. + +The author of the present version, then, has no knowledge that a rendering +of this wonderful poem into the exact and ever-changing metre of the +original has, until now, been so much as attempted. To name only one +defect, the very best versions which he has seen neglect to follow the +exquisite artist in the evidently planned and orderly intermixing of +_male_ and _female_ rhymes, _i.e._ rhymes which fall on the last syllable +and those which fall on the last but one. Now, every careful student of +the versification of Faust must feel and see that Goethe did not +intersperse the one kind of rhyme with the other, at random, as those +translators do; who, also, give the female rhyme (on which the vivacity of +dialogue and description often so much depends,) in so small a proportion. + +A similar criticism might be made of their liberty in neglecting Goethe's +method of alternating different measures with each other. + +It seems as if, in respect to metre, at least, they had asked themselves, +how would Goethe have written or shaped this in English, had that been his +native language, instead of seeking _con amore_ (and _con fidelita_) as +they should have done, to reproduce, both in spirit and in form, the +movement, so free and yet orderly, of the singularly endowed and +accomplished poet whom they undertook to represent. + +As to the objections which Hayward and some of his reviewers have +instituted in advance against the possibility of a good and faithful +metrical translation of a poem like Faust, they seem to the present +translator full of paradox and sophistry. For instance, take this +assertion of one of the reviewers: "The sacred and mysterious union of +thought with verse, twin-born and immortally wedded from the moment of +their common birth, can never be understood by those who desire verse +translations of good poetry." If the last part of this statement had read +"by those who can be contented with _prose_ translations of good poetry," +the position would have been nearer the truth. This much we might well +admit, that, if the alternative were either to have a poem like Faust in a +metre different and glaringly different from the original, or to have it +in simple and strong prose, then the latter alternative would be the one +every tasteful and feeling scholar would prefer; but surely to every one +who can read the original or wants to know how this great song _sung +itself_ (as Carlyle says) out of Goethe's soul, a mere prose rendering +must be, comparatively, a _corpus mortuum._ + +The translator most heartily dissents from Hayward's assertion that a +translator of Faust "must sacrifice either metre or meaning." At least he +flatters himself that he has made, in the main, (not a compromise between +meaning and melody, though in certain instances he may have fallen into +that, but) a combination of the meaning with the melody, which latter is +so important, so vital a part of the lyric poem's meaning, in any worthy +sense. "No poetic translation," says Hayward's reviewer, already quoted, +"can give the rhythm and rhyme of the original; it can only substitute the +rhythm and rhyme of the translator." One might just as well say "no +_prose_ translation can give the _sense and spirit_ of the original; it +can only substitute the _sense and spirit of the words and phrases of the +translator's language_;" and then, these two assertions balancing each +other, there will remain in the metrical translator's favor, that he may +come as near to giving both the letter and the spirit, as the effects of +the Babel dispersion will allow. + +As to the original creation, which he has attempted here to reproduce, the +translator might say something, but prefers leaving his readers to the +poet himself, as revealed in the poem, and to the various commentaries of +which we have some accounts, at least, in English. A French translator of +the poem speaks in his introduction as follows: "This Faust, conceived by +him in his youth, completed in ripe age, the idea of which he carried with +him through all the commotions of his life, as Camoens bore his poem with +him through the waves, this Faust contains him entire. The thirst for +knowledge and the martyrdom of doubt, had they not tormented his early +years? Whence came to him the thought of taking refuge in a supernatural +realm, of appealing to invisible powers, which plunged him, for a +considerable time, into the dreams of Illuminati and made him even invent +a religion? This irony of Mephistopheles, who carries on so audacious a +game with the weakness and the desires of man, is it not the mocking, +scornful side of the poet's spirit, a leaning to sullenness, which can be +traced even into the earliest years of his life, a bitter leaven thrown +into a strong soul forever by early satiety? The character of Faust +especially, the man whose burning, untiring heart can neither enjoy +fortune nor do without it, who gives himself unconditionally and watches +himself with mistrust, who unites the enthusiasm of passion and the +dejectedness of despair, is not this an eloquent opening up of the most +secret and tumultuous part of the poet's soul? And now, to complete the +image of his inner life, he has added the transcendingly sweet person of +Margaret, an exalted reminiscence of a young girl, by whom, at the age of +fourteen, he thought himself beloved, whose image ever floated round him, +and has contributed some traits to each of his heroines. This heavenly +surrender of a simple, good, and tender heart contrasts wonderfully with +the sensual and gloomy passion of the lover, who, in the midst of his +love-dreams, is persecuted by the phantoms of his imagination and by the +nightmares of thought, with those sorrows of a soul, which is crushed, but +not extinguished, which is tormented by the invincible want of happiness +and the bitter feeling, how hard a thing it is to receive or to bestow." + + + + +DEDICATION.[1] + +Once more ye waver dreamily before me, +Forms that so early cheered my troubled eyes! +To hold you fast doth still my heart implore me? +Still bid me clutch the charm that lures and flies? +Ye crowd around! come, then, hold empire o'er me, +As from the mist and haze of thought ye rise; +The magic atmosphere, your train enwreathing, +Through my thrilled bosom youthful bliss is breathing. + +Ye bring with you the forms of hours Elysian, +And shades of dear ones rise to meet my gaze; +First Love and Friendship steal upon my vision +Like an old tale of legendary days; +Sorrow renewed, in mournful repetition, +Runs through life's devious, labyrinthine ways; +And, sighing, names the good (by Fortune cheated +Of blissful hours!) who have before me fleeted. + +These later songs of mine, alas! will never +Sound in their ears to whom the first were sung! +Scattered like dust, the friendly throng forever! +Mute the first echo that so grateful rung! +To the strange crowd I sing, whose very favor +Like chilling sadness on my heart is flung; +And all that kindled at those earlier numbers +Roams the wide earth or in its bosom slumbers. + +And now I feel a long-unwonted yearning +For that calm, pensive spirit-realm, to-day; +Like an Aeolian lyre, (the breeze returning,) +Floats in uncertain tones my lisping lay; +Strange awe comes o'er me, tear on tear falls burning, +The rigid heart to milder mood gives way! +What I possess I see afar off lying, +And what I lost is real and undying. + + + + +PRELUDE + +IN THE THEATRE. + + + _Manager. Dramatic Poet. Merry Person._ + +_Manager_. You who in trouble and distress +Have both held fast your old allegiance, +What think ye? here in German regions +Our enterprise may hope success? +To please the crowd my purpose has been steady, +Because they live and let one live at least. +The posts are set, the boards are laid already, +And every one is looking for a feast. +They sit, with lifted brows, composed looks wearing, +Expecting something that shall set them staring. +I know the public palate, that's confest; +Yet never pined so for a sound suggestion; +True, they are not accustomed to the best, +But they have read a dreadful deal, past question. +How shall we work to make all fresh and new, +Acceptable and profitable, too? +For sure I love to see the torrent boiling, +When towards our booth they crowd to find a place, +Now rolling on a space and then recoiling, +Then squeezing through the narrow door of grace: +Long before dark each one his hard-fought station +In sight of the box-office window takes, +And as, round bakers' doors men crowd to escape starvation, +For tickets here they almost break their necks. +This wonder, on so mixed a mass, the Poet +Alone can work; to-day, my friend, O, show it! + +_Poet_. Oh speak not to me of that motley ocean, +Whose roar and greed the shuddering spirit chill! +Hide from my sight that billowy commotion +That draws us down the whirlpool 'gainst our will. +No, lead me to that nook of calm devotion, +Where blooms pure joy upon the Muses' hill; +Where love and friendship aye create and cherish, +With hand divine, heart-joys that never perish. +Ah! what, from feeling's deepest fountain springing, +Scarce from the stammering lips had faintly passed, +Now, hopeful, venturing forth, now shyly clinging, +To the wild moment's cry a prey is cast. +Oft when for years the brain had heard it ringing +It comes in full and rounded shape at last. +What shines, is born but for the moment's pleasure; +The genuine leaves posterity a treasure. + +_Merry Person_. Posterity! I'm sick of hearing of it; +Supposing I the future age would profit, +Who then would furnish ours with fun? +For it must have it, ripe and mellow; +The presence of a fine young fellow, +Is cheering, too, methinks, to any one. +Whoso can pleasantly communicate, +Will not make war with popular caprices, +For, as the circle waxes great, +The power his word shall wield increases. +Come, then, and let us now a model see, +Let Phantasy with all her various choir, +Sense, reason, passion, sensibility, +But, mark me, folly too! the scene inspire. + +_Manager_. But the great point is action! Every one +Comes as spectator, and the show's the fun. +Let but the plot be spun off fast and thickly, +So that the crowd shall gape in broad surprise, +Then have you made a wide impression quickly, +You are the man they'll idolize. +The mass can only be impressed by masses; +Then each at last picks out his proper part. +Give much, and then to each one something passes, +And each one leaves the house with happy heart. +Have you a piece, give it at once in pieces! +Such a ragout your fame increases; +It costs as little pains to play as to invent. +But what is gained, if you a whole present? +Your public picks it presently to pieces. + +_Poet_. You do not feel how mean a trade like that must be! +In the true Artist's eyes how false and hollow! +Our genteel botchers, well I see, +Have given the maxims that you follow. + +_Manager_. Such charges pass me like the idle wind; +A man who has right work in mind +Must choose the instruments most fitting. +Consider what soft wood you have for splitting, +And keep in view for whom you write! +If this one from _ennui_ seeks flight, +That other comes full from the groaning table, +Or, the worst case of all to cite, +From reading journals is for thought unable. +Vacant and giddy, all agog for wonder, +As to a masquerade they wing their way; +The ladies give themselves and all their precious plunder +And without wages help us play. +On your poetic heights what dream comes o'er you? +What glads a crowded house? Behold +Your patrons in array before you! +One half are raw, the other cold. +One, after this play, hopes to play at cards, +One a wild night to spend beside his doxy chooses, +Poor fools, why court ye the regards, +For such a set, of the chaste muses? +I tell you, give them more and ever more and more, +And then your mark you'll hardly stray from ever; +To mystify be your endeavor, +To satisfy is labor sore.... +What ails you? Are you pleased or pained? What notion---- + +_Poet_. Go to, and find thyself another slave! +What! and the lofty birthright Nature gave, +The noblest talent Heaven to man has lent, +Thou bid'st the Poet fling to folly's ocean! +How does he stir each deep emotion? +How does he conquer every element? +But by the tide of song that from his bosom springs, +And draws into his heart all living things? +When Nature's hand, in endless iteration, +The thread across the whizzing spindle flings, +When the complex, monotonous creation +Jangles with all its million strings: +Who, then, the long, dull series animating, +Breaks into rhythmic march the soulless round? +And, to the law of All each member consecrating, +Bids one majestic harmony resound? +Who bids the tempest rage with passion's power? +The earnest soul with evening-redness glow? +Who scatters vernal bud and summer flower +Along the path where loved ones go? +Who weaves each green leaf in the wind that trembles +To form the wreath that merit's brow shall crown? +Who makes Olympus fast? the gods assembles? +The power of manhood in the Poet shown. + +_Merry Person_. Come, then, put forth these noble powers, +And, Poet, let thy path of flowers +Follow a love-adventure's winding ways. +One comes and sees by chance, one burns, one stays, +And feels the gradual, sweet entangling! +The pleasure grows, then comes a sudden jangling, +Then rapture, then distress an arrow plants, +And ere one dreams of it, lo! _there_ is a romance. +Give us a drama in this fashion! +Plunge into human life's full sea of passion! +Each lives it, few its meaning ever guessed, +Touch where you will, 'tis full of interest. +Bright shadows fleeting o'er a mirror, +A spark of truth and clouds of error, +By means like these a drink is brewed +To cheer and edify the multitude. +The fairest flower of the youth sit listening +Before your play, and wait the revelation; +Each melancholy heart, with soft eyes glistening, +Draws sad, sweet nourishment from your creation; +This passion now, now that is stirred, by turns, +And each one sees what in his bosom burns. +Open alike, as yet, to weeping and to laughter, +They still admire the flights, they still enjoy the show; +Him who is formed, can nothing suit thereafter; +The yet unformed with thanks will ever glow. + +_Poet_. Ay, give me back the joyous hours, +When I myself was ripening, too, +When song, the fount, flung up its showers +Of beauty ever fresh and new. +When a soft haze the world was veiling, +Each bud a miracle bespoke, +And from their stems a thousand flowers I broke, +Their fragrance through the vales exhaling. +I nothing and yet all possessed, +Yearning for truth and in illusion blest. +Give me the freedom of that hour, +The tear of joy, the pleasing pain, +Of hate and love the thrilling power, +Oh, give me back my youth again! + +_Merry Person_. Youth, my good friend, thou needest certainly +When ambushed foes are on thee springing, +When loveliest maidens witchingly +Their white arms round thy neck are flinging, +When the far garland meets thy glance, +High on the race-ground's goal suspended, +When after many a mazy dance +In drink and song the night is ended. +But with a free and graceful soul +To strike the old familiar lyre, +And to a self-appointed goal +Sweep lightly o'er the trembling wire, +There lies, old gentlemen, to-day +Your task; fear not, no vulgar error blinds us. +Age does not make us childish, as they say, +But we are still true children when it finds us. + +_Manager_. Come, words enough you two have bandied, +Now let us see some deeds at last; +While you toss compliments full-handed, +The time for useful work flies fast. +Why talk of being in the humor? +Who hesitates will never be. +If you are poets (so says rumor) +Now then command your poetry. +You know full well our need and pleasure, +We want strong drink in brimming measure; +Brew at it now without delay! +To-morrow will not do what is not done to-day. +Let not a day be lost in dallying, +But seize the possibility +Right by the forelock, courage rallying, +And forth with fearless spirit sallying,-- +Once in the yoke and you are free. + Upon our German boards, you know it, +What any one would try, he may; +Then stint me not, I beg, to-day, +In scenery or machinery, Poet. +With great and lesser heavenly lights make free, +Spend starlight just as you desire; +No want of water, rocks or fire +Or birds or beasts to you shall be. +So, in this narrow wooden house's bound, +Stride through the whole creation's round, +And with considerate swiftness wander +From heaven, through this world, to the world down yonder. + + + + + PROLOGUE + + + IN HEAVEN. + + +[THE LORD. THE HEAVENLY HOSTS _afterward_ MEPHISTOPHELES. +_The three archangels_, RAPHAEL, GABRIEL, _and_ MICHAEL, _come forward_.] + +_Raphael_. The sun, in ancient wise, is sounding, + With brother-spheres, in rival song; +And, his appointed journey rounding, + With thunderous movement rolls along. +His look, new strength to angels lending, + No creature fathom can for aye; +The lofty works, past comprehending, + Stand lordly, as on time's first day. + +_Gabriel_. And swift, with wondrous swiftness fleeting, + The pomp of earth turns round and round, +The glow of Eden alternating + With shuddering midnight's gloom profound; +Up o'er the rocks the foaming ocean + Heaves from its old, primeval bed, +And rocks and seas, with endless motion, + On in the spheral sweep are sped. + +_Michael_. And tempests roar, glad warfare waging, + From sea to land, from land to sea, +And bind round all, amidst their raging, + A chain of giant energy. +There, lurid desolation, blazing, + Foreruns the volleyed thunder's way: +Yet, Lord, thy messengers[2] are praising + The mild procession of thy day. + +_All Three_. The sight new strength to angels lendeth, + For none thy being fathom may, +The works, no angel comprehendeth, + Stand lordly as on time's first day. + +_Mephistopheles_. Since, Lord, thou drawest near us once again, +And how we do, dost graciously inquire, +And to be pleased to see me once didst deign, +I too among thy household venture nigher. +Pardon, high words I cannot labor after, +Though the whole court should look on me with scorn; +My pathos certainly would stir thy laughter, +Hadst thou not laughter long since quite forsworn. +Of sun and worlds I've nought to tell worth mention, +How men torment themselves takes my attention. +The little God o' the world jogs on the same old way +And is as singular as on the world's first day. +A pity 'tis thou shouldst have given +The fool, to make him worse, a gleam of light from heaven; +He calls it reason, using it +To be more beast than ever beast was yet. +He seems to me, (your grace the word will pardon,) +Like a long-legg'd grasshopper in the garden, +Forever on the wing, and hops and sings +The same old song, as in the grass he springs; +Would he but stay there! no; he needs must muddle +His prying nose in every puddle. + +_The Lord_. Hast nothing for our edification? +Still thy old work of accusation? +Will things on earth be never right for thee? + +_Mephistopheles_. No, Lord! I find them still as bad as bad can be. +Poor souls! their miseries seem so much to please 'em, +I scarce can find it in my heart to tease 'em. + +_The Lord_. Knowest thou Faust? + +_Mephistopheles_. The Doctor? + +_The Lord_. Ay, my servant! + +_Mephistopheles_. He! +Forsooth! he serves you in a famous fashion; +No earthly meat or drink can feed his passion; +Its grasping greed no space can measure; +Half-conscious and half-crazed, he finds no rest; +The fairest stars of heaven must swell his treasure. +Each highest joy of earth must yield its zest, +Not all the world--the boundless azure-- +Can fill the void within his craving breast. + +_The Lord_. He serves me somewhat darkly, now, I grant, +Yet will he soon attain the light of reason. +Sees not the gardener, in the green young plant, +That bloom and fruit shall deck its coming season? + +_Mephistopheles_. What will you bet? You'll surely lose your wager! +If you will give me leave henceforth, +To lead him softly on, like an old stager. + +_The Lord_. So long as he shall live on earth, +Do with him all that you desire. +Man errs and staggers from his birth. + +_Mephistopheles_. Thank you; I never did aspire +To have with dead folk much transaction. +In full fresh cheeks I take the greatest satisfaction. +A corpse will never find me in the house; +I love to play as puss does with the mouse. + +_The Lord_. All right, I give thee full permission! +Draw down this spirit from its source, +And, canst thou catch him, to perdition +Carry him with thee in thy course, +But stand abashed, if thou must needs confess, +That a good man, though passion blur his vision, +Has of the right way still a consciousness. + +_Mephistopheles_. Good! but I'll make it a short story. +About my wager I'm by no means sorry. +And if I gain my end with glory +Allow me to exult from a full breast. +Dust shall he eat and that with zest, +Like my old aunt, the snake, whose fame is hoary. + +_The Lord_. Well, go and come, and make thy trial; +The like of thee I never yet did hate. +Of all the spirits of denial +The scamp is he I best can tolerate. +Man is too prone, at best, to seek the way that's easy, +He soon grows fond of unconditioned rest; +And therefore such a comrade suits him best, +Who spurs and works, true devil, always busy. +But you, true sons of God, in growing measure, +Enjoy rich beauty's living stores of pleasure! +The Word[3] divine that lives and works for aye, +Fold you in boundless love's embrace alluring, +And what in floating vision glides away, +That seize ye and make fast with thoughts enduring. + +[_Heaven closes, the archangels disperse._] + +_Mephistopheles. [Alone.]_ I like at times to exchange with him a word, +And take care not to break with him. 'Tis civil +In the old fellow[4] and so great a Lord +To talk so kindly with the very devil. + + + + + FAUST. + + + _Night. In a narrow high-arched Gothic room_, + FAUST _sitting uneasy at his desk_. + +_Faust_. Have now, alas! quite studied through +Philosophy and Medicine, +And Law, and ah! Theology, too, +With hot desire the truth to win! +And here, at last, I stand, poor fool! +As wise as when I entered school; +Am called Magister, Doctor, indeed,-- +Ten livelong years cease not to lead +Backward and forward, to and fro, +My scholars by the nose--and lo! +Just nothing, I see, is the sum of our learning, +To the very core of my heart 'tis burning. +'Tis true I'm more clever than all the foplings, +Doctors, Magisters, Authors, and Popelings; +Am plagued by no scruple, nor doubt, nor cavil, +Nor lingering fear of hell or devil-- +What then? all pleasure is fled forever; +To know one thing I vainly endeavor, +There's nothing wherein one fellow-creature +Could be mended or bettered with me for a teacher. +And then, too, nor goods nor gold have I, +Nor fame nor worldly dignity,-- +A condition no dog could longer live in! +And so to magic my soul I've given, +If, haply, by spirits' mouth and might, +Some mysteries may not be brought to light; +That to teach, no longer may be my lot, +With bitter sweat, what I need to be taught; +That I may know what the world contains +In its innermost heart and finer veins, +See all its energies and seeds +And deal no more in words but in deeds. + O full, round Moon, didst thou but thine +For the last time on this woe of mine! +Thou whom so many a midnight I +Have watched, at this desk, come up the sky: +O'er books and papers, a dreary pile, +Then, mournful friend! uprose thy smile! +Oh that I might on the mountain-height, +Walk in the noon of thy blessed light, +Round mountain-caverns with spirits hover, +Float in thy gleamings the meadows over, +And freed from the fumes of a lore-crammed brain, +Bathe in thy dew and be well again! + Woe! and these walls still prison me? +Dull, dismal hole! my curse on thee! +Where heaven's own light, with its blessed beams, +Through painted panes all sickly gleams! +Hemmed in by these old book-piles tall, +Which, gnawed by worms and deep in must, +Rise to the roof against a wall +Of smoke-stained paper, thick with dust; +'Mid glasses, boxes, where eye can see, +Filled with old, obsolete instruments, +Stuffed with old heirlooms of implements-- +That is thy world! There's a world for thee! + And still dost ask what stifles so +The fluttering heart within thy breast? +By what inexplicable woe +The springs of life are all oppressed? +Instead of living nature, where +God made and planted men, his sons, +Through smoke and mould, around thee stare +Grim skeletons and dead men's bones. + Up! Fly! Far out into the land! +And this mysterious volume, see! +By Nostradamus's[5] own hand, +Is it not guide enough for thee? +Then shalt thou thread the starry skies, +And, taught by nature in her walks, +The spirit's might shall o'er thee rise, +As ghost to ghost familiar talks. +Vain hope that mere dry sense should here +Explain the holy signs to thee. +I feel you, spirits, hovering near; +Oh, if you hear me, answer me! + [_He opens the book and beholds the sign of the Macrocosm.[_6]] +Ha! as I gaze, what ecstasy is this, +In one full tide through all my senses flowing! +I feel a new-born life, a holy bliss +Through nerves and veins mysteriously glowing. +Was it a God who wrote each sign? +Which, all my inner tumult stilling, +And this poor heart with rapture filling, +Reveals to me, by force divine, +Great Nature's energies around and through me thrilling? +Am I a God? It grows so bright to me! +Each character on which my eye reposes +Nature in act before my soul discloses. +The sage's word was truth, at last I see: +"The spirit-world, unbarred, is waiting; +Thy sense is locked, thy heart is dead! +Up, scholar, bathe, unhesitating, +The earthly breast in morning-red!" + [_He contemplates the sign._] +How all one whole harmonious weaves, +Each in the other works and lives! +See heavenly powers ascending and descending, +The golden buckets, one long line, extending! +See them with bliss-exhaling pinions winging +Their way from heaven through earth--their singing +Harmonious through the universe is ringing! + Majestic show! but ah! a show alone! +Nature! where find I thee, immense, unknown? +Where you, ye breasts? Ye founts all life sustaining, +On which hang heaven and earth, and where +Men's withered hearts their waste repair-- +Ye gush, ye nurse, and I must sit complaining? + [_He opens reluctantly the book and sees the sign of the earth-spirit._] +How differently works on me this sign! +Thou, spirit of the earth, art to me nearer; +I feel my powers already higher, clearer, +I glow already as with new-pressed wine, +I feel the mood to brave life's ceaseless clashing, +To bear its frowning woes, its raptures flashing, +To mingle in the tempest's dashing, +And not to tremble in the shipwreck's crashing; +Clouds gather o'er my head-- +Them moon conceals her light-- +The lamp goes out! +It smokes!--Red rays are darting, quivering +Around my head--comes down +A horror from the vaulted roof +And seizes me! +Spirit that I invoked, thou near me art, +Unveil thyself! +Ha! what a tearing in my heart! +Upheaved like an ocean +My senses toss with strange emotion! +I feel my heart to thee entirely given! +Thou must! and though the price were life--were heaven! + [_He seizes the book and pronounces mysteriously the sign of the spirit. + A ruddy flame darts out, the spirit appears in the flame._] + +_Spirit_. Who calls upon me? + +_Faust. [Turning away.]_ Horrid sight! + +_Spirit_. Long have I felt the mighty action, +Upon my sphere, of thy attraction, +And now-- + +_Faust_. Away, intolerable sprite! + +_Spirit_. Thou breath'st a panting supplication +To hear my voice, my face to see; +Thy mighty prayer prevails on me, +I come!--what miserable agitation +Seizes this demigod! Where is the cry of thought? +Where is the breast? that in itself a world begot, +And bore and cherished, that with joy did tremble +And fondly dream us spirits to resemble. +Where art thou, Faust? whose voice rang through my ear, +Whose mighty yearning drew me from my sphere? +Is this thing thou? that, blasted by my breath, +Through all life's windings shuddereth, +A shrinking, cringing, writhing worm! + +_Faust_. Thee, flame-born creature, shall I fear? +'Tis I, 'tis Faust, behold thy peer! + +_Spirit_. In life's tide currents, in action's storm, +Up and down, like a wave, +Like the wind I sweep! +Cradle and grave-- +A limitless deep--- +An endless weaving +To and fro, +A restless heaving +Of life and glow,-- +So shape I, on Destiny's thundering loom, +The Godhead's live garment, eternal in bloom. + +_Faust_. Spirit that sweep'st the world from end to end, +How near, this hour, I feel myself to thee! + +_Spirit_. Thou'rt like the spirit thou canst comprehend, +Not me! [_Vanishes._] + +_Faust_. [_Collapsing_.] Not thee? + Whom then? + I, image of the Godhead, + And no peer for thee! + [_A knocking_.] +O Death! I know it!--'tis my Famulus-- +Good-bye, ye dreams of bliss Elysian! +Shame! that so many a glowing vision +This dried-up sneak must scatter thus! + + [WAGNER, _in sleeping-gown and night-cap, a lamp in his hand._ + FAUST _turns round with an annoyed look_.] + +_Wagner_. Excuse me! you're engaged in declamation; +'Twas a Greek tragedy no doubt you read? +I in this art should like initiation, +For nowadays it stands one well instead. +I've often heard them boast, a preacher +Might profit with a player for his teacher. + +_Faust_. Yes, when the preacher is a player, granted: +As often happens in our modern ways. + +_Wagner_. Ah! when one with such love of study's haunted, +And scarcely sees the world on holidays, +And takes a spy-glass, as it were, to read it, +How can one by persuasion hope to lead it? + +_Faust_. What you don't feel, you'll never catch by hunting, +It must gush out spontaneous from the soul, +And with a fresh delight enchanting +The hearts of all that hear control. +Sit there forever! Thaw your glue-pot,-- +Blow up your ash-heap to a flame, and brew, +With a dull fire, in your stew-pot, +Of other men's leavings a ragout! +Children and apes will gaze delighted, +If their critiques can pleasure impart; +But never a heart will be ignited, +Comes not the spark from the speaker's heart. + +_Wagner_. Delivery makes the orator's success; +There I'm still far behindhand, I confess. + +_Faust_. Seek honest gains, without pretence! +Be not a cymbal-tinkling fool! +Sound understanding and good sense +Speak out with little art or rule; +And when you've something earnest to utter, +Why hunt for words in such a flutter? +Yes, your discourses, that are so refined' +In which humanity's poor shreds you frizzle, +Are unrefreshing as the mist and wind +That through the withered leaves of autumn whistle! + +_Wagner_. Ah God! well, art is long! +And life is short and fleeting. +What headaches have I felt and what heart-beating, +When critical desire was strong. +How hard it is the ways and means to master +By which one gains each fountain-head! +And ere one yet has half the journey sped, +The poor fool dies--O sad disaster! + +_Faust_. Is parchment, then, the holy well-spring, thinkest, +A draught from which thy thirst forever slakes? +No quickening element thou drinkest, +Till up from thine own soul the fountain breaks. + +_Wagner_. Excuse me! in these olden pages +We catch the spirit of the by-gone ages, +We see what wisest men before our day have thought, +And to what glorious heights we their bequests have brought. + +_Faust_. O yes, we've reached the stars at last! +My friend, it is to us,--the buried past,-- +A book with seven seals protected; +Your spirit of the times is, then, +At bottom, your own spirit, gentlemen, +In which the times are seen reflected. +And often such a mess that none can bear it; +At the first sight of it they run away. +A dust-bin and a lumber-garret, +At most a mock-heroic play[8] +With fine, pragmatic maxims teeming, +The mouths of puppets well-beseeming! + +_Wagner_. But then the world! the heart and mind of man! +To know of these who would not pay attention? + +_Faust_. To know them, yes, as weaklings can! +Who dares the child's true name outright to mention? +The few who any thing thereof have learned, +Who out of their heart's fulness needs must gabble, +And show their thoughts and feelings to the rabble, +Have evermore been crucified and burned. +I pray you, friend, 'tis wearing into night, +Let us adjourn here, for the present. + +_Wagner_. I had been glad to stay till morning light, +This learned talk with you has been so pleasant, +But the first day of Easter comes to-morrow. +And then an hour or two I'll borrow. +With zeal have I applied myself to learning, +True, I know much, yet to know all am burning. + [_Exit_.] + +_Faust_. [_Alone_.] See how in _his_ head only, hope still lingers, +Who evermore to empty rubbish clings, +With greedy hand grubs after precious things, +And leaps for joy when some poor worm he fingers! + That such a human voice should dare intrude, +Where all was full of ghostly tones and features! +Yet ah! this once, my gratitude +Is due to thee, most wretched of earth's creatures. +Thou snatchedst me from the despairing state +In which my senses, well nigh crazed, were sunken. +The apparition was so giant-great, +That to a very dwarf my soul had shrunken. + I, godlike, who in fancy saw but now +Eternal truth's fair glass in wondrous nearness, +Rejoiced in heavenly radiance and clearness, +Leaving the earthly man below; +I, more than cherub, whose free force +Dreamed, through the veins of nature penetrating, +To taste the life of Gods, like them creating, +Behold me this presumption expiating! +A word of thunder sweeps me from my course. + Myself with thee no longer dare I measure; +Had I the power to draw thee down at pleasure; +To hold thee here I still had not the force. +Oh, in that blest, ecstatic hour, +I felt myself so small, so great; +Thou drovest me with cruel power +Back upon man's uncertain fate +What shall I do? what slum, thus lonely? +That impulse must I, then, obey? +Alas! our very deeds, and not our sufferings only, +How do they hem and choke life's way! + To all the mind conceives of great and glorious +A strange and baser mixture still adheres; +Striving for earthly good are we victorious? +A dream and cheat the better part appears. +The feelings that could once such noble life inspire +Are quenched and trampled out in passion's mire. + Where Fantasy, erewhile, with daring flight +Out to the infinite her wings expanded, +A little space can now suffice her quite, +When hope on hope time's gulf has wrecked and stranded. +Care builds her nest far down the heart's recesses, +There broods o'er dark, untold distresses, +Restless she sits, and scares thy joy and peace away; +She puts on some new mask with each new day, +Herself as house and home, as wife and child presenting, +As fire and water, bane and blade; +What never hits makes thee afraid, +And what is never lost she keeps thee still lamenting. + Not like the Gods am I! Too deep that truth is thrust! +But like the worm, that wriggles through the dust; +Who, as along the dust for food he feels, +Is crushed and buried by the traveller's heels. + Is it not dust that makes this lofty wall +Groan with its hundred shelves and cases; +The rubbish and the thousand trifles all +That crowd these dark, moth-peopled places? +Here shall my craving heart find rest? +Must I perchance a thousand books turn over, +To find that men are everywhere distrest, +And here and there one happy one discover? +Why grin'st thou down upon me, hollow skull? +But that thy brain, like mine, once trembling, hoping, +Sought the light day, yet ever sorrowful, +Burned for the truth in vain, in twilight groping? +Ye, instruments, of course, are mocking me; +Its wheels, cogs, bands, and barrels each one praises. +I waited at the door; you were the key; +Your ward is nicely turned, and yet no bolt it raises. +Unlifted in the broadest day, +Doth Nature's veil from prying eyes defend her, +And what (he chooses not before thee to display, +Not all thy screws and levers can force her to surrender. +Old trumpery! not that I e'er used thee, but +Because my father used thee, hang'st thou o'er me, +Old scroll! thou hast been stained with smoke and smut +Since, on this desk, the lamp first dimly gleamed before me. +Better have squandered, far, I now can clearly see, +My little all, than melt beneath it, in this Tophet! +That which thy fathers have bequeathed to thee, +Earn and become possessor of it! +What profits not a weary load will be; +What it brings forth alone can yield the moment profit. + Why do I gaze as if a spell had bound me +Up yonder? Is that flask a magnet to the eyes? +What lovely light, so sudden, blooms around me? +As when in nightly woods we hail the full-moon-rise. + I greet thee, rarest phial, precious potion! +As now I take thee down with deep devotion, +In thee I venerate man's wit and art. +Quintessence of all soporific flowers, +Extract of all the finest deadly powers, +Thy favor to thy master now impart! +I look on thee, the sight my pain appeases, +I handle thee, the strife of longing ceases, +The flood-tide of the spirit ebbs away. +Far out to sea I'm drawn, sweet voices listening, +The glassy waters at my feet are glistening, +To new shores beckons me a new-born day. + A fiery chariot floats, on airy pinions, +To where I sit! Willing, it beareth me, +On a new path, through ether's blue dominions, +To untried spheres of pure activity. +This lofty life, this bliss elysian, +Worm that thou waft erewhile, deservest thou? +Ay, on this earthly sun, this charming vision, +Turn thy back resolutely now! +Boldly draw near and rend the gates asunder, +By which each cowering mortal gladly steals. +Now is the time to show by deeds of wonder +That manly greatness not to godlike glory yields; +Before that gloomy pit to stand, unfearing, +Where Fantasy self-damned in its own torment lies, +Still onward to that pass-way steering, +Around whose narrow mouth hell-flames forever rise; +Calmly to dare the step, serene, unshrinking, +Though into nothingness the hour should see thee sinking. + Now, then, come down from thy old case, I bid thee, +Where thou, forgotten, many a year hast hid thee, +Into thy master's hand, pure, crystal glass! +The joy-feasts of the fathers thou hast brightened, +The hearts of gravest guests were lightened, +When, pledged, from hand to hand they saw thee pass. +Thy sides, with many a curious type bedight, +Which each, as with one draught he quaffed the liquor +Must read in rhyme from off the wondrous beaker, +Remind me, ah! of many a youthful night. +I shall not hand thee now to any neighbor, +Not now to show my wit upon thy carvings labor; +Here is a juice of quick-intoxicating might. +The rich brown flood adown thy sides is streaming, +With my own choice ingredients teeming; +Be this last draught, as morning now is gleaming, +Drained as a lofty pledge to greet the festal light! + [_He puts the goblet to his lips_. + +_Ringing of bells and choral song_. + +_Chorus of Angels_. Christ hath arisen! + Joy to humanity! + No more shall vanity, + Death and inanity + Hold thee in prison! + +_Faust_. What hum of music, what a radiant tone, +Thrills through me, from my lips the goblet stealing! +Ye murmuring bells, already make ye known +The Easter morn's first hour, with solemn pealing? +Sing you, ye choirs, e'en now, the glad, consoling song, +That once, from angel-lips, through gloom sepulchral rung, +A new immortal covenant sealing? + +_Chorus of Women_. Spices we carried, + Laid them upon his breast; + Tenderly buried + Him whom we loved the best; + + Cleanly to bind him + Took we the fondest care, + Ah! and we find him + Now no more there. + +_Chorus of Angels_. Christ hath ascended! + Reign in benignity! + Pain and indignity, + Scorn and malignity, + _Their_ work have ended. + +_Faust_. Why seek ye me in dust, forlorn, +Ye heavenly tones, with soft enchanting? +Go, greet pure-hearted men this holy morn! +Your message well I hear, but faith to me is wanting; +Wonder, its dearest child, of Faith is born. +To yonder spheres I dare no more aspire, +Whence the sweet tidings downward float; +And yet, from childhood heard, the old, familiar note +Calls back e'en now to life my warm desire. +Ah! once how sweetly fell on me the kiss +Of heavenly love in the still Sabbath stealing! +Prophetically rang the bells with solemn pealing; +A prayer was then the ecstasy of bliss; +A blessed and mysterious yearning +Drew me to roam through meadows, woods, and skies; +And, midst a thousand tear-drops burning, +I felt a world within me rise +That strain, oh, how it speaks youth's gleesome plays and feelings, +Joys of spring-festivals long past; +Remembrance holds me now, with childhood's fond appealings, +Back from the fatal step, the last. +Sound on, ye heavenly strains, that bliss restore me! +Tears gush, once more the spell of earth is o'er me + +_Chorus of Disciples_. Has the grave's lowly one + Risen victorious? + Sits he, God's Holy One, + High-throned and glorious? + He, in this blest new birth, + Rapture creative knows;[9] + Ah! on the breast of earth + Taste we still nature's woes. + Left here to languish + Lone in a world like this, + Fills us with anguish + Master, thy bliss! + +_Chorus of Angels_. Christ has arisen + Out of corruption's gloom. + Break from your prison, + Burst every tomb! + Livingly owning him, + Lovingly throning him, + Feasting fraternally, + Praying diurnally, + Bearing his messages, + Sharing his promises, + Find ye your master near, + Find ye him here![10] + + + + + BEFORE THE GATE. + + _Pedestrians of all descriptions stroll forth_. + +_Mechanics' Apprentices_. Where are you going to carouse? + +_Others_. We're all going out to the Hunter's House. + +_The First_. We're going, ourselves, out to the Mill-House, brothers. + +_An Apprentice_. The Fountain-House I rather recommend. + +_Second_. 'Tis not a pleasant road, my friend. + +_The second group_. What will you do, then? + +_A Third_. I go with the others. + +_Fourth_. Come up to Burgdorf, there you're sure to find good cheer, +The handsomest of girls and best of beer, +And rows, too, of the very first water. + +_Fifth_. You monstrous madcap, does your skin +Itch for the third time to try that inn? +I've had enough for _my_ taste in that quarter. + +_Servant-girl_. No! I'm going back again to town for one. + +_Others_. Under those poplars we are sure to meet him. + +_First Girl_. But that for me is no great fun; +For you are always sure to get him, +He never dances with any but you. +Great good to me your luck will do! + +_Others_. He's not alone, I heard him say, +The curly-head would be with him to-day. + +_Scholar_. Stars! how the buxom wenches stride there! +Quick, brother! we must fasten alongside there. +Strong beer, good smart tobacco, and the waist +Of a right handsome gall, well rigg'd, now that's my taste. + +_Citizen's Daughter_. Do see those fine, young fellows yonder! +'Tis, I declare, a great disgrace; +When they might have the very best, I wonder, +After these galls they needs must race! + +_Second scholar_ [_to the first_]. +Stop! not so fast! there come two more behind, +My eyes! but ain't they dressed up neatly? +One is my neighbor, or I'm blind; +I love the girl, she looks so sweetly. +Alone all quietly they go, +You'll find they'll take us, by and bye, in tow. + +_First_. No, brother! I don't like these starched up ways. +Make haste! before the game slips through our fingers. +The hand that swings the broom o' Saturdays +On Sundays round thy neck most sweetly lingers. + +_Citizen_. No, I don't like at all this new-made burgomaster! +His insolence grows daily ever faster. +No good from him the town will get! +Will things grow better with him? Never! +We're under more constraint than ever, +And pay more tax than ever yet. + +_Beggar_. [_Sings_.] Good gentlemen, and you, fair ladies, + With such red cheeks and handsome dress, + Think what my melancholy trade is, + And see and pity my distress! + Help the poor harper, sisters, brothers! + Who loves to give, alone is gay. + This day, a holiday to others, + Make it for me a harvest day. + +_Another citizen_. +Sundays and holidays, I like, of all things, a good prattle +Of war and fighting, and the whole array, +When back in Turkey, far away, +The peoples give each other battle. +One stands before the window, drinks his glass, +And sees the ships with flags glide slowly down the river; +Comes home at night, when out of sight they pass, +And sings with joy, "Oh, peace forever!" + +_Third citizen_. So I say, neighbor! let them have their way, +Crack skulls and in their crazy riot +Turn all things upside down they may, +But leave us here in peace and quiet. + +_Old Woman_ [_to the citizen's daughter_]. +Heyday, brave prinking this! the fine young blood! +Who is not smitten that has met you?-- +But not so proud! All very good! +And what you want I'll promise soon to get you. + +_Citizen's Daughter_. Come, Agatha! I dread in public sight +To prattle with such hags; don't stay, O, Luddy! +'Tis true she showed me, on St. Andrew's night, +My future sweetheart in the body. + +_The other_. She showed me mine, too, in a glass, +Right soldierlike, with daring comrades round him. +I look all round, I study all that pass, +But to this hour I have not found him. + +_Soldiers_. Castles with lowering + Bulwarks and towers, + Maidens with towering + Passions and powers, + Both shall be ours! + Daring the venture, + Glorious the pay! + + When the brass trumpet + Summons us loudly, + Joy-ward or death-ward, + On we march proudly. + That is a storming! + + Life in its splendor! + Castles and maidens + Both must surrender. + Daring the venture, + Glorious the pay. + There go the soldiers + Marching away! + + + FAUST _and_ WAGNER. + +_Faust_. Spring's warm look has unfettered the fountains, +Brooks go tinkling with silvery feet; +Hope's bright blossoms the valley greet; +Weakly and sickly up the rough mountains +Pale old Winter has made his retreat. +Thence he launches, in sheer despite, +Sleet and hail in impotent showers, +O'er the green lawn as he takes his flight; +But the sun will suffer no white, +Everywhere waking the formative powers, +Living colors he yearns to spread; +Yet, as he finds it too early for flowers, +Gayly dressed people he takes instead. +Look from this height whereon we find us +Back to the town we have left behind us, +Where from the dark and narrow door +Forth a motley multitude pour. +They sun themselves gladly and all are gay, +They celebrate Christ's resurrection to-day. +For have not they themselves arisen? +From smoky huts and hovels and stables, +From labor's bonds and traffic's prison, +From the confinement of roofs and gables, +From many a cramping street and alley, +From churches full of the old world's night, +All have come out to the day's broad light. +See, only see! how the masses sally +Streaming and swarming through gardens and fields +How the broad stream that bathes the valley +Is everywhere cut with pleasure boats' keels, +And that last skiff, so heavily laden, +Almost to sinking, puts off in the stream; +Ribbons and jewels of youngster and maiden +From the far paths of the mountain gleam. +How it hums o'er the fields and clangs from the steeple! +This is the real heaven of the people, +Both great and little are merry and gay, +I am a man, too, I can be, to-day. + +_Wagner_. With you, Sir Doctor, to go out walking +Is at all times honor and gain enough; +But to trust myself here alone would be shocking, +For I am a foe to all that is rough. +Fiddling and bowling and screams and laughter +To me are the hatefullest noises on earth; +They yell as if Satan himself were after, +And call it music and call it mirth. + + [_Peasants (under the linden). Dance and song._] + +The shepherd prinked him for the dance, +With jacket gay and spangle's glance, +And all his finest quiddle. +And round the linden lass and lad +They wheeled and whirled and danced like mad. +Huzza! huzza! +Huzza! Ha, ha, ha! +And tweedle-dee went the fiddle. + +And in he bounded through the whirl, +And with his elbow punched a girl, +Heigh diddle, diddle! +The buxom wench she turned round quick, +"Now that I call a scurvy trick!" +Huzza! huzza! +Huzza! ha, ha, ha! +Tweedle-dee, tweedle-dee went the fiddle. + +And petticoats and coat-tails flew +As up and down they went, and through, +Across and down the middle. +They all grew red, they all grew warm, +And rested, panting, arm in arm, +Huzza! huzza! +Ta-ra-la! +Tweedle-dee went the fiddle! + +"And don't be so familiar there! +How many a one, with speeches fair, +His trusting maid will diddle!" +But still he flattered her aside-- +And from the linden sounded wide: +Huzza! huzza! +Huzza! huzza! ha! ha! ha! +And tweedle-dee the fiddle. + +_Old Peasant._ Sir Doctor, this is kind of you, +That with us here you deign to talk, +And through the crowd of folk to-day +A man so highly larned, walk. +So take the fairest pitcher here, +Which we with freshest drink have filled, +I pledge it to you, praying aloud +That, while your thirst thereby is stilled, +So many days as the drops it contains +May fill out the life that to you remains. + +_Faust._ I take the quickening draught and call +For heaven's best blessing on one and all. + + [_The people form a circle round him._] + +_Old Peasant._ Your presence with us, this glad day, +We take it very kind, indeed! +In truth we've found you long ere this +In evil days a friend in need! +Full many a one stands living here, +Whom, at death's door already laid, +Your father snatched from fever's rage, +When, by his skill, the plague he stayed. +You, a young man, we daily saw +Go with him to the pest-house then, +And many a corpse was carried forth, +But you came out alive again. +With a charmed life you passed before us, +Helped by the Helper watching o'er us. + +_All._ The well-tried man, and may he live, +Long years a helping hand to give! + +_Faust._ Bow down to Him on high who sends +His heavenly help and helping friends! + [_He goes on with_ WAGNER.] + +_Wagner._ What feelings, O great man, thy heart must swell +Thus to receive a people's veneration! +O worthy all congratulation, +Whose gifts to such advantage tell. +The father to his son shows thee with exultation, +All run and crowd and ask, the circle closer draws, +The fiddle stops, the dancers pause, +Thou goest--the lines fall back for thee. +They fling their gay-decked caps on high; +A little more and they would bow the knee +As if the blessed Host came by. + +_Faust._ A few steps further on, until we reach that stone; +There will we rest us from our wandering. +How oft in prayer and penance there alone, +Fasting, I sate, on holy mysteries pondering. +There, rich in hope, in faith still firm, +I've wept, sighed, wrung my hands and striven +This plague's removal to extort (poor worm!) +From the almighty Lord of Heaven. +The crowd's applause has now a scornful tone; +O couldst thou hear my conscience tell its story, +How little either sire or son +Has done to merit such a glory! +My father was a worthy man, confused +And darkened with his narrow lucubrations, +Who with a whimsical, though well-meant patience, +On Nature's holy circles mused. +Shut up in his black laboratory, +Experimenting without end, +'Midst his adepts, till he grew hoary, +He sought the opposing powers to blend. +Thus, a red lion,[11] a bold suitor, married +The silver lily, in the lukewarm bath, +And, from one bride-bed to another harried, +The two were seen to fly before the flaming wrath. +If then, with colors gay and splendid, +The glass the youthful queen revealed, +Here was the physic, death the patients' sufferings ended, +And no one asked, who then was healed? +Thus, with electuaries so satanic, +Worse than the plague with all its panic, +We rioted through hill and vale; +Myself, with my own hands, the drug to thousands giving, +They passed away, and I am living +To hear men's thanks the murderers hail! + +_Wagner._ Forbear! far other name that service merits! +Can a brave man do more or less +Than with nice conscientiousness +To exercise the calling he inherits? +If thou, as youth, thy father honorest, +To learn from him thou wilt desire; +If thou, as man, men with new light hast blest, +Then may thy son to loftier heights aspire. + +_Faust._ O blest! who hopes to find repose, +Up from this mighty sea of error diving! +Man cannot use what he already knows, +To use the unknown ever striving. +But let not such dark thoughts a shadow throw +O'er the bright joy this hour inspires! +See how the setting sun, with ruddy glow, +The green-embosomed hamlet fires! +He sinks and fades, the day is lived and gone, +He hastens forth new scenes of life to waken. +O for a wing to lift and bear me on, +And on, to where his last rays beckon! +Then should I see the world's calm breast +In everlasting sunset glowing, +The summits all on fire, each valley steeped in rest, +The silver brook to golden rivers flowing. +No savage mountain climbing to the skies +Should stay the godlike course with wild abysses; +And now the sea, with sheltering, warm recesses +Spreads out before the astonished eyes. +At last it seems as if the God were sinking; +But a new impulse fires the mind, +Onward I speed, his endless glory drinking, +The day before me and the night behind, +The heavens above my head and under me the ocean. +A lovely dream,--meanwhile he's gone from sight. +Ah! sure, no earthly wing, in swiftest flight, +May with the spirit's wings hold equal motion. +Yet has each soul an inborn feeling +Impelling it to mount and soar away, +When, lost in heaven's blue depths, the lark is pealing +High overhead her airy lay; +When o'er the mountain pine's black shadow, +With outspread wing the eagle sweeps, +And, steering on o'er lake and meadow, +The crane his homeward journey keeps. + +_Wagner._ I've had myself full many a wayward hour, +But never yet felt such a passion's power. +One soon grows tired of field and wood and brook, +I envy not the fowl of heaven his pinions. +Far nobler joy to soar through thought's dominions +From page to page, from book to book! +Ah! winter nights, so dear to mind and soul! +Warm, blissful life through all the limbs is thrilling, +And when thy hands unfold a genuine ancient scroll, +It seems as if all heaven the room were filling. + +_Faust_. One passion only has thy heart possessed; +The other, friend, O, learn it never! +Two souls, alas! are lodged in my wild breast, +Which evermore opposing ways endeavor, +The one lives only on the joys of time, +Still to the world with clamp-like organs clinging; +The other leaves this earthly dust and slime, +To fields of sainted sires up-springing. +O, are there spirits in the air, +That empire hold 'twixt earth's and heaven's dominions, +Down from your realm of golden haze repair, +Waft me to new, rich life, upon your rosy pinions! +Ay! were a magic mantle only mine, +To soar o'er earth's wide wildernesses, +I would not sell it for the costliest dresses, +Not for a royal robe the gift resign. + +_Wagner_. O, call them not, the well known powers of air, +That swarm through all the middle kingdom, weaving +Their fairy webs, with many a fatal snare +The feeble race of men deceiving. +First, the sharp spirit-tooth, from out the North, +And arrowy tongues and fangs come thickly flying; +Then from the East they greedily dart forth, +Sucking thy lungs, thy life-juice drying; +If from the South they come with fever thirst, +Upon thy head noon's fiery splendors heaping; +The Westwind brings a swarm, refreshing first, +Then all thy world with thee in stupor steeping. +They listen gladly, aye on mischief bent, +Gladly draw near, each weak point to espy, +They make believe that they from heaven are sent, +Whispering like angels, while they lie. +But let us go! The earth looks gray, my friend, +The air grows cool, the mists ascend! +At night we learn our homes to prize.-- +Why dost thou stop and stare with all thy eyes? +What can so chain thy sight there, in the gloaming? + +_Faust_. Seest thou that black dog through stalks and stubble roaming? + +_Wagner_. I saw him some time since, he seemed not strange to me. + +_Faust_. Look sharply! What dost take the beast to be? + +_Wagner_. For some poor poodle who has lost his master, +And, dog-like, scents him o'er the ground. + +_Faust_. Markst thou how, ever nearer, ever faster, +Towards us his spiral track wheels round and round? +And if my senses suffer no confusion, +Behind him trails a fiery glare. + +_Wagner_. 'Tis probably an optical illusion; +I still see only a black poodle there. + +_Faust_. He seems to me as he were tracing slyly +His magic rings our feet at last to snare. + +_Wagner_. To me he seems to dart around our steps so shyly, +As if he said: is one of them my master there? + +_Faust_. The circle narrows, he is near! + +_Wagner_. Thou seest! a dog we have, no spectre, here! +He growls and stops, crawls on his belly, too, +And wags his tail,--as all dogs do. + +_Faust_. Come here, sir! come, our comrade be! + +_Wagner_. He has a poodle's drollery. +Stand still, and he, too, waits to see; +Speak to him, and he jumps on thee; +Lose something, drop thy cane or sling it +Into the stream, he'll run and bring it. + +_Faust_. I think you're right; I trace no spirit here, +'Tis all the fruit of training, that is clear. + +_Wagner_. A well-trained dog is a great treasure, +Wise men in such will oft take pleasure. +And he deserves your favor and a collar, +He, of the students the accomplished scholar. + + [_They go in through the town gate._] + + + + + STUDY-CHAMBER. + + _Enter_ FAUST _with the_ POODLE. + + +I leave behind me field and meadow +Veiled in the dusk of holy night, +Whose ominous and awful shadow +Awakes the better soul to light. +To sleep are lulled the wild desires, +The hand of passion lies at rest; +The love of man the bosom fires, +The love of God stirs up the breast. + +Be quiet, poodle! what worrisome fiend hath possest thee, +Nosing and snuffling so round the door? +Go behind the stove there and rest thee, +There's my best pillow--what wouldst thou more? +As, out on the mountain-paths, frisking and leaping, +Thou, to amuse us, hast done thy best, +So now in return lie still in my keeping, +A quiet, contented, and welcome guest. + +When, in our narrow chamber, nightly, +The friendly lamp begins to burn, +Then in the bosom thought beams brightly, +Homeward the heart will then return. +Reason once more bids passion ponder, +Hope blooms again and smiles on man; +Back to life's rills he yearns to wander, +Ah! to the source where life began. + +Stop growling, poodle! In the music Elysian +That laps my soul at this holy hour, +These bestial noises have jarring power. +We know that men will treat with derision +Whatever they cannot understand, +At goodness and truth and beauty's vision +Will shut their eyes and murmur and howl at it; +And must the dog, too, snarl and growl at it? + +But ah, with the best will, I feel already, +No peace will well up in me, clear and steady. +But why must hope so soon deceive us, +And the dried-up stream in fever leave us? +For in this I have had a full probation. +And yet for this want a supply is provided, +To a higher than earth the soul is guided, +We are ready and yearn for revelation: +And where are its light and warmth so blent +As here in the New Testament? +I feel, this moment, a mighty yearning +To expound for once the ground text of all, +The venerable original +Into my own loved German honestly turning. + [_He opens the volume, and applies himself to the task_.] +"In the beginning was the _Word_." I read. +But here I stick! Who helps me to proceed? +The _Word_--so high I cannot--dare not, rate it, +I must, then, otherwise translate it, +If by the spirit I am rightly taught. +It reads: "In the beginning was the _thought_." +But study well this first line's lesson, +Nor let thy pen to error overhasten! +Is it the _thought_ does all from time's first hour? +"In the beginning," read then, "was the _power_." +Yet even while I write it down, my finger +Is checked, a voice forbids me there to linger. +The spirit helps! At once I dare to read +And write: "In the beginning was the _deed_." + +If I with thee must share my chamber, +Poodle, now, remember, +No more howling, +No more growling! +I had as lief a bull should bellow, +As have for a chum such a noisy fellow. +Stop that yell, now, +One of us must quit this cell now! +'Tis hard to retract hospitality, +But the door is open, thy way is free. +But what ails the creature? +Is this in the course of nature? +Is it real? or one of Fancy's shows? + +How long and broad my poodle grows! +He rises from the ground; +That is no longer the form of a hound! +Heaven avert the curse from us! +He looks like a hippopotamus, +With his fiery eyes and the terrible white +Of his grinning teeth! oh what a fright +Have I brought with me into the house! Ah now, +No mystery art thou! +Methinks for such half hellish brood +The key of Solomon were good. + +_Spirits_ [_in the passage_]. Softly! a fellow is caught there! + Keep back, all of you, follow him not there! + Like the fox in the trap, + Mourns the old hell-lynx his mishap. + But give ye good heed! + This way hover, that way hover, + Over and over, + And he shall right soon be freed. + Help can you give him, + O do not leave him! + Many good turns he's done us, + Many a fortune won us. + +_Faust_. First, to encounter the creature +By the spell of the Four, says the teacher: + Salamander shall glisten,[12] + Undina lapse lightly, + Sylph vanish brightly, + Kobold quick listen. + +He to whom Nature +Shows not, as teacher, +Every force +And secret source, +Over the spirits +No power inherits. + + Vanish in glowing + Flame, Salamander! + Inward, spirally flowing, + Gurgle, Undine! + Gleam in meteoric splendor, + Airy Queen! + Thy homely help render, + Incubus! Incubus! + Forth and end the charm for us! + +No kingdom of Nature +Resides in the creature. +He lies there grinning--'tis clear, my charm +Has done the monster no mite of harm. +I'll try, for thy curing, +Stronger adjuring. + + Art thou a jail-bird, + A runaway hell-bird? + This sign,[13] then--adore it! + They tremble before it + All through the dark dwelling. + +His hair is bristling--his body swelling. + + Reprobate creature! + Canst read his nature? + The Uncreated, + Ineffably Holy, + With Deity mated, + Sin's victim lowly? + +Driven behind the stove by my spells, +Like an elephant he swells; +He fills the whole room, so huge he's grown, +He waxes shadowy faster and faster. +Rise not up to the ceiling--down! +Lay thyself at the feet of thy master! +Thou seest, there's reason to dread my ire. +I'll scorch thee with the holy fire! +Wait not for the sight +Of the thrice-glowing light! +Wait not to feel the might +Of the potentest spell in all my treasure! + + + MEPHISTOPHELES. + [_As the mist sinks, steps forth from behind the stove, + dressed as a travelling scholasticus_.] +Why all this noise? What is your worship's pleasure? + +_Faust_. This was the poodle's essence then! +A travelling clark? Ha! ha! The casus is too funny. + +_Mephistopheles_. I bow to the most learned among men! +'Faith you did sweat me without ceremony. + +_Faust_. What is thy name? + +_Mephistopheles_. The question seems too small +For one who holds the _word_ so very cheaply, +Who, far removed from shadows all, +For substances alone seeks deeply. + +_Faust_. With gentlemen like him in my presence, +The name is apt to express the essence, +Especially if, when you inquire, +You find it God of flies,[14] Destroyer, Slanderer, Liar. +Well now, who art thou then? + +_Mephistopheles_. A portion of that power, +Which wills the bad and works the good at every hour. + +_Faust_. Beneath thy riddle-word what meaning lies? + +_Mephistopheles_. I am the spirit that denies! +And justly so; for all that time creates, +He does well who annihilates! +Better, it ne'er had had beginning; +And so, then, all that you call sinning, +Destruction,--all you pronounce ill-meant,-- +Is my original element. + +_Faust_. Thou call'st thyself a part, yet lookst complete to me. + +_Mephistopheles_. I speak the modest truth to thee. +A world of folly in one little soul, +_Man_ loves to think himself a whole; +Part of the part am I, which once was all, the Gloom +That brought forth Light itself from out her mighty womb, +The upstart proud, that now with mother Night +Disputes her ancient rank and space and right, +Yet never shall prevail, since, do whate'er he will, +He cleaves, a slave, to bodies still; +From bodies flows, makes bodies fair to sight; +A body in his course can check him, +His doom, I therefore hope, will soon o'ertake him, +With bodies merged in nothingness and night. + +_Faust_. Ah, now I see thy high vocation! +In gross thou canst not harm creation, +And so in small hast now begun. + +_Mephistopheles_. And, truth to tell, e'en here, not much have done. +That which at nothing the gauntlet has hurled, +This, what's its name? this clumsy world, +So far as I have undertaken, +I have to own, remains unshaken +By wave, storm, earthquake, fiery brand. +Calm, after all, remain both sea and land. +And the damn'd living fluff, of man and beast the brood, +It laughs to scorn my utmost power. +I've buried myriads by the hour, +And still there circulates each hour a new, fresh blood. +It were enough to drive one to distraction! +Earth, water, air, in constant action, +Through moist and dry, through warm and cold, +Going forth in endless germination! +Had I not claimed of fire a reservation, +Not one thing I alone should hold. + +_Faust_. Thus, with the ever-working power +Of good dost thou in strife persist, +And in vain malice, to this hour, +Clenchest thy cold and devilish fist! +Go try some other occupation, +Singular son of Chaos, thou! + +_Mephistopheles_. We'll give the thing consideration, +When next we meet again! But now +Might I for once, with leave retire? + +_Faust_. Why thou shouldst ask I do not see. +Now that I know thee, when desire +Shall prompt thee, freely visit me. +Window and door give free admission. +At least there's left the chimney flue. + +_Mephistopheles_. Let me confess there's one small prohibition + +Lies on thy threshold, 'gainst my walking through, +The wizard-foot--[15] + +_Faust_. Does that delay thee? +The Pentagram disturbs thee? Now, +Come tell me, son of hell, I pray thee, +If that spell-binds thee, then how enteredst thou? +_Thou_ shouldst proceed more circumspectly! + +_Mephistopheles_. Mark well! the figure is not drawn correctly; +One of the angles, 'tis the outer one, +Is somewhat open, dost perceive it? + +_Faust_. That was a lucky hit, believe it! +And I have caught thee then? Well done! +'Twas wholly chance--I'm quite astounded! + +_Mephistopheles_. The _poodle_ took no heed, +as through the door he bounded; +The case looks differently now; +The _devil_ can leave the house no-how. + +_Faust_. The window offers free emission. + +_Mephistopheles_. Devils and ghosts are bound by this condition: + +The way they entered in, they must come out. Allow +In the first clause we're free, yet not so in the second. + +_Faust_. In hell itself, then, laws are reckoned? +Now that I like; so then, one may, in fact, +Conclude a binding compact with you gentry? + +_Mephistopheles_. Whatever promise on our books finds entry, +We strictly carry into act. +But hereby hangs a grave condition, +Of this we'll talk when next we meet; +But for the present I entreat +Most urgently your kind dismission. + +_Faust_. Do stay but just one moment longer, then, +Tell me good news and I'll release thee. + +_Mephistopheles_. Let me go now! I'll soon come back again, +Then may'st thou ask whate'er shall please thee. + +_Faust_. I laid no snare for thee, old chap! +Thou shouldst have watched and saved thy bacon. +Who has the devil in his trap +Must hold him fast, next time he'll not so soon be taken. + +_Mephistopheles_. Well, if it please thee, I'm content to stay +For company, on one condition, +That I, for thy amusement, may +To exercise my arts have free permission. + +_Faust_. I gladly grant it, if they be +Not disagreeable to me. + +_Mephistopheles_. Thy senses, friend, in this one hour +Shall grasp the world with clearer power +Than in a year's monotony. +The songs the tender spirits sing thee, +The lovely images they bring thee +Are not an idle magic play. +Thou shalt enjoy the daintiest savor, +Then feast thy taste on richest flavor, +Then thy charmed heart shall melt away. +Come, all are here, and all have been +Well trained and practised, now begin! + +_Spirits_. Vanish, ye gloomy + Vaulted abysses! + Tenderer, clearer, + Friendlier, nearer, + Ether, look through! + O that the darkling + Cloud-piles were riven! + Starlight is sparkling, + Purer is heaven, + Holier sunshine + Softens the blue. + Graces, adorning + Sons of the morning-- + Shadowy wavings-- + Float along over; + Yearnings and cravings + After them hover. + Garments ethereal, + Tresses aerial, + Float o'er the flowers, + Float o'er the bowers, + Where, with deep feeling, + Thoughtful and tender, + Lovers, embracing, + Life-vows are sealing. + Bowers on bowers! + Graceful and slender + Vines interlacing! + Purple and blushing, + Under the crushing + Wine-presses gushing, + Grape-blood, o'erflowing, + Down over gleaming + Precious stones streaming, + Leaves the bright glowing + Tops of the mountains, + Leaves the red fountains, + Widening and rushing, + Till it encloses + Green hills all flushing, + Laden with roses. + Happy ones, swarming, + Ply their swift pinions, + Glide through the charming + Airy dominions, + Sunward still fleering, + Onward, where peering + Far o'er the ocean, + Islets are dancing + With an entrancing, + Magical motion; + Hear them, in chorus, + Singing high o'er us; + Over the meadows + Flit the bright shadows; + Glad eyes are glancing, + Tiny feet dancing. + Up the high ridges + Some of them clamber, + Others are skimming + Sky-lakes of amber, + Others are swimming + Over the ocean;-- + All are in motion, + Life-ward all yearning, + Longingly turning + To the far-burning + Star-light of bliss. + +_Mephistopheles_. He sleeps! Ye airy, tender youths, your numbers +Have sung him into sweetest slumbers! +You put me greatly in your debt by this. +Thou art not yet the man that shall hold fast the devil! +Still cheat his senses with your magic revel, +Drown him in dreams of endless youth; +But this charm-mountain on the sill to level, +I need, O rat, thy pointed tooth! +Nor need I conjure long, they're near me, +E'en now comes scampering one, who presently will hear me. + +The sovereign lord of rats and mice, +Of flies and frogs and bugs and lice, +Commands thee to come forth this hour, +And gnaw this threshold with great power, +As he with oil the same shall smear-- +Ha! with a skip e'en now thou'rt here! +But brisk to work! The point by which I'm cowered, +Is on the ledge, the farthest forward. +Yet one more bite, the deed is done.-- +Now, Faust, until we meet again, dream on! + +_Faust_. [_Waking_.] Again has witchcraft triumphed o'er me? +Was it a ghostly show, so soon withdrawn? +I dream, the devil stands himself before me--wake, to find a poodle gone! + + + + + STUDY-CHAMBER. + + FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES. + + +_Faust_. A knock? Walk in! Who comes again to tease me? + +_Mephistopheles_. 'Tis I. + +_Faust_. Come in! + +_Mephistopheles_. Must say it thrice, to please me. + +_Faust_. Come in then! + +_Mephistopheles_. That I like to hear. +We shall, I hope, bear with each other; +For to dispel thy crotchets, brother, +As a young lord, I now appear, +In scarlet dress, trimmed with gold lacing, +A stiff silk cloak with stylish facing, +A tall cock's feather in my hat, +A long, sharp rapier to defend me, +And I advise thee, short and flat, +In the same costume to attend me; +If thou wouldst, unembarrassed, see +What sort of thing this life may be. + +_Faust_. In every dress I well may feel the sore +Of this low earth-life's melancholy. +I am too old to live for folly, +Too young, to wish for nothing more. +Am I content with all creation? +Renounce! renounce! Renunciation-- +Such is the everlasting song +That in the ears of all men rings, +Which every hour, our whole life long, +With brazen accents hoarsely sings. +With terror I behold each morning's light, +With bitter tears my eyes are filling, +To see the day that shall not in its flight +Fulfil for me one wish, not one, but killing +Every presentiment of zest +With wayward skepticism, chases +The fair creations from my breast +With all life's thousand cold grimaces. +And when at night I stretch me on my bed +And darkness spreads its shadow o'er me; +No rest comes then anigh my weary head, +Wild dreams and spectres dance before me. +The God who dwells within my soul +Can heave its depths at any hour; +Who holds o'er all my faculties control +Has o'er the outer world no power; +Existence lies a load upon my breast, +Life is a curse and death a long'd-for rest. + +_Mephistopheles_. And yet death never proves a wholly welcome guest. + +_Faust_. O blest! for whom, when victory's joy fire blazes, +Death round his brow the bloody laurel windeth, +Whom, weary with the dance's mazes, +He on a maiden's bosom findeth. +O that, beneath the exalted spirit's power, +I had expired, in rapture sinking! + +_Mephistopheles_. And yet I knew one, in a midnight hour, +Who a brown liquid shrank from drinking. + +_Faust_. Eaves-dropping seems a favorite game with thee. + +_Mephistopheles_. Omniscient am I not; yet much is known to me. + +_Faust_. Since that sweet tone, with fond appealing, +Drew me from witchcraft's horrid maze, +And woke the lingering childlike feeling +With harmonies of happier days; +My curse on all the mock-creations +That weave their spell around the soul, +And bind it with their incantations +And orgies to this wretched hole! +Accursed be the high opinion +Hugged by the self-exalting mind! +Accursed all the dream-dominion +That makes the dazzled senses blind! +Curs'd be each vision that befools us, +Of fame, outlasting earthly life! +Curs'd all that, as possession, rules us, +As house and barn, as child and wife! +Accurs'd be mammon, when with treasure +He fires our hearts for deeds of might, +When, for a dream of idle pleasure, +He makes our pillow smooth and light! +Curs'd be the grape-vine's balsam-juices! +On love's high grace my curses fall! +On faith! On hope that man seduces, +On patience last, not least, of all! + +_Choir of spirits_. [_Invisible_.] Woe! Woe! + Thou hast ground it to dust, + The beautiful world, + With mighty fist; + To ruins 'tis hurled; + A demi-god's blow hath done it! + A moment we look upon it, + Then carry (sad duty!) + The fragments over into nothingness, + With tears unavailing + Bewailing + All the departed beauty. + Lordlier + Than all sons of men, + Proudlier + Build it again, + Build it up in thy breast anew! + A fresh career pursue, + Before thee + A clearer view, + And, from the Empyrean, + A new-born Paean + Shall greet thee, too! + +_Mephistopheles_. Be pleased to admire + My juvenile choir! + Hear how they counsel in manly measure + Action and pleasure! + Out into life, + Its joy and strife, + Away from this lonely hole, + Where senses and soul + Rot in stagnation, + Calls thee their high invitation. + +Give over toying with thy sorrow +Which like a vulture feeds upon thy heart; +Thou shalt, in the worst company, to-morrow +Feel that with men a man thou art. +Yet I do not exactly intend +Among the canaille to plant thee. +I'm none of your magnates, I grant thee; +Yet if thou art willing, my friend, +Through life to jog on beside me, +Thy pleasure in all things shall guide me, +To thee will I bind me, +A friend thou shalt find me, +And, e'en to the grave, +Shalt make me thy servant, make me thy slave! + +_Faust_. And in return what service shall I render? + +_Mephistopheles_. There's ample grace--no hurry, not the least. + +_Faust_. No, no, the devil is an egotist, +And does not easily "for God's sake" tender +That which a neighbor may assist. +Speak plainly the conditions, come! +'Tis dangerous taking such a servant home. + +_Mephistopheles_. I to thy service _here_ agree to bind me, +To run and never rest at call of thee; +When _over yonder_ thou shalt find me, +Then thou shalt do as much for me. + +_Faust_. I care not much what's over yonder: +When thou hast knocked this world asunder, +Come if it will the other may! +Up from this earth my pleasures all are streaming, +Down on my woes this earthly sun is beaming; +Let me but end this fit of dreaming, +Then come what will, I've nought to say. +I'll hear no more of barren wonder +If in that world they hate and love, +And whether in that future yonder +There's a Below and an Above. + +_Mephistopheles._ In such a mood thou well mayst venture. +Bind thyself to me, and by this indenture +Thou shalt enjoy with relish keen +Fruits of my arts that man had never seen. + +_Faust_. And what hast thou to give, poor devil? +Was e'er a human mind, upon its lofty level, +Conceived of by the like of thee? +Yet hast thou food that brings satiety, +Not satisfaction; gold that reftlessly, +Like quicksilver, melts down within +The hands; a game in which men never win; +A maid that, hanging on my breast, +Ogles a neighbor with her wanton glances; +Of fame the glorious godlike zest, +That like a short-lived meteor dances-- +Show me the fruit that, ere it's plucked, will rot, +And trees from which new green is daily peeping! + +_Mephistopheles_. Such a requirement scares me not; +Such treasures have I in my keeping. +Yet shall there also come a time, good friend, +When we may feast on good things at our leisure. + +_Faust_. If e'er I lie content upon a lounge of pleasure-- +Then let there be of me an end! +When thou with flattery canst cajole me, +Till I self-satisfied shall be, +When thou with pleasure canst befool me, +Be that the last of days for me! +I lay the wager! + +_Mephistopheles_. Done! + +_Faust_. And heartily! +Whenever to the passing hour +I cry: O stay! thou art so fair! +To chain me down I give thee power +To the black bottom of despair! +Then let my knell no longer linger, +Then from my service thou art free, +Fall from the clock the index-finger, +Be time all over, then, for me! + +_Mephistopheles_. Think well, for we shall hold you to the letter. + +_Faust_. Full right to that just now I gave; +I spoke not as an idle braggart better. +Henceforward I remain a slave, +What care I who puts on the setter? + +_Mephistopheles_. I shall this very day, at Doctor's-feast,[16] +My bounden service duly pay thee. +But one thing!--For insurance' sake, I pray thee, +Grant me a line or two, at least. + +_Faust_. Pedant! will writing gain thy faith, alone? +In all thy life, no man, nor man's word hast thou known? +Is't not enough that I the fatal word +That passes on my future days have spoken? +The world-stream raves and rushes (hast not heard?) +And shall a promise hold, unbroken? +Yet this delusion haunts the human breast, +Who from his soul its roots would sever? +Thrice happy in whose heart pure truth finds rest. +No sacrifice shall he repent of ever! +But from a formal, written, sealed attest, +As from a spectre, all men shrink forever. +The word and spirit die together, +Killed by the sight of wax and leather. +What wilt thou, evil sprite, from me? +Brass, marble, parchment, paper, shall it be? +Shall I subscribe with pencil, pen or graver? +Among them all thy choice is free. + +_Mephistopheles_. This rhetoric of thine to me +Hath a somewhat bombastic savor. +Any small scrap of paper's good. +Thy signature will need a single drop of blood.[17] + +_Faust_. If this will satisfy thy mood, +I will consent thy whim to favor. + +_Mephistopheles._ Quite a peculiar juice is blood. + +_Faust_. Fear not that I shall break this bond; O, never! +My promise, rightly understood, +Fulfils my nature's whole endeavor. +I've puffed myself too high, I see; +To _thy_ rank only I belong. +The Lord of Spirits scorneth me, +Nature, shut up, resents the wrong. +The thread of thought is snapt asunder, +All science to me is a stupid blunder. +Let us in sensuality's deep +Quench the passions within us blazing! +And, the veil of sorcery raising, +Wake each miracle from its long sleep! +Plunge we into the billowy dance, +The rush and roll of time and chance! +Then may pleasure and distress, +Disappointment and success, +Follow each other as fast as they will; +Man's restless activity flourishes still. + +_Mephistopheles_. No bound or goal is set to you; +Where'er you like to wander sipping, +And catch a tit-bit in your skipping, +Eschew all coyness, just fall to, +And may you find a good digestion! + +_Faust_. Now, once for all, pleasure is not the question. +I'm sworn to passion's whirl, the agony of bliss, +The lover's hate, the sweets of bitterness. +My heart, no more by pride of science driven, +Shall open wide to let each sorrow enter, +And all the good that to man's race is given, +I will enjoy it to my being's centre, +Through life's whole range, upward and downward sweeping, +Their weal and woe upon my bosom heaping, +Thus in my single self their selves all comprehending +And with them in a common shipwreck ending. + +_Mephistopheles_. O trust me, who since first I fell from heaven, +Have chewed this tough meat many a thousand year, +No man digests the ancient leaven, +No mortal, from the cradle to the bier. +Trust one of _us_--the _whole_ creation +To God alone belongs by right; +_He_ has in endless day his habitation, +_Us_ He hath made for utter night, +_You_ for alternate dark and light. + +_Faust_. But then I _will!_ + +_Mephistopheles_. Now that's worth hearing! +But one thing haunts me, the old song, +That time is short and art is long. +You need some slight advice, I'm fearing. +Take to you one of the poet-feather, +Let the gentleman's thought, far-sweeping, +Bring all the noblest traits together, +On your one crown their honors heaping, +The lion's mood +The stag's rapidity, +The fiery blood of Italy, +The Northman's hardihood. +Bid him teach thee the art of combining +Greatness of soul with fly designing, +And how, with warm and youthful passion, +To fall in love by plan and fashion. +Should like, myself, to come across 'm, +Would name him Mr. Microcosm. + +_Faust_. What am I then? if that for which my heart +Yearns with invincible endeavor, +The crown of man, must hang unreached forever? + +_Mephistopheles_. Thou art at last--just what thou art. +Pile perukes on thy head whose curls cannot be counted, +On yard-high buskins let thy feet be mounted, +Still thou art only what thou art. + +_Faust_. Yes, I have vainly, let me not deny it, +Of human learning ransacked all the stores, +And when, at last, I set me down in quiet, +There gushes up within no new-born force; +I am not by a hair's-breadth higher, +Am to the Infinite no nigher. + +_Mephistopheles_. My worthy sir, you see the matter +As people generally see; +But we must learn to take things better, +Before life pleasures wholly flee. +The deuce! thy head and all that's in it, +Hands, feet and ------ are thine; +What I enjoy with zest each minute, +Is surely not the less mine? +If I've six horses in my span, +Is it not mine, their every power? +I fly along as an undoubted man, +On four and twenty legs the road I scour. +Cheer up, then! let all thinking be, +And out into the world with me! +I tell thee, friend, a speculating churl +Is like a beast, some evil spirit chases +Along a barren heath in one perpetual whirl, +While round about lie fair, green pasturing places. + +_Faust_. But how shall we begin? + +_Mephistopheles_. We sally forth e'en now. +What martyrdom endurest thou! +What kind of life is this to be living, +Ennui to thyself and youngsters giving? +Let Neighbor Belly that way go! +To stay here threshing straw why car'st thou? +The best that thou canst think and know +To tell the boys not for the whole world dar'st thou. +E'en now I hear one in the entry. + +_Faust_. I have no heart the youth to see. + +_Mephistopheles_. The poor boy waits there like a sentry, +He shall not want a word from me. +Come, give me, now, thy robe and bonnet; +This mask will suit me charmingly. + [_He puts them on_.] +Now for my wit--rely upon it! +'Twill take but fifteen minutes, I am sure. +Meanwhile prepare thyself to make the pleasant tour! + + [_Exit_ FAUST.] + +_Mephistopheles [in_ FAUST'S _long gown_]. +Only despise all human wit and lore, +The highest flights that thought can soar-- +Let but the lying spirit blind thee, +And with his spells of witchcraft bind thee, +Into my snare the victim creeps.-- +To him has destiny a spirit given, +That unrestrainedly still onward sweeps, +To scale the skies long since hath striven, +And all earth's pleasures overleaps. +He shall through life's wild scenes be driven, +And through its flat unmeaningness, +I'll make him writhe and stare and stiffen, +And midst all sensual excess, +His fevered lips, with thirst all parched and riven, +Insatiably shall haunt refreshment's brink; +And had he not, himself, his soul to Satan given, +Still must he to perdition sink! + + [_Enter_ A SCHOLAR.] + +_Scholar_. I have but lately left my home, +And with profound submission come, +To hold with one some conversation +Whom all men name with veneration. + +_Mephistopheles._ Your courtesy greatly flatters me +A man like many another you see. +Have you made any applications elsewhere? + +_Scholar_. Let me, I pray, your teachings share! +With all good dispositions I come, +A fresh young blood and money some; +My mother would hardly hear of my going; +But I long to learn here something worth knowing. + +_Mephistopheles_. You've come to the very place for it, then. + +_Scholar_. Sincerely, could wish I were off again: +My soul already has grown quite weary +Of walls and halls, so dark and dreary, +The narrowness oppresses me. +One sees no green thing, not a tree. +On the lecture-seats, I know not what ails me, +Sight, hearing, thinking, every thing fails me. + +_Mephistopheles_. 'Tis all in use, we daily see. +The child takes not the mother's breast +In the first instance willingly, +But soon it feeds itself with zest. +So you at wisdom's breast your pleasure +Will daily find in growing measure. + +_Scholar_. I'll hang upon her neck, a raptured wooer, +But only tell me, who shall lead me to her? + +_Mephistopheles_. Ere you go further, give your views +As to which faculty you choose? + +_Scholar_. To be right learn'd I've long desired, +And of the natural world aspired +To have a perfect comprehension +In this and in the heavenly sphere. + +_Mephistopheles_. I see you're on the right track here; +But you'll have to give undivided attention. + +_Scholar_. My heart and soul in the work'll be found; +Only, of course, it would give me pleasure, +When summer holidays come round, +To have for amusement a little leisure. + +_Mephistopheles_. Use well the precious time, it flips away so, +Yet method gains you time, if I may say so. +I counsel you therefore, my worthy friend, +The logical leisures first to attend. +Then is your mind well trained and cased +In Spanish boots,[18] all snugly laced, +So that henceforth it can creep ahead +On the road of thought with a cautious tread. +And not at random shoot and strike, +Zig-zagging Jack-o'-lanthorn-like. +Then will you many a day be taught +That what you once to do had thought +Like eating and drinking, extempore, +Requires the rule of one, two, three. +It is, to be sure, with the fabric of thought, +As with the _chef d'oeuvre_ by weavers wrought, +Where a thousand threads one treadle plies, +Backward and forward the shuttles keep going, +Invisibly the threads keep flowing, +One stroke a thousand fastenings ties: +Comes the philosopher and cries: +I'll show you, it could not be otherwise: +The first being so, the second so, +The third and fourth must of course be so; +And were not the first and second, you see, +The third and fourth could never be. +The scholars everywhere call this clever, +But none have yet become weavers ever. +Whoever will know a live thing and expound it, +First kills out the spirit it had when he found it, +And then the parts are all in his hand, +Minus only the spiritual band! +Encheiresin naturae's[19] the chemical name, +By which dunces themselves unwittingly shame. + +_Scholar_. Cannot entirely comprehend you. + +_Mephistopheles_. Better success will shortly attend you, +When you learn to analyze all creation +And give it a proper classification. + +_Scholar_. I feel as confused by all you've said, +As if 'twere a mill-wheel going round in my head! + +_Mephistopheles_. The next thing most important to mention, +Metaphysics will claim your attention! +There see that you can clearly explain +What fits not into the human brain: +For that which will not go into the head, +A pompous word will stand you in stead. +But, this half-year, at least, observe +From regularity never to swerve. +You'll have five lectures every day; +Be in at the stroke of the bell I pray! +And well prepared in every part; +Study each paragraph by heart, +So that you scarce may need to look +To see that he says no more than's in the book; +And when he dictates, be at your post, +As if you wrote for the Holy Ghost! + +_Scholar_. That caution is unnecessary! +I know it profits one to write, +For what one has in black and white, +He to his home can safely carry. + +_Mephistopheles_. But choose some faculty, I pray! + +_Scholar_. I feel a strong dislike to try the legal college. + +_Mephistopheles_. I cannot blame you much, I must acknowledge. +I know how this profession stands to-day. +Statutes and laws through all the ages +Like a transmitted malady you trace; +In every generation still it rages +And softly creeps from place to place. +Reason is nonsense, right an impudent suggestion; +Alas for thee, that thou a grandson art! +Of inborn law in which each man has part, +Of that, unfortunately, there's no question. + +_Scholar_. My loathing grows beneath your speech. +O happy he whom you shall teach! +To try theology I'm almost minded. + +_Mephistopheles_. I must not let you by zeal be blinded. +This is a science through whose field +Nine out of ten in the wrong road will blunder, +And in it so much poison lies concealed, +That mould you this mistake for physic, no great wonder. +Here also it were best, if only one you heard +And swore to that one master's word. +Upon the whole--words only heed you! +These through the temple door will lead you +Safe to the shrine of certainty. + +_Scholar_. Yet in the word a thought must surely be. + +_Mephistopheles_. All right! But one must not perplex himself about it; +For just where one must go without it, +The word comes in, a friend in need, to thee. +With words can one dispute most featly, +With words build up a system neatly, +In words thy faith may stand unshaken, +From words there can be no iota taken. + +_Scholar_. Forgive my keeping you with many questions, +Yet must I trouble you once more, +Will you not give me, on the score +Of medicine, some brief suggestions? +Three years are a short time, O God! +And then the field is quite too broad. +If one had only before his nose +Something else as a hint to follow!-- + +_Mephistopheles_ [_aside_]. I'm heartily tired of this dry prose, +Must play the devil again out hollow. + [_Aloud_.] +The healing art is quickly comprehended; +Through great and little world you look abroad, +And let it wag, when all is ended, +As pleases God. +Vain is it that your science sweeps the skies, +Each, after all, learns only what he can; +Who grasps the moment as it flies +He is the real man. +Your person somewhat takes the eye, +Boldness you'll find an easy science, +And if you on yourself rely, +Others on you will place reliance. +In the women's good graces seek first to be seated; +Their oh's and ah's, well known of old, +So thousand-fold, +Are all from a single point to be treated; +Be decently modest and then with ease +You may get the blind side of them when you please. +A title, first, their confidence must waken, +That _your_ art many another art transcends, +Then may you, lucky man, on all those trifles reckon +For which another years of groping spends: +Know how to press the little pulse that dances, +And fearlessly, with sly and fiery glances, +Clasp the dear creatures round the waist +To see how tightly they are laced. + +_Scholar_. This promises! One loves the How and Where to see! + +_Mephistopheles_. Gray, worthy friend, is all your theory +And green the golden tree of life. + +_Scholar_. I seem, +I swear to you, like one who walks in dream. +Might I another time, without encroaching, +Hear you the deepest things of wisdom broaching? + +_Mephistopheles_. So far as I have power, you may. + +_Scholar_. I cannot tear myself away, +Till I to you my album have presented. +Grant me one line and I'm contented! + +_Mephistopheles_. With pleasure. + [_Writes and returns it_.] + +_Scholar [reads]._ Eritis sicut Deus, scientes bonum et malum. + [_Shuts it reverently, and bows himself out_.] + +_Mephistopheles_. +Let but the brave old saw and my aunt, the serpent, guide thee, +And, with thy likeness to God, shall woe one day betide thee! + +_Faust [enters_]. Which way now shall we go? + +_Mephistopheles_. Which way it pleases thee. +The little world and then the great we see. +O with what gain, as well as pleasure, +Wilt thou the rollicking cursus measure! + +_Faust_. I fear the easy life and free +With my long beard will scarce agree. +'Tis vain for me to think of succeeding, +I never could learn what is called good-breeding. +In the presence of others I feel so small; +I never can be at my ease at all. + +_Mephistopheles_. Dear friend, vain trouble to yourself you're giving; +Whence once you trust yourself, you know the art of living. + +_Faust_. But how are we to start, I pray? +Where are thy servants, coach and horses? + +_Mephistopheles_. We spread the mantle, and away +It bears us on our airy courses. +But, on this bold excursion, thou +Must take no great portmanteau now. +A little oxygen, which I will soon make ready, +From earth uplifts us, quick and steady. +And if we're light, we'll soon surmount the sphere; +I give thee hearty joy in this thy new career. + + + + + AUERBACH'S CELLAR IN LEIPSIC.[20] + + _Carousal of Jolly Companions_. + + +_Frosch_.[21] Will nobody drink? Stop those grimaces! +I'll teach you how to be cutting your faces! +Laugh out! You're like wet straw to-day, +And blaze, at other times, like dry hay. + +_Brander_. 'Tis all your fault; no food for fun you bring, +Not a nonsensical nor nasty thing. + +_Frosch [dashes a glass of wine over his bead_]. There you have both! + +_Brander_. You hog twice o'er! + +_Frosch_. You wanted it, what would you more? + +_Siebel_ Out of the door with them that brawl! +Strike up a round; swill, shout there, one and all! +Wake up! Hurra! + +_Altmayer_. Woe's me, I'm lost! Bring cotton! +The rascal splits my ear-drum. + +_Siebel_. Only shout on! +When all the arches ring and yell, +Then does the base make felt its true ground-swell. + +_Frosch_. That's right, just throw him out, who undertakes to fret! +A! tara! lara da! + +_Altmayer_. A! tara! lara da! + +_Frosch_. Our whistles all are wet. + [_Sings_.] + The dear old holy Romish realm, + What holds it still together? + +_Brander_. A sorry song! Fie! a political song! +A tiresome song! Thank God each morning therefor, +That you have not the Romish realm to care for! +At least I count it a great gain that He +Kaiser nor chancellor has made of me. +E'en we can't do without a head, however; +To choose a pope let us endeavour. +You know what qualification throws +The casting vote and the true man shows. + +_Frosch [sings_]. + Lady Nightingale, upward soar, + Greet me my darling ten thousand times o'er. + +_Siebel_. No greetings to that girl! Who does so, I resent it! + +_Frosch_. A greeting and a kiss! And you will not prevent it! + [_Sings.]_ + Draw the bolts! the night is clear. + Draw the bolts! Love watches near. + Close the bolts! the dawn is here. + +_Siebel_. Ay, sing away and praise and glorify your dear! +Soon I shall have my time for laughter. +The jade has jilted me, and will you too hereafter; +May Kobold, for a lover, be her luck! +At night may he upon the cross-way meet her; +Or, coming from the Blocksberg, some old buck +May, as he gallops by, a good-night bleat her! +A fellow fine of real flesh and blood +Is for the wench a deal too good. +She'll get from me but one love-token, +That is to have her window broken! + +_Brander [striking on the table_]. Attend! attend! To me give ear! +I know what's life, ye gents, confess it: +We've lovesick people sitting near, +And it is proper they should hear +A good-night strain as well as I can dress it. +Give heed! And hear a bran-new song! +Join in the chorus loud and strong! + [_He sings_.] + A rat in the cellar had built his nest, + He daily grew sleeker and smoother, + He lined his paunch from larder and chest, + And was portly as Doctor Luther. + The cook had set him poison one day; + From that time forward he pined away + As if he had love in his body. + +_Chorus [flouting_]. As if he had love in his body. + +_Brander_. He raced about with a terrible touse, + From all the puddles went swilling, + He gnawed and he scratched all over the house, + His pain there was no stilling; + He made full many a jump of distress, + And soon the poor beast got enough, I guess, + As if he had love in his body. + +_Chorus_. As if he had love in his body. + +_Brander_. With pain he ran, in open day, + Right up into the kitchen; + He fell on the hearth and there he lay + Gasping and moaning and twitchin'. + Then laughed the poisoner: "He! he! he! + He's piping on the last hole," said she, + "As if he had love in his body." + +_Chorus_. As if he had love in his body. + +_Siebel_. Just hear now how the ninnies giggle! +That's what I call a genuine art, +To make poor rats with poison wriggle! + +_Brander_. You take their case so much to heart? + +_Altmayer_. The bald pate and the butter-belly! +The sad tale makes him mild and tame; +He sees in the swollen rat, poor fellow! +His own true likeness set in a frame. + + + FAUST _and_ MEPHISTOPHELES. + +_Mephistopheles_. Now, first of all, 'tis necessary +To show you people making merry, +That you may see how lightly life can run. +Each day to this small folk's a feast of fun; +Not over-witty, self-contented, +Still round and round in circle-dance they whirl, +As with their tails young kittens twirl. +If with no headache they're tormented, +Nor dunned by landlord for his pay, +They're careless, unconcerned, and gay. + +_Brander_. They're fresh from travel, one might know it, +Their air and manner plainly show it; +They came here not an hour ago. + +_Frosch_. Thou verily art right! My Leipsic well I know! +Paris in small it is, and cultivates its people. + +_Siebel_. What do the strangers seem to thee? + +_Frosch_. Just let me go! When wine our friendship mellows, +Easy as drawing a child's tooth 'twill be +To worm their secrets out of these two fellows. +They're of a noble house, I dare to swear, +They have a proud and discontented air. + +_Brander_. They're mountebanks, I'll bet a dollar! + +_Altmayer_. Perhaps. + +_Frosch_. I'll smoke them, mark you that! + +_Mephistopheles_ [_to Faust_]. These people never smell the old rat, +E'en when he has them by the collar. + +_Faust_. Fair greeting to you, sirs! + +_Siebel_. The same, and thanks to boot. + [_In a low tone, faking a side look at MEPHISTOPHELES_.] +Why has the churl one halting foot? + +_Mephistopheles_. With your permission, shall we make one party? +Instead of a good drink, which get here no one can, +Good company must make us hearty. + +_Altmayer_. You seem a very fastidious man. + +_Frosch_. I think you spent some time at Rippach[22] lately? +You supped with Mister Hans not long since, I dare say? + +_Mephistopheles_. We passed him on the road today! +Fine man! it grieved us parting with him, greatly. +He'd much to say to us about his cousins, +And sent to each, through us, his compliments by dozens. + [_He bows to_ FROSCH.] + +_Altmayer_ [_softly_]. You've got it there! he takes! + +_Siebel_. The chap don't want for wit! + +_Frosch_. I'll have him next time, wait a bit! + +_Mephistopheles_. If I mistook not, didn't we hear +Some well-trained voices chorus singing? +'Faith, music must sound finely here. +From all these echoing arches ringing! + +_Frosch_. You are perhaps a connoisseur? + +_Mephistopheles_. O no! my powers are small, I'm but an amateur. + +_Altmayer_. Give us a song! + +_Mephistopheles_. As many's you desire. + +_Siebel_. But let it be a bran-new strain! + +_Mephistopheles_. No fear of that! We've just come back from Spain, +The lovely land of wine and song and lyre. + [_Sings_.] + There was a king, right stately, + Who had a great, big flea,-- + +_Frosch_. Hear him! A flea! D'ye take there, boys? A flea! +I call that genteel company. + +_Mephistopheles_ [_resumes_]. There was a king, right stately, + Who had a great, big flea, + And loved him very greatly, + As if his own son were he. + He called the knight of stitches; + The tailor came straightway: + Ho! measure the youngster for breeches, + And make him a coat to-day! + +_Brander_. But don't forget to charge the knight of stitches, +The measure carefully to take, +And, as he loves his precious neck, +To leave no wrinkles in the breeches. + +_Mephistopheles_. In silk and velvet splendid + The creature now was drest, + To his coat were ribbons appended, + A cross was on his breast. + He had a great star on his collar, + Was a minister, in short; + And his relatives, greater and smaller, + Became great people at court. + + The lords and ladies of honor + Fared worse than if they were hung, + The queen, she got them upon her, + And all were bitten and stung, + And did not dare to attack them, + Nor scratch, but let them stick. + We choke them and we crack them + The moment we feel one prick. + +_Chorus_ [_loud_]. We choke 'em and we crack 'em +The moment we feel one prick. + +_Frosch_. Bravo! Bravo! That was fine! + +_Siebel_. So shall each flea his life resign! + +_Brander_. Point your fingers and nip them fine! + +_Altmayer_. Hurra for Liberty! Hurra for Wine! + +_Mephistopheles_. I'd pledge the goddess, too, to show how high I set her, +Right gladly, if your wines were just a trifle better. + +_Siebel_. Don't say that thing again, you fretter! + +_Mephistopheles_. Did I not fear the landlord to affront; +I'd show these worthy guests this minute +What kind of stuff our stock has in it. + +_Siebel_. Just bring it on! I'll bear the brunt. + +_Frosch_. Give us a brimming glass, our praise shall then be ample, +But don't dole out too small a sample; +For if I'm to judge and criticize, +I need a good mouthful to make me wise. + +_Altmayer_ [_softly_]. They're from the Rhine, as near as I can make it. + +_Mephistopheles_. Bring us a gimlet here! + +_Brander_. What shall be done with that? +You've not the casks before the door, I take it? + +_Altmayer_. The landlord's tool-chest there is easily got at. + +_Mephistopheles_ [_takes the gimlet_] (_to Frosch_). +What will you have? It costs but speaking. + +_Frosch_. How do you mean? Have you so many kinds? + +_Mephistopheles_. Enough to suit all sorts of minds. + +_Altmayer_. Aha! old sot, your lips already licking! + +_Frosch_. Well, then! if I must choose, let Rhine-wine fill my beaker, +Our fatherland supplies the noblest liquor. + + MEPHISTOPHELES + [_boring a hole in the rim of the table near the place + where_ FROSCH _sits_]. +Get us a little wax right off to make the stoppers! + +_Altmayer_. Ah, these are jugglers' tricks, and whappers! + +_Mephistopheles_ [_to Brander_]. And you? + +_Brander_. Champaigne's the wine for me, +But then right sparkling it must be! + + [MEPHISTOPHELES _bores; meanwhile one of them has made + the wax-stoppers and stopped the holes_.] + +_Brander_. Hankerings for foreign things will sometimes haunt you, +The good so far one often finds; +Your real German man can't bear the French, I grant you, +And yet will gladly drink their wines. + +_Siebel_ [_while Mephistopheles approaches his seat_]. +I don't like sour, it sets my mouth awry, +Let mine have real sweetness in it! + +_Mephistopheles_ [_bores_]. Well, you shall have Tokay this minute. + +_Altmayer_. No, sirs, just look me in the eye! +I see through this, 'tis what the chaps call smoking. + +_Mephistopheles_. Come now! That would be serious joking, +To make so free with worthy men. +But quickly now! Speak out again! +With what description can I serve you? + +_Altmayer_. Wait not to ask; with any, then. + + [_After all the holes are bored and stopped_.] + +_Mephistopheles_ [_with singular gestures_]. +From the vine-stock grapes we pluck; +Horns grow on the buck; +Wine is juicy, the wooden table, +Like wooden vines, to give wine is able. +An eye for nature's depths receive! +Here is a miracle, only believe! +Now draw the plugs and drink your fill! + + ALL + [_drawing the stoppers, and catching each in his glass + the wine he had desired_]. +Sweet spring, that yields us what we will! + +_Mephistopheles_. Only be careful not a drop to spill! + [_They drink repeatedly_.] + +_All_ [_sing_]. We're happy all as cannibals, + Five hundred hogs together. + +_Mephistopheles_. Look at them now, they're happy as can be! + +_Faust_. To go would suit my inclination. + +_Mephistopheles_. But first give heed, their bestiality +Will make a glorious demonstration. + + SIEBEL + [_drinks carelessly; the wine is spilt upon the ground + and turns to flame_]. +Help! fire! Ho! Help! The flames of hell! + +_Mephistopheles [_conjuring the flame_]. +Peace, friendly element, be still! + [_To the Toper_.] +This time 'twas but a drop of fire from purgatory. + +_Siebel_. What does this mean? Wait there, or you'll be sorry! +It seems you do not know us well. + +_Frosch_. Not twice, in this way, will it do to joke us! + +_Altmayer_. I vote, we give him leave himself here _scarce_ to make. + +_Siebel_. What, sir! How dare you undertake +To carry on here your old hocus-pocus? + +_Mephistopheles_. Be still, old wine-cask! + +_Siebel_. Broomstick, you! +Insult to injury add? Confound you! + +_Brander_. Stop there! Or blows shall rain down round you! + + ALTMAYER + [_draws a stopper out of the table; fire flies at him_]. +I burn! I burn! + +_Siebel_. Foul sorcery! Shame! +Lay on! the rascal is fair game! + + [_They draw their knives and rush at_ MEPHISTOPHELES.] + +_Mephistopheles_ [_with a serious mien_]. +Word and shape of air! +Change place, new meaning wear! +Be here--and there! + + [_They stand astounded and look at each other_.] + +_Altmayer_. Where am I? What a charming land! + +_Frosch_. Vine hills! My eyes! Is't true? + +_Siebel_. And grapes, too, close at hand! + +_Brander_. Beneath this green see what a stem is growing! +See what a bunch of grapes is glowing! + [_He seizes_ SIEBEL _by the nose. The rest do the same to each + other and raise their knives._] + +_Mephistopheles_ [_as above_]. Loose, Error, from their eyes the band! +How Satan plays his tricks, you need not now be told of. + [_He vanishes with_ FAUST, _the companions start back from each + other_.] + +_Siebel_. What ails me? + +_Altmayer_. How? + +_Frosch_. Was that thy nose, friend, I had hold of? + +_Brander_ [_to Siebel_]. And I have thine, too, in my hand! + +_Altmayer_. O what a shock! through all my limbs 'tis crawling! +Get me a chair, be quick, I'm falling! + +_Frosch_. No, say what was the real case? + +_Siebel_. O show me where the churl is hiding! +Alive he shall not leave the place! + +_Altmayer_. Out through the cellar-door I saw him riding-- +Upon a cask--he went full chase.-- +Heavy as lead my feet are growing. + + [_Turning towards the table_.] + +My! If the wine should yet be flowing. + +_Siebel_. 'Twas all deception and moonshine. + +_Frosch_. Yet I was sure I did drink wine. + +_Brander_. But how about the bunches, brother? + +_Altmayer_. After such miracles, I'll doubt no other! + + + + + WITCHES' KITCHEN. + + [_On a low hearth stands a great kettle over the fire. In the smoke, +which rises from it, are seen various forms. A female monkey[28] sits by +the kettle and skims it, and takes care that it does not run over. The +male monkey with the young ones sits close by, warming himself. Walls and +ceiling are adorned 'with the most singular witch-household stuff_.] + + + FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES. + +_Faust_. Would that this vile witch-business were well over! +Dost promise me I shall recover +In this hodge-podge of craziness? +From an old hag do I advice require? +And will this filthy cooked-up mess +My youth by thirty years bring nigher? +Woe's me, if that's the best you know! +Already hope is from my bosom banished. +Has not a noble mind found long ago +Some balsam to restore a youth that's vanished? + +_Mephistopheles_. My friend, again thou speakest a wise thought! +I know a natural way to make thee young,--none apter! +But in another book it must be sought, +And is a quite peculiar chapter. + +_Faust_. I beg to know it. + +_Mephistopheles_. Well! here's one that needs no pay, +No help of physic, nor enchanting. +Out to the fields without delay, +And take to hacking, digging, planting; +Run the same round from day to day, +A treadmill-life, contented, leading, +With simple fare both mind and body feeding, +Live with the beast as beast, nor count it robbery +Shouldst thou manure, thyself, the field thou reapest; +Follow this course and, trust to me, +For eighty years thy youth thou keepest! + +_Faust_. I am not used to that, I ne'er could bring me to it, +To wield the spade, I could not do it. +The narrow life befits me not at all. + +_Mephistopheles_. So must we on the witch, then, call. + +_Faust_. But why just that old hag? Canst thou +Not brew thyself the needful liquor? + +_Mephistopheles_. That were a pretty pastime now +I'd build about a thousand bridges quicker. +Science and art alone won't do, +The work will call for patience, too; +Costs a still spirit years of occupation: +Time, only, strengthens the fine fermentation. +To tell each thing that forms a part +Would sound to thee like wildest fable! +The devil indeed has taught the art; +To make it not the devil is able. + [_Espying the animals_.] +See, what a genteel breed we here parade! +This is the house-boy! that's the maid! + [_To the animals_.] +Where's the old lady gone a mousing? + +_The animals_. Carousing; +Out she went +By the chimney-vent! + +_Mephistopheles_. How long does she spend in gadding and storming? + +_The animals_. While we are giving our paws a warming. + +_Mephistopheles_ [_to Faust_]. How do you find the dainty creatures? + +_Faust_. Disgusting as I ever chanced to see! + +_Mephistopheles_. No! a discourse like this to me, +I own, is one of life's most pleasant features; + [_To the animals_.] +Say, cursed dolls, that sweat, there, toiling! +What are you twirling with the spoon? + +_Animals_. A common beggar-soup we're boiling. + +_Mephistopheles_. You'll have a run of custom soon. + + THE HE-MONKEY + [_Comes along and fawns on_ MEPHISTOPHELES]. + O fling up the dice, + Make me rich in a trice, + Turn fortune's wheel over! + My lot is right bad, + If money I had, + My wits would recover. + +_Mephistopheles_. The monkey'd be as merry as a cricket, +Would somebody give him a lottery-ticket! + + [_Meanwhile the young monkeys have been playing with a great + ball, which they roll backward and forward_.] + +_The monkey_. 'The world's the ball; + See't rise and fall, + Its roll you follow; + Like glass it rings: + Both, brittle things! + Within 'tis hollow. + There it shines clear, + And brighter here,-- + I live--by 'Pollo!-- + Dear son, I pray, + Keep hands away! + _Thou_ shalt fall so! + 'Tis made of clay, + Pots are, also. + +_Mephistopheles_. What means the sieve? + +_The monkey [takes it down_]. Wert thou a thief, + 'Twould show the thief and shame him. + [_Runs to his mate and makes her look through_.] + Look through the sieve! + Discern'st thou the thief, + And darest not name him? + +_Mephistopheles [approaching the fire_]. And what's this pot? + +_The monkeys_. The dunce! I'll be shot! + He knows not the pot, + He knows not the kettle! + +_Mephistopheles_. Impertinence! Hush! + +_The monkey_. Here, take you the brush, + And sit on the settle! + [_He forces_ MEPHISTOPHELES _to sit down_.] + + FAUST + [_who all this time has been standing before a looking-glass, + now approaching and now receding from it_]. + +What do I see? What heavenly face +Doth, in this magic glass, enchant me! +O love, in mercy, now, thy swiftest pinions grant me! +And bear me to her field of space! +Ah, if I seek to approach what doth so haunt me, +If from this spot I dare to stir, +Dimly as through a mist I gaze on her!-- +The loveliest vision of a woman! +Such lovely woman can there be? +Must I in these reposing limbs naught human. +But of all heavens the finest essence see? +Was such a thing on earth seen ever? + +_Mephistopheles_. Why, when you see a God six days in hard work spend, +And then cry bravo at the end, +Of course you look for something clever. +Look now thy fill; I have for thee +Just such a jewel, and will lead thee to her; +And happy, whose good fortune it shall be, +To bear her home, a prospered wooer! + +[FAUST _keeps on looking into the mirror_. MEPHISTOPHELES +_stretching himself out on the settle and playing with the brush, +continues speaking_.] +Here sit I like a king upon his throne, +The sceptre in my hand,--I want the crown alone. + + THE ANIMALS + [_who up to this time have been going through all sorts of queer antics + with each other, bring_ MEPHISTOPHELES _a crown with a loud cry_]. + O do be so good,-- + With sweat and with blood, + To take it and lime it; + [_They go about clumsily with the crown and break it into two pieces, + with which they jump round_.] + 'Tis done now! We're free! + We speak and we see, + We hear and we rhyme it; + +_Faust [facing the mirror_]. Woe's me! I've almost lost my wits. + +_Mephistopheles [pointing to the animals_]. +My head, too, I confess, is very near to spinning. + +_The animals_. And then if it hits + And every thing fits, + We've thoughts for our winning. + +_Faust [as before_]. Up to my heart the flame is flying! +Let us begone--there's danger near! + +_Mephistopheles [in the former position_]. +Well, this, at least, there's no denying, +That we have undissembled poets here. + +[The kettle, which the she-monkey has hitherto left unmatched, begins to +run over; a great flame breaks out, which roars up the chimney. The_ WITCH +_comes riding down through the flame with a terrible outcry_.] + +_Witch_. Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! + The damned beast! The cursed sow! + Neglected the kettle, scorched the Frau! + The cursed crew! + [_Seeing_ FAUST _and_ MEPHISTOPHELES.] + And who are you? + And what d'ye do? + And what d'ye want? + And who sneaked in? + The fire-plague grim + Shall light on him + In every limb! + + [_She makes a dive at the kettle with the skimmer and spatters flames + at _FAUST, MEPHISTOPHELES_, and the creatures. These last whimper_.] + + MEPHISTOPHELES + [_inverting the brush which he holds in his hand, and striking + among the glasses and pots_]. + + In two! In two! + There lies the brew! + There lies the glass! + This joke must pass; + For time-beat, ass! + To thy melody, 'twill do. + [_While the_ WITCH _starts back full of wrath and horror.] +Skeleton! Scarcecrow! Spectre! Know'st thou me, +Thy lord and master? What prevents my dashing +Right in among thy cursed company, +Thyself and all thy monkey spirits smashing? +Has the red waistcoat thy respect no more? +Has the cock's-feather, too, escaped attention? +Hast never seen this face before? +My name, perchance, wouldst have me mention? + +_The witch_. Pardon the rudeness, sir, in me! +But sure no cloven foot I see. +Nor find I your two ravens either. + +_Mephistopheles_. I'll let thee off for this once so; +For a long while has passed, full well I know, +Since the last time we met together. +The culture, too, which licks the world to shape, +The devil himself cannot escape; +The phantom of the North men's thoughts have left behind them, +Horns, tail, and claws, where now d'ye find them? +And for the foot, with which dispense I nowise can, +'Twould with good circles hurt my standing; +And so I've worn, some years, like many a fine young man, +False calves to make me more commanding. + +_The witch [dancing_]. O I shall lose my wits, I fear, +Do I, again, see Squire Satan here! + +_Mephistopheles_. Woman, the name offends my ear! + +_The witch_. Why so? What has it done to you? + +_Mephistopheles_. It has long since to fable-books been banished; +But men are none the better for it; true, +The wicked _one_, but not the wicked _ones_, has vanished. +Herr Baron callst thou me, then all is right and good; +I am a cavalier, like others. Doubt me? +Doubt for a moment of my noble blood? +See here the family arms I bear about me! + [_He makes an indecent gesture.] + +The witch [laughs immoderately_]. Ha! ha! full well I know you, sir! +You are the same old rogue you always were! + +_Mephistopheles [to Faust_]. I pray you, carefully attend, +This is the way to deal with witches, friend. + +_The witch_. Now, gentles, what shall I produce? + +_Mephistopheles_. A right good glassful of the well-known juice! +And pray you, let it be the oldest; +Age makes it doubly strong for use. + +_The witch_. Right gladly! Here I have a bottle, +From which, at times, I wet my throttle; +Which now, not in the slightest, stinks; +A glass to you I don't mind giving; + [_Softly_.] +But if this man, without preparing, drinks, +He has not, well you know, another hour for living. + +_Mephistopheles_. +'Tis a good friend of mine, whom it shall straight cheer up; +Thy kitchen's best to give him don't delay thee. +Thy ring--thy spell, now, quick, I pray thee, +And give him then a good full cup. + +[_The_ WITCH, _with strange gestures, draws a circle, and places singular +things in it; mean-while the glasses begin to ring, the kettle to sound +and make music. Finally, she brings a great book and places the monkeys in +the circle, whom she uses as a reading-desk and to hold the torches. She +beckons_ FAUST _to come to her_.] + +_Faust [to Mephistopheles_]. +Hold! what will come of this? These creatures, +These frantic gestures and distorted features, +And all the crazy, juggling fluff, +I've known and loathed it long enough! + +_Mephistopheles_. Pugh! that is only done to smoke us; +Don't be so serious, my man! +She must, as Doctor, play her hocus-pocus +To make the dose work better, that's the plan. + [_He constrains_ FAUST _to step into the circle_.] + + THE WITCH + [_beginning with great emphasis to declaim out of the book_] + + Remember then! + Of One make Ten, + The Two let be, + Make even Three, + There's wealth for thee. + The Four pass o'er! + Of Five and Six, + (The witch so speaks,) + Make Seven and Eight, + The thing is straight: + And Nine is One + And Ten is none-- + This is the witch's one-time-one![24] + +_Faust_. The old hag talks like one delirious. + +_Mephistopheles_. There's much more still, no less mysterious, +I know it well, the whole book sounds just so! +I've lost full many a year in poring o'er it, +For perfect contradiction, you must know, +A mystery stands, and fools and wise men bow before it, +The art is old and new, my son. +Men, in all times, by craft and terror, +With One and Three, and Three and One, +For truth have propagated error. +They've gone on gabbling so a thousand years; +Who on the fools would waste a minute? +Man generally thinks, if words he only hears, +Articulated noise must have some meaning in it. + +_The witch [goes on_]. Deep wisdom's power + Has, to this hour, + From all the world been hidden! + Whoso thinks not, + To him 'tis brought, + To him it comes unbidden. + +_Faust_. What nonsense is she talking here? +My heart is on the point of cracking. +In one great choir I seem to hear +A hundred thousand ninnies clacking. + +_Mephistopheles_. Enough, enough, rare Sibyl, sing us +These runes no more, thy beverage bring us, +And quickly fill the goblet to the brim; +This drink may by my friend be safely taken: +Full many grades the man can reckon, +Many good swigs have entered him. + + [_The_ WITCH, _with many ceremonies, pours the drink into a cup; + as she puts it to_ FAUST'S _lips, there rises a light flame_.] + +_Mephistopheles_. Down with it! Gulp it down! 'Twill prove +All that thy heart's wild wants desire. +Thou, with the devil, hand and glove,[25] +And yet wilt be afraid of fire? + + [_The_ WITCH _breaks the circle_; FAUST _steps out_.] + +_Mephistopheles_. Now briskly forth! No rest for thee! + +_The witch_. Much comfort may the drink afford you! + +_Mephistopheles [to the witch_]. And any favor you may ask of me, +I'll gladly on Walpurgis' night accord you. + +_The witch_. Here is a song, which if you sometimes sing, +'Twill stir up in your heart a special fire. + +_Mephistopheles [to Faust_]. Only make haste; and even shouldst thou tire, +Still follow me; one must perspire, +That it may set his nerves all quivering. +I'll teach thee by and bye to prize a noble leisure, +And soon, too, shalt thou feel with hearty pleasure, +How busy Cupid stirs, and shakes his nimble wing. + +_Faust_. But first one look in yonder glass, I pray thee! +Such beauty I no more may find! + +_Mephistopheles_. Nay! in the flesh thine eyes shall soon display thee +The model of all woman-kind. + [_Softly_.] +Soon will, when once this drink shall heat thee, +In every girl a Helen meet thee! + + + + + A STREET. + + FAUST. MARGARET [_passing over_]. + +_Faust_. My fair young lady, will it offend her +If I offer my arm and escort to lend her? + +_Margaret_. Am neither lady, nor yet am fair! +Can find my way home without any one's care. + [_Disengages herself and exit_.] + +_Faust_. By heavens, but then the child _is_ fair! +I've never seen the like, I swear. +So modest is she and so pure, +And somewhat saucy, too, to be sure. +The light of the cheek, the lip's red bloom, +I shall never forget to the day of doom! +How me cast down her lovely eyes, +Deep in my soul imprinted lies; +How she spoke up, so curt and tart, +Ah, that went right to my ravished heart! + [_Enter_ MEPHISTOPHELES.] + +_Faust_. Hark, thou shalt find me a way to address her! + +_Mephistopheles_. Which one? + +_Faust_. She just went by. + +_Mephistopheles_. What! She? +She came just now from her father confessor, +Who from all sins pronounced her free; +I stole behind her noiselessly, +'Tis an innocent thing, who, for nothing at all, +Must go to the confessional; +O'er such as she no power I hold! + +_Faust_. But then she's over fourteen years old. + +_Mephistopheles_. Thou speak'st exactly like Jack Rake, +Who every fair flower his own would make. +And thinks there can be no favor nor fame, +But one may straightway pluck the same. +But 'twill not always do, we see. + +_Faust_. My worthy Master Gravity, +Let not a word of the Law be spoken! +One thing be clearly understood,-- +Unless I clasp the sweet, young blood +This night in my arms--then, well and good: +When midnight strikes, our bond is broken. + +_Mephistopheles_. Reflect on all that lies in the way! +I need a fortnight, at least, to a day, +For finding so much as a way to reach her. + +_Faust_. Had I seven hours, to call my own, +Without the devil's aid, alone +I'd snare with ease so young a creature. + +_Mephistopheles_. You talk quite Frenchman-like to-day; +But don't be vexed beyond all measure. +What boots it thus to snatch at pleasure? +'Tis not so great, by a long way, +As if you first, with tender twaddle, +And every sort of fiddle-faddle, +Your little doll should mould and knead, +As one in French romances may read. + +_Faust_. My appetite needs no such spur. + +_Mephistopheles_. Now, then, without a jest or slur, +I tell you, once for all, such speed +With the fair creature won't succeed. +Nothing will here by storm be taken; +We must perforce on intrigue reckon. + +_Faust_. Get me some trinket the angel has blest! +Lead me to her chamber of rest! +Get me a 'kerchief from her neck, +A garter get me for love's sweet sake! + +_Mephistopheles_. To prove to you my willingness +To aid and serve you in this distress; +You shall visit her chamber, by me attended, +Before the passing day is ended. + +_Faust_. And see her, too? and have her? + +_Mephistopheles_. Nay! +She will to a neighbor's have gone away. +Meanwhile alone by yourself you may, +There in her atmosphere, feast at leisure +And revel in dreams of future pleasure. + +_Faust_. Shall we start at once? + +_Mephistopheles_. 'Tis too early yet. + +_Faust_. Some present to take her for me you must get. + + [_Exit_.] + +_Mephistopheles_. Presents already! Brave! He's on the right foundation! +Full many a noble place I know, +And treasure buried long ago; +Must make a bit of exploration. + + [_Exit_.] + + + + + EVENING. + + _A little cleanly Chamber_. + +MARGARET [_braiding and tying up her hair_.] +I'd give a penny just to say +What gentleman that was to-day! +How very gallant he seemed to be, +He's of a noble family; +That I could read from his brow and bearing-- +And he would not have otherwise been so daring. + [_Exit_.] + + FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES. + +_Mephistopheles_. Come in, step softly, do not fear! + +_Faust [after a pause_]. Leave me alone, I prithee, here! + +_Mephistopheles [peering round_]. Not every maiden keeps so neat. + [_Exit_.] + +_Faust [gazing round_]. Welcome this hallowed still retreat! +Where twilight weaves its magic glow. +Seize on my heart, love-longing, sad and sweet, +That on the dew of hope dost feed thy woe! +How breathes around the sense of stillness, +Of quiet, order, and content! +In all this poverty what fulness! +What blessedness within this prison pent! + [_He throws himself into a leathern chair by the bed_.] +Take me, too! as thou hast, in years long flown, +In joy and grief, so many a generation! +Ah me! how oft, on this ancestral throne, +Have troops of children climbed with exultation! +Perhaps, when Christmas brought the Holy Guest, +My love has here, in grateful veneration +The grandsire's withered hand with child-lips prest. +I feel, O maiden, circling me, +Thy spirit of grace and fulness hover, +Which daily like a mother teaches thee +The table-cloth to spread in snowy purity, +And even, with crinkled sand the floor to cover. +Dear, godlike hand! a touch of thine +Makes this low house a heavenly kingdom slime! +And here! + [_He lifts a bed-curtain_.] +What blissful awe my heart thrills through! +Here for long hours could I linger. +Here, Nature! in light dreams, thy airy finger +The inborn angel's features drew! +Here lay the child, when life's fresh heavings +Its tender bosom first made warm, +And here with pure, mysterious weavings +The spirit wrought its godlike form! + And thou! What brought thee here? what power +Stirs in my deepest soul this hour? +What wouldst thou here? What makes thy heart so sore? +Unhappy Faust! I know thee thus no more. + Breathe I a magic atmosphere? +The will to enjoy how strong I felt it,-- +And in a dream of love am now all melted! +Are we the sport of every puff of air? + And if she suddenly should enter now, +How would she thy presumptuous folly humble! +Big John-o'dreams! ah, how wouldst thou +Sink at her feet, collapse and crumble! + +_Mephistopheles_. Quick, now! She comes! I'm looking at her. + +_Faust_. Away! Away! O cruel fate! + +_Mephistopheles_. Here is a box of moderate weight; +I got it somewhere else--no matter! +Just shut it up, here, in the press, +I swear to you, 'twill turn her senses; +I meant the trifles, I confess, +To scale another fair one's fences. +True, child is child and play is play. + +_Faust_. Shall I? I know not. + +_Mephistopheles_. Why delay? +You mean perhaps to keep the bauble? +If so, I counsel you to spare +From idle passion hours so fair, +And me, henceforth, all further trouble. +I hope you are not avaricious! +I rub my hands, I scratch my head-- + [_He places the casket in the press and locks it up again_.] + (Quick! Time we sped!)-- +That the dear creature may be led +And moulded by your will and wishes; +And you stand here as glum, +As one at the door of the auditorium, +As if before your eyes you saw +In bodily shape, with breathless awe, +Metaphysics and physics, grim and gray! +Away! + [_Exit_.] + +_Margaret [with a lamp_]. It seems so close, so sultry here. + [_She opens the window_.] +Yet it isn't so very warm out there, +I feel--I know not how--oh dear! +I wish my mother 'ld come home, I declare! +I feel a shudder all over me crawl-- +I'm a silly, timid thing, that's all! + [_She begins to sing, while undressing_.] + There was a king in Thule, + To whom, when near her grave, + The mistress he loved so truly + A golden goblet gave. + + He cherished it as a lover, + He drained it, every bout; + His eyes with tears ran over, + As oft as he drank thereout. + + And when he found himself dying, + His towns and cities he told; + Naught else to his heir denying + Save only the goblet of gold. + + His knights he straightway gathers + And in the midst sate he, + In the banquet hall of the fathers + In the castle over the sea. + + There stood th' old knight of liquor, + And drank the last life-glow, + Then flung the holy beaker + Into the flood below. + + He saw it plunging, drinking + And sinking in the roar, + His eyes in death were sinking, + He never drank one drop more. + [_She opens the press, to put away her clothes, + and discovers the casket_.] + +How in the world came this fine casket here? +I locked the press, I'm very clear. +I wonder what's inside! Dear me! it's very queer! +Perhaps 'twas brought here as a pawn, +In place of something mother lent. +Here is a little key hung on, +A single peep I shan't repent! +What's here? Good gracious! only see! +I never saw the like in my born days! +On some chief festival such finery +Might on some noble lady blaze. +How would this chain become my neck! +Whose may this splendor be, so lonely? + [_She arrays herself in it, and steps before the glass_.] +Could I but claim the ear-rings only! +A different figure one would make. +What's beauty worth to thee, young blood! +May all be very well and good; +What then? 'Tis half for pity's sake +They praise your pretty features. +Each burns for gold, +All turns on gold,-- +Alas for us! poor creatures! + + + + + PROMENADE. + + + FAUST [_going up and down in thought_.] MEPHISTOPHELES _to him_. + +_Mephistopheles_. By all that ever was jilted! By all the infernal fires! +I wish I knew something worse, to curse as my heart desires! + +_Faust_. What griping pain has hold of thee? +Such grins ne'er saw I in the worst stage-ranter! + +_Mephistopheles_. Oh, to the devil I'd give myself instanter, +If I were not already he! + +_Faust_. Some pin's loose in your head, old fellow! +That fits you, like a madman thus to bellow! + +_Mephistopheles_. Just think, the pretty toy we got for Peg, +A priest has hooked, the cursed plague I-- +The thing came under the eye of the mother, +And caused her a dreadful internal pother: +The woman's scent is fine and strong; +Snuffles over her prayer-book all day long, +And knows, by the smell of an article, plain, +Whether the thing is holy or profane; +And as to the box she was soon aware +There could not be much blessing there. +"My child," she cried, "unrighteous gains +Ensnare the soul, dry up the veins. +We'll consecrate it to God's mother, +She'll give us some heavenly manna or other!" +Little Margaret made a wry face; "I see +'Tis, after all, a gift horse," said she; +"And sure, no godless one is he +Who brought it here so handsomely." +The mother sent for a priest (they're cunning); +Who scarce had found what game was running, +When he rolled his greedy eyes like a lizard, +And, "all is rightly disposed," said he, +"Who conquers wins, for a certainty. +The church has of old a famous gizzard, +She calls it little whole lands to devour, +Yet never a surfeit got to this hour; +The church alone, dear ladies; _sans_ question, +Can give unrighteous gains digestion." + +_Faust_. That is a general pratice, too, +Common alike with king and Jew. + +_Mephistopheles_. Then pocketed bracelets and chains and rings +As if they were mushrooms or some such things, +With no more thanks, (the greedy-guts!) +Than if it had been a basket of nuts, +Promised them all sorts of heavenly pay-- +And greatly edified were they. + +_Faust_. And Margery? + +_Mephistopheles_. Sits there in distress, +And what to do she cannot guess, +The jewels her daily and nightly thought, +And he still more by whom they were brought. + +_Faust._ My heart is troubled for my pet. +Get her at once another set! +The first were no great things in their way. + +_Mephistopheles._ O yes, my gentleman finds all child's play! + +_Faust._ And what I wish, that mind and do! +Stick closely to her neighbor, too. +Don't be a devil soft as pap, +And fetch me some new jewels, old chap! + +_Mephistopheles._ Yes, gracious Sir, I will with pleasure. + [_Exit_ FAUST.] +Such love-sick fools will puff away +Sun, moon, and stars, and all in the azure, +To please a maiden's whimsies, any day. + [_Exit._] + + + + + THE NEIGHBOR'S HOUSE. + + + MARTHA [_alone]._ +My dear good man--whom God forgive! +He has not treated me well, as I live! +Right off into the world he's gone +And left me on the straw alone. +I never did vex him, I say it sincerely, +I always loved him, God knows how dearly. + [_She weeps_.] +Perhaps he's dead!--O cruel fate!-- +If I only had a certificate! + + _Enter_ MARGARET. +Dame Martha! + +_Martha_. What now, Margery? + +_Margaret_. I scarce can keep my knees from sinking! +Within my press, again, not thinking, +I find a box of ebony, +With things--can't tell how grand they are,-- +More splendid than the first by far. + +_Martha_. You must not tell it to your mother, +She'd serve it as she did the other. + +_Margaret_. Ah, only look! Behold and see! + +_Martha [puts them on her_]. Fortunate thing! I envy thee! + +_Margaret._ Alas, in the street or at church I never +Could be seen on any account whatever. + +_Martha._ Come here as often as you've leisure, +And prink yourself quite privately; +Before the looking-glass walk up and down at pleasure, +Fine times for both us 'twill be; +Then, on occasions, say at some great feast, +Can show them to the world, one at a time, at least. +A chain, and then an ear-pearl comes to view; +Your mother may not see, we'll make some pretext, too. + +_Margaret._ Who could have brought both caskets in succession? +There's something here for just suspicion! + [_A knock._ ] +Ah, God! If that's my mother--then! + +_Martha_ [_peeping through the blind_]. +'Tis a strange gentleman--come in! + + [_Enter_ MEPHISTOPHELES.] +Must, ladies, on your kindness reckon +To excuse the freedom I have taken; + [_Steps back with profound respect at seeing_ MARGARET.] +I would for Dame Martha Schwerdtlein inquire! + +_Martha._ I'm she, what, sir, is your desire? + +_Mephistopheles_ [_aside to her_]. I know your face, for now 'twill do; +A distinguished lady is visiting you. +For a call so abrupt be pardon meted, +This afternoon it shall be repeated. + +_Martha [aloud]._ For all the world, think, child! my sakes! +The gentleman you for a lady takes. + +_Margaret_. Ah, God! I am a poor young blood; +The gentleman is quite too good; +The jewels and trinkets are none of my own. + +_Mephistopheles_. Ah, 'tis not the jewels and trinkets alone; +Her look is so piercing, so _distingue_! +How glad I am to be suffered to stay. + +_Martha_. What bring you, sir? I long to hear-- + +_Mephistopheles_. Would I'd a happier tale for your ear! +I hope you'll forgive me this one for repeating: +Your husband is dead and sends you a greeting. + +_Martha_. Is dead? the faithful heart! Woe! Woe! +My husband dead! I, too, shall go! + +_Margaret_. Ah, dearest Dame, despair not thou! + +_Mephistopheles_ Then, hear the mournful story now! + +_Margaret_. Ah, keep me free from love forever, +I should never survive such a loss, no, never! + +_Mephistopheles_. Joy and woe, woe and joy, must have each other. + +_Martha_. Describe his closing hours to me! + +_Mephistopheles_. In Padua lies our departed brother, +In the churchyard of St. Anthony, +In a cool and quiet bed lies sleeping, +In a sacred spot's eternal keeping. + +_Martha_. And this was all you had to bring me? + +_Mephistopheles_. All but one weighty, grave request! +"Bid her, when I am dead, three hundred masses sing me!" +With this I have made a clean pocket and breast. + +_Martha_. What! not a medal, pin nor stone? +Such as, for memory's sake, no journeyman will lack, +Saved in the bottom of his sack, +And sooner would hunger, be a pauper-- + +_Mephistopheles_. Madam, your case is hard, I own! +But blame him not, he squandered ne'er a copper. +He too bewailed his faults with penance sore, +Ay, and his wretched luck bemoaned a great deal more. + +_Margaret_. Alas! that mortals so unhappy prove! +I surely will for him pray many a requiem duly. + +_Mephistopheles_. You're worthy of a spouse this moment; truly +You are a child a man might love. + +_Margaret_. It's not yet time for that, ah no! + +_Mephistopheles_. If not a husband, say, meanwhile a beau. +It is a choice and heavenly blessing, +Such a dear thing to one's bosom pressing. + +_Margaret_. With us the custom is not so. + +_Mephistopheles_. Custom or not! It happens, though. + +_Martha_. Tell on! + +_Mephistopheles_. I slood beside his bed, as he lay dying, +Better than dung it was somewhat,-- +Half-rotten straw; but then, he died as Christian ought, +And found an unpaid score, on Heaven's account-book lying. +"How must I hate myself," he cried, "inhuman! +So to forsake my business and my woman! +Oh! the remembrance murders me! +Would she might still forgive me this side heaven!" + +_Martha_ [_weeping_]. The dear good man! he has been long forgiven. + +_Mephistopheles_. "But God knows, I was less to blame than she." + +_Martha_. A lie! And at death's door! abominable! + +_Mephistopheles_. If I to judge of men half-way am able, +He surely fibbed while passing hence. +"Ways to kill time, (he said)--be sure, I did not need them; +First to get children--and then bread to feed them, +And bread, too, in the widest sense, +And even to eat my bit in peace could not be thought on." + +_Martha_. Has he all faithfulness, all love, so far forgotten, +The drudgery by day and night! + +_Mephistopheles_. Not so, he thought of you with all his might. +He said: "When I from Malta went away, +For wife and children my warm prayers ascended; +And Heaven so far our cause befriended, +Our ship a Turkish cruiser took one day, +Which for the mighty Sultan bore a treasure. +Then valor got its well-earned pay, +And I too, who received but my just measure, +A goodly portion bore away." + +_Martha_. How? Where? And he has left it somewhere buried? + +_Mephistopheles_. Who knows which way by the four winds 'twas carried? +He chanced to take a pretty damsel's eye, +As, a strange sailor, he through Naples jaunted; +All that she did for him so tenderly, +E'en to his blessed end the poor man haunted. + +_Martha_. The scamp! his children thus to plunder! +And could not all his troubles sore +Arrest his vile career, I wonder? + +_Mephistopheles_. But mark! his death wipes off the score. +Were I in your place now, good lady; +One year I'd mourn him piously +And look about, meanwhiles, for a new flame already. + +_Martha_. Ah, God! another such as he +I may not find with ease on this side heaven! +Few such kind fools as this dear spouse of mine. +Only to roving he was too much given, +And foreign women and foreign wine, +And that accursed game of dice. + +_Mephistopheles_. Mere trifles these; you need not heed 'em, +If he, on his part, not o'er-nice, +Winked at, in you, an occasional freedom. +I swear, on that condition, too, +I would, myself, 'change rings with you! + +_Martha_. The gentleman is pleased to jest now! + +_Mephistopheles [aside_]. I see it's now high time I stirred! +She'd take the very devil at his word. + [_To_ MARGERY.] +How is it with your heart, my best, now? + +_Margaret_. What means the gentleman? + +_Mephistopheles. [aside_]. Thou innocent young heart! + [_Aloud_.] +Ladies, farewell! + +_Margaret_. Farewell! + +_Martha_. But quick, before we part!-- +I'd like some witness, vouching truly +Where, how and when my love died and was buried duly. +I've always paid to order great attention, +Would of his death read some newspaper mention. + +_Mephistopheles_. Ay, my dear lady, in the mouths of two +Good witnesses each word is true; +I've a friend, a fine fellow, who, when you desire, +Will render on oath what you require. +I'll bring him here. + +_Martha_. O pray, sir, do! + +_Mephistopheles_. And this young lady 'll be there too? +Fine boy! has travelled everywhere, +And all politeness to the fair. + +_Margaret_. Before him shame my face must cover. + +_Mephistopheles_. Before no king the wide world over! + +_Martha_. Behind the house, in my garden, at leisure, +We'll wait this eve the gentlemen's pleasure. + + + + + STREET. + + FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES. + +_Faust_. How now? What progress? Will 't come right? + +_Mephistopheles_. Ha, bravo? So you're all on fire? +Full soon you'll see whom you desire. +In neighbor Martha's grounds we are to meet tonight. +That woman's one of nature's picking +For pandering and gipsy-tricking! + +_Faust_. So far, so good! + +_Mephistopheles_. But one thing we must do. + +_Faust_. Well, one good turn deserves another, true. + +_Mephistopheles_. We simply make a solemn deposition +That her lord's bones are laid in good condition +In holy ground at Padua, hid from view. + +_Faust_. That's wise! But then we first must make the journey thither? + +_Mephistopheles. Sancta simplicitas_! no need of such to-do; +Just swear, and ask not why or whether. + +_Faust_. If that's the best you have, the plan's not worth a feather. + +_Mephistopheles_. O holy man! now that's just you! +In all thy life hast never, to this hour, +To give false witness taken pains? +Have you of God, the world, and all that it contains, +Of man, and all that stirs within his heart and brains, +Not given definitions with great power, +Unscrupulous breast, unblushing brow? +And if you search the matter clearly, +Knew you as much thereof, to speak sincerely, +As of Herr Schwerdtlein's death? Confess it now! + +_Faust_. Thou always wast a sophist and a liar. + +_Mephistopheles_. Ay, if one did not look a little nigher. +For will you not, in honor, to-morrow +Befool poor Margery to her sorrow, +And all the oaths of true love borrow? + +_Faust_. And from the heart, too. + +_Mephistopheles_. Well and fair! +Then there'll be talk of truth unending, +Of love o'ermastering, all transcending-- +Will every word be heart-born there? + +_Faust_. Enough! It will!--If, for the passion +That fills and thrills my being's frame, +I find no name, no fit expression, +Then, through the world, with all my senses, ranging, +Seek what most strongly speaks the unchanging. +And call this glow, within me burning, +Infinite--endless--endless yearning, +Is that a devilish lying game? + +_Mephistopheles_. I'm right, nathless! + +_Faust_. Now, hark to me-- +This once, I pray, and spare my lungs, old fellow-- +Whoever _will_ be right, and has a tongue to bellow, +Is sure to be. +But come, enough of swaggering, let's be quit, +For thou art right, because I must submit. + + + + + GARDEN. + + MARGARET _on_ FAUST'S _arm_. MARTHA _with_ MEPHISTOPHELES. + [_Promenading up and down_.] + +_Margaret_. The gentleman but makes me more confused +With all his condescending goodness. +Men who have travelled wide are used +To bear with much from dread of rudeness; +I know too well, a man of so much mind +In my poor talk can little pleasure find. + +_Faust_. One look from thee, one word, delights me more +Than this world's wisdom o'er and o'er. + [_Kisses her hand_.] + +_Margaret_. Don't take that trouble, sir! How could you bear to kiss it? +A hand so ugly, coarse, and rough! +How much I've had to do! must I confess it-- +Mother is more than close enough. + [_They pass on_.] + +_Martha_. And you, sir, are you always travelling so? + +_Mephistopheles_. Alas, that business forces us to do it! +With what regret from many a place we go, +Though tenderest bonds may bind us to it! + +_Martha_. 'Twill do in youth's tumultuous maze +To wander round the world, a careless rover; +But soon will come the evil days, +And then, a lone dry stick, on the grave's brink to hover, +For that nobody ever prays. + +_Mephistopheles_. The distant prospect shakes my reason. + +_Martha_. Then, worthy sir, bethink yourself in season. + [_They pass on_.] + +_Margaret_. Yes, out of sight and out of mind! +Politeness you find no hard matter; +But you have friends in plenty, better +Than I, more sensible, more refined. + +_Faust_. Dear girl, what one calls sensible on earth, +Is often vanity and nonsense. + +_Margaret_. How? + +_Faust_. Ah, that the pure and simple never know +Aught of themselves and all their holy worth! +That meekness, lowliness, the highest measure +Of gifts by nature lavished, full and free-- + +_Margaret_. One little moment, only, think of me, +I shall to think of you have ample time and leisure. + +_Faust_. You're, may be, much alone? + +_Margaret_. Our household is but small, I own, +And yet needs care, if truth were known. +We have no maid; so I attend to cooking, sweeping, +Knit, sew, do every thing, in fact; +And mother, in all branches of housekeeping, +Is so exact! +Not that she need be tied so very closely down; +We might stand higher than some others, rather; +A nice estate was left us by my father, +A house and garden not far out of town. +Yet, after all, my life runs pretty quiet; +My brother is a soldier, +My little sister's dead; +With the dear child indeed a wearing life I led; +And yet with all its plagues again would gladly try it, +The child was such a pet. + +_Faust_. An angel, if like thee! + +_Margaret_. I reared her and she heartily loved me. +She and my father never saw each other, +He died before her birth, and mother +Was given up, so low she lay, +But me, by slow degrees, recovered, day by day. +Of course she now, long time so feeble, +To nurse the poor little worm was unable, +And so I reared it all alone, +With milk and water; 'twas my own. +Upon my bosom all day long +It smiled and sprawled and so grew strong. + +_Faust_. Ah! thou hast truly known joy's fairest flower. + +_Margaret_. But no less truly many a heavy hour. +The wee thing's cradle stood at night +Close to my bed; did the least thing awake her, +My sleep took flight; +'Twas now to nurse her, now in bed to take her, +Then, if she was not still, to rise, +Walk up and down the room, and dance away her cries, +And at the wash-tub stand, when morning streaked the skies; +Then came the marketing and kitchen-tending, +Day in, day out, work never-ending. +One cannot always, sir, good temper keep; +But then it sweetens food and sweetens sleep. + [_They pass on_.] + +_Martha_. But the poor women suffer, you must own: +A bachelor is hard of reformation. + +_Mephistopheles_. Madam, it rests with such as you, alone, +To help me mend my situation. + +_Martha_. Speak plainly, sir, has none your fancy taken? +Has none made out a tender flame to waken? + +_Mephistopheles_. The proverb says: A man's own hearth, +And a brave wife, all gold and pearls are worth. + +_Martha_. I mean, has ne'er your heart been smitten slightly? + +_Mephistopheles_. I have, on every hand, been entertained politely. + +_Martha_. Have you not felt, I mean, a serious intention? + +_Mephistopheles_. +Jesting with women, that's a thing one ne'er should mention. + +_Martha_. Ah, you misunderstand! + +_Mephistopheles_. It grieves me that I should! +But this I understand--that you are good. + [_They pass on_.] + +_Faust_. So then, my little angel recognized me, +As I came through the garden gate? + +_Margaret_. Did not my downcast eyes show you surprised me? + +_Faust_. And thou forgav'st that liberty, of late? +That impudence of mine, so daring, +As thou wast home from church repairing? + +_Margaret_. I was confused, the like was new to me; +No one could say a word to my dishonor. +Ah, thought I, has he, haply, in thy manner +Seen any boldness--impropriety? +It seemed as if the feeling seized him, +That he might treat this girl just as it pleased him. +Let me confess! I knew not from what cause, +Some flight relentings here began to threaten danger; +I know, right angry with myself I was, +That I could not be angrier with the stranger. + +_Faust_. Sweet darling! + +_Margaret_. Let me once! + + [_She plucks a china-aster and picks off the leaves one after another_.] + +_Faust_. What's that for? A bouquet? + +_Margaret_. No, just for sport. + +_Faust_. How? + +_Margaret_. Go! you'll laugh at me; away! + [_She picks and murmurs to herself_.] + +_Faust_. What murmurest thou? + +_Margaret [half aloud_]. He loves me--loves me not. + +_Faust_. Sweet face! from heaven that look was caught! + +_Margaret [goes on_]. Loves me--not--loves me--not-- + [_picking off the last leaf with tender joy_] +He loves me! + +_Faust_. Yes, my child! And be this floral word +An oracle to thee. He loves thee! +Knowest thou all it mean? He loves thee! + [_Clasping both her hands_.] + +_Margaret_. What thrill is this! + +_Faust_. O, shudder not! This look of mine. +This pressure of the hand shall tell thee +What cannot be expressed: +Give thyself up at once and feel a rapture, +An ecstasy never to end! +Never!--It's end were nothing but blank despair. +No, unending! unending! + + [MARGARET _presses his hands, extricates herself, and runs away. + He stands a moment in thought, then follows her_]. + +_Martha [coming_]. The night falls fast. + +_Mephistopheles_. Ay, and we must away. + +_Martha_. If it were not for one vexation, +I would insist upon your longer stay. +Nobody seems to have no occupation, +No care nor labor, +Except to play the spy upon his neighbor; +And one becomes town-talk, do whatsoe'er they may. +But where's our pair of doves? + +_Mephistopheles_. Flown up the alley yonder. +Light summer-birds! + +_Martha_. He seems attached to her. + +_Mephistopheles_. No wonder. +And she to him. So goes the world, they say. + + + + + A SUMMER-HOUSE. + + MARGARET [_darts in, hides behind the door, presses the tip of + her finger to her lips, and peeps through the crack_]. + +_Margaret_. He comes! + + _Enter_ FAUST. + +_Faust_. Ah rogue, how sly thou art! +I've caught thee! + [_Kisses her_.] + +_Margaret [embracing him and returning the kiss_]. +Dear good man! I love thee from my heart! + + [MEPHISTOPHELES _knocks_.] + +_Faust [stamping_]. Who's there? + +_Mephistopheles_. A friend! + +_Faust_. A beast! + +_Mephistopheles_. Time flies, I don't offend you? + +_Martha [entering_]. Yes, sir, 'tis growing late. + +_Faust_. May I not now attend you? + +_Margaret_. Mother would--Fare thee well! + +_Faust_. And must I leave thee then? Farewell! + +_Martha_. Ade! + +_Margaret_. Till, soon, we meet again! + + [_Exeunt_ FAUST _and_ MEPHISTOPHELES.] + +_Margaret_. Good heavens! what such a man's one brain +Can in itself alone contain! +I blush my rudeness to confess, +And answer all he says with yes. +Am a poor, ignorant child, don't see +What he can possibly find in me. + + [_Exit_.] + + + + + WOODS AND CAVERN. + +_Faust_ [_alone_]. Spirit sublime, thou gav'st me, gav'st me all +For which I prayed. Thou didst not lift in vain +Thy face upon me in a flame of fire. +Gav'st me majestic nature for a realm, +The power to feel, enjoy her. Not alone +A freezing, formal visit didst thou grant; +Deep down into her breast invitedst me +To look, as if she were a bosom-friend. +The series of animated things +Thou bidst pass by me, teaching me to know +My brothers in the waters, woods, and air. +And when the storm-swept forest creaks and groans, +The giant pine-tree crashes, rending off +The neighboring boughs and limbs, and with deep roar +The thundering mountain echoes to its fall, +To a safe cavern then thou leadest me, +Showst me myself; and my own bosom's deep +Mysterious wonders open on my view. +And when before my sight the moon comes up +With soft effulgence; from the walls of rock, +From the damp thicket, slowly float around +The silvery shadows of a world gone by, +And temper meditation's sterner joy. + O! nothing perfect is vouchsafed to man: +I feel it now! Attendant on this bliss, +Which brings me ever nearer to the Gods, +Thou gav'st me the companion, whom I now +No more can spare, though cold and insolent; +He makes me hate, despise myself, and turns +Thy gifts to nothing with a word--a breath. +He kindles up a wild-fire in my breast, +Of restless longing for that lovely form. +Thus from desire I hurry to enjoyment, +And in enjoyment languish for desire. + + _Enter_ MEPHISTOPHELES. + +_Mephistopheles_. Will not this life have tired you by and bye? +I wonder it so long delights you? +'Tis well enough for once the thing to try; +Then off to where a new invites you! + +_Faust_. Would thou hadst something else to do, +That thus to spoil my joy thou burnest. + +_Mephistopheles_. Well! well! I'll leave thee, gladly too!-- +Thou dar'st not tell me that in earnest! +'Twere no great loss, a fellow such as you, +So crazy, snappish, and uncivil. +One has, all day, his hands full, and more too; +To worm out from him what he'd have one do, +Or not do, puzzles e'en the very devil. + +_Faust_. Now, that I like! That's just the tone! +Wants thanks for boring me till I'm half dead! + +_Mephistopheles_. Poor son of earth, if left alone, +What sort of life wouldst thou have led? +How oft, by methods all my own, +I've chased the cobweb fancies from thy head! +And but for me, to parts unknown +Thou from this earth hadst long since fled. +What dost thou here through cave and crevice groping? +Why like a horned owl sit moping? +And why from dripping stone, damp moss, and rotten wood +Here, like a toad, suck in thy food? +Delicious pastime! Ah, I see, +Somewhat of Doctor sticks to thee. + +_Faust_. What new life-power it gives me, canst thou guess-- +This conversation with the wilderness? +Ay, couldst thou dream how sweet the employment, +Thou wouldst be devil enough to grudge me my enjoyment. + +_Mephistopheles_. Ay, joy from super-earthly fountains! +By night and day to lie upon the mountains, +To clasp in ecstasy both earth and heaven, +Swelled to a deity by fancy's leaven, +Pierce, like a nervous thrill, earth's very marrow, +Feel the whole six days' work for thee too narrow, +To enjoy, I know not what, in blest elation, +Then with thy lavish love o'erflow the whole creation. +Below thy sight the mortal cast, +And to the glorious vision give at last-- + [_with a gesture_] +I must not say what termination! + +_Faust_. Shame on thee! + +_Mephistopheles_. This displeases thee; well, surely, +Thou hast a right to say "for shame" demurely. +One must not mention that to chaste ears--never, +Which chaste hearts cannot do without, however. +And, in one word, I grudge you not the pleasure +Of lying to yourself in moderate measure; +But 'twill not hold out long, I know; +Already thou art fast recoiling, +And soon, at this rate, wilt be boiling +With madness or despair and woe. +Enough of this! Thy sweetheart sits there lonely, +And all to her is close and drear. +Her thoughts are on thy image only, +She holds thee, past all utterance, dear. +At first thy passion came bounding and rushing +Like a brooklet o'erflowing with melted snow and rain; +Into her heart thou hast poured it gushing: +And now thy brooklet's dry again. +Methinks, thy woodland throne resigning, +'Twould better suit so great a lord +The poor young monkey to reward +For all the love with which she's pining. +She finds the time dismally long; +Stands at the window, sees the clouds on high +Over the old town-wall go by. +"Were I a little bird!"[26] so runneth her song +All the day, half the night long. +At times she'll be laughing, seldom smile, +At times wept-out she'll seem, +Then again tranquil, you'd deem,-- +Lovesick all the while. + +_Faust_. Viper! Viper! + +_Mephistopheles_ [_aside_]. Ay! and the prey grows riper! + +_Faust_. Reprobate! take thee far behind me! +No more that lovely woman name! +Bid not desire for her sweet person flame +Through each half-maddened sense, again to blind me! + +_Mephistopheles_. What then's to do? She fancies thou hast flown, +And more than half she's right, I own. + +_Faust_. I'm near her, and, though far away, my word, +I'd not forget her, lose her; never fear it! +I envy e'en the body of the Lord, +Oft as those precious lips of hers draw near it. + +_Mephistopheles_. No doubt; and oft my envious thought reposes +On the twin-pair that feed among the roses. + +_Faust_. Out, pimp! + +_Mephistopheles_. Well done! Your jeers I find fair game for laughter. +The God, who made both lad and lass, +Unwilling for a bungling hand to pass, +Made opportunity right after. +But come! fine cause for lamentation! +Her chamber is your destination, +And not the grave, I guess. + +_Faust_. What are the joys of heaven while her fond arms enfold me? +O let her kindling bosom hold me! +Feel I not always her distress? +The houseless am I not? the unbefriended? +The monster without aim or rest? +That, like a cataract, from rock to rock descended +To the abyss, with maddening greed possest: +She, on its brink, with childlike thoughts and lowly,-- +Perched on the little Alpine field her cot,-- +This narrow world, so still and holy +Ensphering, like a heaven, her lot. +And I, God's hatred daring, +Could not be content +The rocks all headlong bearing, +By me to ruins rent,-- +Her, yea her peace, must I o'erwhelm and bury! +This victim, hell, to thee was necessary! +Help me, thou fiend, the pang soon ending! +What must be, let it quickly be! +And let her fate upon my head descending, +Crush, at one blow, both her and me. + +_Mephistopheles_. Ha! how it seethes again and glows! +Go in and comfort her, thou dunce! +Where such a dolt no outlet sees or knows, +He thinks he's reached the end at once. +None but the brave deserve the fair! +Thou _hast_ had devil enough to make a decent show of. +For all the world a devil in despair +Is just the insipidest thing I know of. + + + + + MARGERY'S ROOM. + + MARGERY [_at the spinning-wheel alone_]. + My heart is heavy, + My peace is o'er; + I never--ah! never-- + Shall find it more. + While him I crave, + Each place is the grave, + The world is all + Turned into gall. + My wretched brain + Has lost its wits, + My wretched sense + Is all in bits. + My heart is heavy, + My peace is o'er; + I never--ah! never-- + Shall find it more. + Him only to greet, I + The street look down, + Him only to meet, I + Roam through town. + His lofty step, + His noble height, + His smile of sweetness, + His eye of might, + His words of magic, + Breathing bliss, + His hand's warm pressure + And ah! his kiss. + My heart is heavy, + My peace is o'er, + I never--ah! never-- + Shall find it more. + My bosom yearns + To behold him again. + Ah, could I find him + That best of men! + I'd tell him then + How I did miss him, + And kiss him + As much as I could, + Die on his kisses + I surely should! + + + + + MARTHA'S GARDEN. + + MARGARET. FAUST. + +_Margaret_. Promise me, Henry. + +_Faust_. What I can. + +_Margaret_. How is it now with thy religion, say? +I know thou art a dear good man, +But fear thy thoughts do not run much that way. + +_Faust_. Leave that, my child! Enough, thou hast my heart; +For those I love with life I'd freely part; +I would not harm a soul, nor of its faith bereave it. + +_Margaret_. That's wrong, there's one true faith--one must believe it? + +_Faust_. Must one? + +_Margaret_. Ah, could I influence thee, dearest! +The holy sacraments thou scarce reverest. + +_Faust_. I honor them. + +_Margaret_. But yet without desire. +Of mass and confession both thou'st long begun to tire. +Believest thou in God? + +_Faust_. My. darling, who engages +To say, I do believe in God? +The question put to priests or sages: +Their answer seems as if it sought +To mock the asker. + +_Margaret_. Then believ'st thou not? + +_Faust_. Sweet face, do not misunderstand my thought! +Who dares express him? +And who confess him, +Saying, I do believe? +A man's heart bearing, +What man has the daring +To say: I acknowledge him not? +The All-enfolder, +The All-upholder, +Enfolds, upholds He not +Thee, me, Himself? +Upsprings not Heaven's blue arch high o'er thee? +Underneath thee does not earth stand fast? +See'st thou not, nightly climbing, +Tenderly glancing eternal stars? +Am I not gazing eye to eye on thee? +Through brain and bosom +Throngs not all life to thee, +Weaving in everlasting mystery +Obscurely, clearly, on all sides of thee? +Fill with it, to its utmost stretch, thy breast, +And in the consciousness when thou art wholly blest, +Then call it what thou wilt, +Joy! Heart! Love! God! +I have no name to give it! +All comes at last to feeling; +Name is but sound and smoke, +Beclouding Heaven's warm glow. + +_Margaret_. That is all fine and good, I know; +And just as the priest has often spoke, +Only with somewhat different phrases. + +_Faust_. All hearts, too, in all places, +Wherever Heaven pours down the day's broad blessing, +Each in its way the truth is confessing; +And why not I in mine, too? + +_Margaret_. Well, all have a way that they incline to, +But still there is something wrong with thee; +Thou hast no Christianity. + +_Faust_. Dear child! + +_Margaret_. It long has troubled me +That thou shouldst keep such company. + +_Faust_. How so? + +_Margaret_. The man whom thou for crony hast, +Is one whom I with all my soul detest. +Nothing in all my life has ever +Stirred up in my heart such a deep disfavor +As the ugly face that man has got. + +_Faust_. Sweet plaything; fear him not! + +_Margaret_. His presence stirs my blood, I own. +I can love almost all men I've ever known; +But much as thy presence with pleasure thrills me, +That man with a secret horror fills me. +And then for a knave I've suspected him long! +God pardon me, if I do him wrong! + +_Faust_. To make up a world such odd sticks are needed. + +_Margaret_. Shouldn't like to live in the house where he did! +Whenever I see him coming in, +He always wears such a mocking grin. +Half cold, half grim; +One sees, that naught has interest for him; +'Tis writ on his brow and can't be mistaken, +No soul in him can love awaken. +I feel in thy arms so happy, so free, +I yield myself up so blissfully, +He comes, and all in me is closed and frozen now. + +_Faust_. Ah, thou mistrustful angel, thou! + +_Margaret_. This weighs on me so sore, +That when we meet, and he is by me, +I feel, as if I loved thee now no more. +Nor could I ever pray, if he were nigh me, +That eats the very heart in me; +Henry, it must be so with thee. + +_Faust_. 'Tis an antipathy of thine! + +_Margaret_. Farewell! + +_Faust_. Ah, can I ne'er recline +One little hour upon thy bosom, pressing +My heart to thine and all my soul confessing? + +_Margaret_. Ah, if my chamber were alone, +This night the bolt should give thee free admission; +But mother wakes at every tone, +And if she had the least suspicion, +Heavens! I should die upon the spot! + +_Faust_. Thou angel, need of that there's not. +Here is a flask! Three drops alone +Mix with her drink, and nature +Into a deep and pleasant sleep is thrown. + +_Margaret_. Refuse thee, what can I, poor creature? +I hope, of course, it will not harm her! + +_Faust_. Would I advise it then, my charmer? + +_Margaret_. Best man, when thou dost look at me, +I know not what, moves me to do thy will; +I have already done so much for thee, +Scarce any thing seems left me to fulfil. + [_Exit_.] + + Enter_ MEPHISTOPHELES. + +_Mephtftopheles_. The monkey! is she gone? + +_Faust_. Hast played the spy again? + +_Mephistopheles_. I overheard it all quite fully. +The Doctor has been well catechized then? +Hope it will sit well on him truly. +The maidens won't rest till they know if the men +Believe as good old custom bids them do. +They think: if there he yields, he'll follow our will too. + +_Faust_. Monster, thou wilt not, canst not see, +How this true soul that loves so dearly, +Yet hugs, at every cost, +The faith which she +Counts Heaven itself, is horror-struck sincerely +To think of giving up her dearest man for lost. + +_Mephistopheles_. Thou supersensual, sensual wooer, +A girl by the nose is leading thee. + +_Faust_. Abortion vile of fire and sewer! + +_Mephistopheles_. In physiognomy, too, her skill is masterly. +When I am near she feels she knows not how, +My little mask some secret meaning shows; +She thinks, I'm certainly a genius, now, +Perhaps the very devil--who knows? +To-night then?-- + +_Faust_. Well, what's that to you? + +_Mephistopheles_. I find my pleasure in it, too! + + + + + AT THE WELL. + + MARGERY _and_ LIZZY _with Pitchers._ + +_Lizzy_. Hast heard no news of Barbara to-day? + +_Margery_. No, not a word. I've not been out much lately. + +_Lizzy_. It came to me through Sybill very straightly. +She's made a fool of herself at last, they say. +That comes of taking airs! + +_Margery_. What meanst thou? + +_Lizzy_. Pah! +She daily eats and drinks for two now. + +_Margery_. Ah! + +_Lizzy_. It serves the jade right for being so callow. +How long she's been hanging upon the fellow! +Such a promenading! +To fair and dance parading! +Everywhere as first she must shine, +He was treating her always with tarts and wine; +She began to think herself something fine, +And let her vanity so degrade her +That she even accepted the presents he made her. +There was hugging and smacking, and so it went on-- +And lo! and behold! the flower is gone! + +_Margery_. Poor thing! + +_Lizzy_. Canst any pity for her feel! +When such as we spun at the wheel, +Our mothers kept us in-doors after dark; +While she stood cozy with her spark, +Or sate on the door-bench, or sauntered round, +And never an hour too long they found. +But now her pride may let itself down, +To do penance at church in the sinner's gown! + +_Margery_. He'll certainly take her for his wife. + +_Lizzy_. He'd be a fool! A spruce young blade +Has room enough to ply his trade. +Besides, he's gone. + +_Margery_. Now, that's not fair! + +_Lizzy_. If she gets him, her lot'll be hard to bear. +The boys will tear up her wreath, and what's more, +We'll strew chopped straw before her door. + + [_Exit._] + +_Margery [going home]_. Time was when I, too, instead of bewailing, +Could boldly jeer at a poor girl's failing! +When my scorn could scarcely find expression +At hearing of another's transgression! +How black it seemed! though black as could be, +It never was black enough for me. +I blessed my soul, and felt so high, +And now, myself, in sin I lie! +Yet--all that led me to it, sure, +O God! it was so dear, so pure! + + + + + DONJON.[27] + + [_In a niche a devotional image of the Mater Dolorosa, + before it pots of flowers._] + +MARGERY [_puts fresh flowers into the pots_]. + Ah, hear me, + Draw kindly near me, + Mother of sorrows, heal my woe! + + Sword-pierced, and stricken + With pangs that sicken, + Thou seest thy son's last life-blood flow! + + Thy look--thy sighing--- + To God are crying, + Charged with a son's and mother's woe! + + Sad mother! + What other + Knows the pangs that eat me to the bone? + What within my poor heart burneth, + How it trembleth, how it yearneth, + Thou canst feel and thou alone! + + Go where I will, I never + Find peace or hope--forever + Woe, woe and misery! + + Alone, when all are sleeping, + I'm weeping, weeping, weeping, + My heart is crushed in me. + + The pots before my window, + In the early morning-hours, + Alas, my tears bedewed them, + As I plucked for thee these flowers, + + When the bright sun good morrow + In at my window said, + Already, in my anguish, + I sate there in my bed. + + From shame and death redeem me, oh! + Draw near me, + And, pitying, hear me, + Mother of sorrows, heal my woe! + + + + + NIGHT. + + _Street before_ MARGERY'S _Door._ + + + VALENTINE [_soldier,_ MARGERY'S _brother_]. + +When at the mess I used to sit, +Where many a one will show his wit, +And heard my comrades one and all +The flower of the sex extol, +Drowning their praise with bumpers high, +Leaning upon my elbows, I +Would hear the braggadocios through, +And then, when it came my turn, too, +Would stroke my beard and, smiling, say, +A brimming bumper in my hand: +All very decent in their way! +But is there one, in all the land, +With my sweet Margy to compare, +A candle to hold to my sister fair? +Bravo! Kling! Klang! it echoed round! +One party cried: 'tis truth he speaks, +She is the jewel of the sex! +And the braggarts all in silence were bound. +And now!--one could pull out his hair with vexation, +And run up the walls for mortification!-- +Every two-legged creature that goes in breeches +Can mock me with sneers and stinging speeches! +And I like a guilty debtor sitting, +For fear of each casual word am sweating! +And though I could smash them in my ire, +I dare not call a soul of them liar. + +What's that comes yonder, sneaking along? +There are two of them there, if I see not wrong. +Is't he, I'll give him a dose that'll cure him, +He'll not leave the spot alive, I assure him! + + + FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES. + +_Faust_. How from yon window of the sacristy +The ever-burning lamp sends up its glimmer, +And round the edge grows ever dimmer, +Till in the gloom its flickerings die! +So in my bosom all is nightlike. + +_Mephistopheles_. A starving tom-cat I feel quite like, +That o'er the fire ladders crawls +Then softly creeps, ground the walls. +My aim's quite virtuous ne'ertheless, +A bit of thievish lust, a bit of wantonness. +I feel it all my members haunting-- +The glorious Walpurgis night. +One day--then comes the feast enchanting +That shall all pinings well requite. + +_Faust_. Meanwhile can that the casket be, I wonder, +I see behind rise glittering yonder.[28] + +_Mephistopheles_. Yes, and thou soon shalt have the pleasure +Of lifting out the precious treasure. +I lately 'neath the lid did squint, +Has piles of lion-dollars[29] in't. + +_Faust_. But not a jewel? Not a ring? +To deck my mistress not a trinket? + +_Mephistopheles_. I caught a glimpse of some such thing, +Sort of pearl bracelet I should think it. + +_Faust_. That's well! I always like to bear +Some present when I visit my fair. + +_Mephistopheles_. You should not murmur if your fate is, +To have a bit of pleasure gratis. +Now, as the stars fill heaven with their bright throng, +List a fine piece, artistic purely: +I sing her here a moral song, +To make a fool of her more surely. + [_Sings to the guitar_.][30] + What dost thou here, + Katrina dear, + At daybreak drear, + Before thy lover's chamber? + Give o'er, give o'er! + The maid his door + Lets in, no more + Goes out a maid--remember! + + Take heed! take heed! + Once done, the deed + Ye'll rue with speed-- + And then--good night--poor thing--a! + Though ne'er so fair + His speech, beware, + Until you bear + His ring upon your finger. + +_Valentine_ [_comes forward_]. +Whom lur'ft thou here? what prey dost scent? +Rat-catching[81] offspring of perdition! +To hell goes first the instrument! +To hell then follows the musician! + +_Mephistopheles_. He 's broken the guitar! to music, then, good-bye, now. + +_Valentine_. A game of cracking skulls we'll try now! + +_Mephistopbeles_ [_to Faust_]. Never you flinch, Sir Doctor! Brisk! +Mind every word I say---be wary! +Stand close by me, out with your whisk! +Thrust home upon the churl! I'll parry. + +_Valentine_. Then parry that! + +_Mephistopheles_. Be sure. Why not? + +_Valentine_. And that! + +_Mephistopheles_. With ease! + +_Valentine_. The devil's aid he's got! +But what is this? My hand's already lame. + +_Mephistopheles_ [_to Faust_]. Thrust home! + +_Valentine_ [_falls_]. O woe! + +_Mephistopheles_. Now is the lubber tame! +But come! We must be off. I hear a clatter; +And cries of murder, too, that fast increase. +I'm an old hand to manage the police, +But then the penal court's another matter. + +_Martha_. Come out! Come out! + +_Margery_ [_at the window_]. Bring on a light! + +_Martha_ [_as above_]. They swear and scuffle, scream and fight. + +_People_. There's one, has got's death-blow! + +_Martha_ [_coming out_]. Where are the murderers, have they flown? + +_Margery_ [_coming out_]. Who's lying here? + +_People_. Thy mother's son. + +_Margery_. Almighty God! What woe! + +_Valentine_. I'm dying! that is quickly said, +And even quicklier done. +Women! Why howl, as if half-dead? +Come, hear me, every one! + [_All gather round him_.] +My Margery, look! Young art thou still, +But managest thy matters ill, +Hast not learned out yet quite. +I say in confidence--think it o'er: +Thou art just once for all a whore; +Why, be one, then, outright. + +_Margery_. My brother! God! What words to me! + +_Valentine_. In this game let our Lord God be! +That which is done, alas! is done. +And every thing its course will run. +With one you secretly begin, +Presently more of them come in, +And when a dozen share in thee, +Thou art the whole town's property. + +When shame is born to this world of sorrow, +The birth is carefully hid from sight, +And the mysterious veil of night +To cover her head they borrow; +Yes, they would gladly stifle the wearer; +But as she grows and holds herself high, +She walks uncovered in day's broad eye, +Though she has not become a whit fairer. +The uglier her face to sight, +The more she courts the noonday light. + +Already I the time can see +When all good souls shall shrink from thee, +Thou prostitute, when thou go'st by them, +As if a tainted corpse were nigh them. +Thy heart within thy breast shall quake then, +When they look thee in the face. +Shalt wear no gold chain more on thy neck then! +Shalt stand no more in the holy place! +No pleasure in point-lace collars take then, +Nor for the dance thy person deck then! +But into some dark corner gliding, +'Mong beggars and cripples wilt be hiding; +And even should God thy sin forgive, +Wilt be curs'd on earth while thou shalt live! + +_Martha_. Your soul to the mercy of God surrender! +Will you add to your load the sin of slander? + +_Valentine_. Could I get at thy dried-up frame, +Vile bawd, so lost to all sense of shame! +Then might I hope, e'en this side Heaven, +Richly to find my sins forgiven. + +_Margery_. My brother! This is hell to me! + +_Valentine_. I tell thee, let these weak tears be! +When thy last hold of honor broke, +Thou gav'st my heart the heaviest stroke. +I'm going home now through the grave +To God, a soldier and a brave. + [_Dies_.] + + + + + CATHEDRAL. + + _Service, Organ, and Singing._ + + + [MARGERY _amidst a crowd of people._ EVIL SPIRIT _behind_ MARGERY.] + +_Evil Spirit_. How different was it with thee, Margy, +When, innocent and artless, +Thou cam'st here to the altar, +From the well-thumbed little prayer-book, +Petitions lisping, +Half full of child's play, +Half full of Heaven! +Margy! +Where are thy thoughts? +What crime is buried +Deep within thy heart? +Prayest thou haply for thy mother, who +Slept over into long, long pain, on thy account? +Whose blood upon thy threshold lies? +--And stirs there not, already +Beneath thy heart a life +Tormenting itself and thee +With bodings of its coming hour? + +_Margery_. Woe! Woe! +Could I rid me of the thoughts, +Still through my brain backward and forward flitting, +Against my will! + +_Chorus_. Dies irae, dies illa +Solvet saeclum in favilla. + + [_Organ plays_.] + +_Evil Spirit_. Wrath smites thee! +Hark! the trumpet sounds! +The graves are trembling! +And thy heart, +Made o'er again +For fiery torments, +Waking from its ashes +Starts up! + +_Margery_. Would I were hence! +I feel as if the organ's peal +My breath were stifling, +The choral chant +My heart were melting. + +_Chorus_. Judex ergo cum sedebit, +Quidquid latet apparebit. +Nil inultum remanebit. + +_Margery_. How cramped it feels! +The walls and pillars +Imprison me! +And the arches +Crush me!--Air! + +_Evil Spirit_. What! hide thee! sin and shame +Will not be hidden! +Air? Light? +Woe's thee! + +_Chorus_. Quid sum miser tunc dicturus? +Quem patronum rogaturus? +Cum vix justus sit securus. + +_Evil Spirit_. They turn their faces, +The glorified, from thee. +To take thy hand, the pure ones +Shudder with horror. +Woe! + +_Chorus_. Quid sum miser tunc dicturus? + +_Margery_. Neighbor! your phial!-- + [_She swoons._] + + + + + WALPURGIS NIGHT.[32] + + _Harz Mountains._ + + _District of Schirke and Elend._ + + + FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES. + +_Mephistopheles_. Wouldst thou not like a broomstick, now, to ride on? +At this rate we are, still, a long way off; +I'd rather have a good tough goat, by half, +Than the best legs a man e'er set his pride on. + +_Faust_. So long as I've a pair of good fresh legs to stride on, +Enough for me this knotty staff. +What use of shortening the way! +Following the valley's labyrinthine winding, +Then up this rock a pathway finding, +From which the spring leaps down in bubbling play, +That is what spices such a walk, I say! +Spring through the birch-tree's veins is flowing, +The very pine is feeling it; +Should not its influence set our limbs a-glowing? + +_Mephistopheles_. I do not feel it, not a bit! +My wintry blood runs very slowly; +I wish my path were filled with frost and snow. +The moon's imperfect disk, how melancholy +It rises there with red, belated glow, +And shines so badly, turn where'er one can turn, +At every step he hits a rock or tree! +With leave I'll beg a Jack-o'lantern! +I see one yonder burning merrily. +Heigh, there! my friend! May I thy aid desire? +Why waste at such a rate thy fire? +Come, light us up yon path, good fellow, pray! + +_Jack-o'lantern_. Out of respect, I hope I shall be able +To rein a nature quite unstable; +We usually take a zigzag way. + +_Mephistopheles_. Heigh! heigh! He thinks man's crooked course to travel. +Go straight ahead, or, by the devil, +I'll blow your flickering life out with a puff. + +_Jack-o'lantern_. You're master of the house, that's plain enough, +So I'll comply with your desire. +But see! The mountain's magic-mad to-night, +And if your guide's to be a Jack-o'lantern's light, +Strict rectitude you'll scarce require. + +FAUST, MEPHISTOPHELES, JACK-O'LANTERN, _in alternate song_. + + Spheres of magic, dream, and vision, + Now, it seems, are opening o'er us. + For thy credit, use precision! + Let the way be plain before us + Through the lengthening desert regions. + + See how trees on trees, in legions, + Hurrying by us, change their places, + And the bowing crags make faces, + And the rocks, long noses showing, + Hear them snoring, hear them blowing![33] + + Down through stones, through mosses flowing, + See the brook and brooklet springing. + Hear I rustling? hear I singing? + Love-plaints, sweet and melancholy, + Voices of those days so holy? + All our loving, longing, yearning? + Echo, like a strain returning + From the olden times, is ringing. + + Uhu! Schuhu! Tu-whit! Tu-whit! + Are the jay, and owl, and pewit + All awake and loudly calling? + What goes through the bushes yonder? + Can it be the Salamander-- + Belly thick and legs a-sprawling? + Roots and fibres, snake-like, crawling, + Out from rocky, sandy places, + Wheresoe'er we turn our faces, + Stretch enormous fingers round us, + Here to catch us, there confound us; + Thick, black knars to life are starting, + Polypusses'-feelers darting + At the traveller. Field-mice, swarming, + Thousand-colored armies forming, + Scamper on through moss and heather! + And the glow-worms, in the darkling, + With their crowded escort sparkling, + Would confound us altogether. + + But to guess I'm vainly trying-- + Are we stopping? are we hieing? + Round and round us all seems flying, + Rocks and trees, that make grimaces, + And the mist-lights of the places + Ever swelling, multiplying. + +_Mephistopheles_. Here's my coat-tail--tightly thumb it! +We have reached a middle summit, +Whence one stares to see how shines +Mammon in the mountain-mines. + +_Faust_. How strangely through the dim recesses +A dreary dawning seems to glow! +And even down the deep abysses +Its melancholy quiverings throw! +Here smoke is boiling, mist exhaling; +Here from a vapory veil it gleams, +Then, a fine thread of light, goes trailing, +Then gushes up in fiery streams. +The valley, here, you see it follow, +One mighty flood, with hundred rills, +And here, pent up in some deep hollow, +It breaks on all sides down the hills. +Here, spark-showers, darting up before us, +Like golden sand-clouds rise and fall. +But yonder see how blazes o'er us, +All up and down, the rocky wall! + +_Mephistopheles_. Has not Sir Mammon gloriously lighted +His palace for this festive night? +Count thyself lucky for the sight: +I catch e'en now a glimpse of noisy guests invited. + +_Faust_. How the mad tempest[34] sweeps the air! +On cheek and neck the wind-gusts how they flout me. + +_Mephistopheles_. Must seize the rock's old ribs and hold on stoutly! +Else will they hurl thee down the dark abysses there. +A mist-rain thickens the gloom. +Hark, how the forests crash and boom! +Out fly the owls in dread and wonder; +Splitting their columns asunder, +Hear it, the evergreen palaces shaking! +Boughs are twisting and breaking! +Of stems what a grinding and moaning! +Of roots what a creaking and groaning! +In frightful confusion, headlong tumbling, +They fall, with a sound of thunder rumbling, +And, through the wreck-piled ravines and abysses, +The tempest howls and hisses. +Hearst thou voices high up o'er us? +Close around us--far before us? +Through the mountain, all along, +Swells a torrent of magic song. + +_Witches_ [_in chorus_]. The witches go to the Brocken's top, + The stubble is yellow, and green the crop. + They gather there at the well-known call, + Sir Urian[85] sits at the head of all. + Then on we go o'er stone and stock: + The witch, she--and--the buck. + +_Voice_. Old Baubo comes along, I vow! +She rides upon a farrow-sow. + +_Chorus_. Then honor to whom honor's due! + Ma'am Baubo ahead! and lead the crew! + A good fat sow, and ma'am on her back, + Then follow the witches all in a pack. + +_Voice_. Which way didst thou come? + +_Voice_. By the Ilsenstein! +Peeped into an owl's nest, mother of mine! +What a pair of eyes! + +_Voice_. To hell with your flurry! +Why ride in such hurry! + +_Voice_. The hag be confounded! +My skin flie has wounded! + +_Witches_ [_chorus]._ The way is broad, the way is long, + What means this noisy, crazy throng? + The broom it scratches, the fork it flicks, + The child is stifled, the mother breaks. + +_Wizards_ [_semi-chorus_]. Like housed-up snails we're creeping on, +The women all ahead are gone. +When to the Bad One's house we go, +She gains a thousand steps, you know. + +_The other half_. We take it not precisely so; +What she in thousand steps can go, +Make all the haste she ever can, +'Tis done in just one leap by man. + +_Voice_ [_above_]. Come on, come on, from Felsensee! + +_Voices_ [_from below_]. We'd gladly join your airy way. +For wash and clean us as much as we will, +We always prove unfruitful still. + +_Both chorusses_. The wind is hushed, the star shoots by, + The moon she hides her sickly eye. + The whirling, whizzing magic-choir + Darts forth ten thousand sparks of fire. + +_Voice_ [_from below_]. Ho, there! whoa, there! + +_Voice_ [_from above_]. Who calls from the rocky cleft below there? + +_Voice_ [_below_]. Take me too! take me too! +Three hundred years I've climbed to you, +Seeking in vain my mates to come at, +For I can never reach the summit. + +_Both chorusses_. Can ride the besom, the stick can ride, + Can stride the pitchfork, the goat can stride; + Who neither will ride to-night, nor can, + Must be forever a ruined man. + +_Half-witch_ [_below_]. I hobble on--I'm out of wind-- +And still they leave me far behind! +To find peace here in vain I come, +I get no more than I left at home. + +_Chorus of witches_. The witch's salve can never fail, + A rag will answer for a sail, + Any trough will do for a ship, that's tight; + He'll never fly who flies not to-night. + +_Both chorusses_. And when the highest peak we round, + Then lightly graze along the ground, + And cover the heath, where eye can see, + With the flower of witch-errantry. + [_They alight_.] + +_Mephistopheles._ What squeezing and pushing, what rustling and hustling! +What hissing and twirling, what chattering and bustling! +How it shines and sparkles and burns and stinks! +A true witch-element, methinks! +Keep close! or we are parted in two winks. +Where art thou? + +_Faust_ [_in the distance_]. Here! + +_Mephistopheles_. What! carried off already? +Then I must use my house-right.--Steady! +Room! Squire Voland[36] comes. Sweet people, Clear the ground! +Here, Doctor, grasp my arm! and, at a single bound; +Let us escape, while yet 'tis easy; +E'en for the like of me they're far too crazy. +See! yonder, something shines with quite peculiar glare, +And draws me to those bushes mazy. +Come! come! and let us slip in there. + +_Faust_. All-contradicting sprite! To follow thee I'm fated. +But I must say, thy plan was very bright! +We seek the Brocken here, on the Walpurgis night, +Then hold ourselves, when here, completely isolated! + +_Mephistopheles_. What motley flames light up the heather! +A merry club is met together, +In a small group one's not alone. + +_Faust_. I'd rather be up there, I own! +See! curling smoke and flames right blue! +To see the Evil One they travel; +There many a riddle to unravel. + +_Mephistopheles_. And tie up many another, too. +Let the great world there rave and riot, +We here will house ourselves in quiet. +The saying has been long well known: +In the great world one makes a small one of his own. +I see young witches there quite naked all, +And old ones who, more prudent, cover. +For my sake some flight things look over; +The fun is great, the trouble small. +I hear them tuning instruments! Curs'd jangle! +Well! one must learn with such things not to wrangle. +Come on! Come on! For so it needs must be, +Thou shalt at once be introduced by me. +And I new thanks from thee be earning. +That is no scanty space; what sayst thou, friend? +Just take a look! thou scarce canst see the end. +There, in a row, a hundred fires are burning; +They dance, chat, cook, drink, love; where can be found +Any thing better, now, the wide world round? + +_Faust_. Wilt thou, as things are now in this condition, +Present thyself for devil, or magician? + +_Mephistopheles_. I've been much used, indeed, to going incognito; + +But then, on gala-day, one will his order show. +No garter makes my rank appear, +But then the cloven foot stands high in honor here. +Seest thou the snail? Look there! where she comes creeping yonder! +Had she already smelt the rat, +I should not very greatly wonder. +Disguise is useless now, depend on that. +Come, then! we will from fire to fire wander, +Thou shalt the wooer be and I the pander. + [_To a party who sit round expiring embers_.] +Old gentlemen, you scarce can hear the fiddle! +You'd gain more praise from me, ensconced there in the middle, +'Mongst that young rousing, tousing set. +One can, at home, enough retirement get. + +_General_. Trust not the people's fickle favor! +However much thou mayst for them have done. +Nations, as well as women, ever, +Worship the rising, not the setting sun. + +_Minister_. From the right path we've drifted far away, +The good old past my heart engages; +Those were the real golden ages, +When such as we held all the sway. + +_Parvenu_. We were no simpletons, I trow, +And often did the thing we should not; +But all is turning topsy-turvy now, +And if we tried to stem the wave, we could not. + +_Author_. Who on the whole will read a work today, +Of moderate sense, with any pleasure? +And as regards the dear young people, they +Pert and precocious are beyond all measure. + +_Mephistopheles_ [_who all at once appears very old_]. +The race is ripened for the judgment day: +So I, for the last time, climb the witch-mountain, thinking, +And, as my cask runs thick, I say, +The world, too, on its lees is sinking. + +_Witch-broker_. Good gentlemen, don't hurry by! +The opportunity's a rare one! +My stock is an uncommon fair one, +Please give it an attentive eye. +There's nothing in my shop, whatever, +But on the earth its mate is found; +That has not proved itself right clever +To deal mankind some fatal wound. +No dagger here, but blood has some time stained it; +No cup, that has not held some hot and poisonous juice, +And stung to death the throat that drained it; +No trinket, but did once a maid seduce; +No sword, but hath some tie of sacred honor riven, +Or haply from behind through foeman's neck been driven. + +_Mephistopheles_. You're quite behind the times, I tell you, Aunty! +By-gones be by-gones! done is done! +Get us up something new and jaunty! +For new things now the people run. + +_Faust_. To keep my wits I must endeavor! +Call this a fair! I swear, I never--! + +_Mephistopheles_. Upward the billowy mass is moving; +You're shoved along and think, meanwhile, you're shoving. + +_Faust_. What woman's that? + +_Mephistopheles_. Mark her attentively. +That's Lilith.[37] + +_Faust_. Who? + +_Mephistopbeles_. Adam's first wife is she. +Beware of her one charm, those lovely tresses, +In which she shines preeminently fair. +When those soft meshes once a young man snare, +How hard 'twill be to escape he little guesses. + +_Faust_. There sit an old one and a young together; +They've skipped it well along the heather! + +_Mephistopheles_. No rest from that till night is through. +Another dance is up; come on! let us fall to. + +_Faust_ [_dancing with the young one_]. A lovely dream once came to me; +In it I saw an apple-tree; +Two beauteous apples beckoned there, +I climbed to pluck the fruit so fair. + +_The Fair one_. Apples you greatly seem to prize, +And did so even in Paradise. +I feel myself delighted much +That in my garden I have such. + +_Mephistopheles_ [_with the old hag_]. A dismal dream once came to me; +In it I saw a cloven tree, +It had a ------ but still, +I looked on it with right good-will. + +_The Hog_. With best respect I here salute +The noble knight of the cloven foot! +Let him hold a ------ near, +If a ------ he does not fear. + +_Proctophantasmist_.[38] What's this ye undertake? Confounded crew! +Have we not giv'n you demonstration? +No spirit stands on legs in all creation, +And here you dance just as we mortals do! + +_The Fair one_ [_dancing_]. What does that fellow at our ball? + +_Faust_ [_dancing_]. Eh! he must have a hand in all. +What others dance that he appraises. +Unless each step he criticizes, +The step as good as no step he will call. +But when we move ahead, that plagues him more than all. +If in a circle you would still keep turning, +As he himself in his old mill goes round, +He would be sure to call that sound! +And most so, if you went by his superior learning. + +_Proctophantasmist_. What, and you still are here! Unheard off obstinates! +Begone! We've cleared it up! You shallow pates! +The devilish pack from rules deliverance boasts. +We've grown so wise, and Tegel[39] still sees ghosts. +How long I've toiled to sweep these cobwebs from the brain, +And yet--unheard of folly! all in vain. + +_The Fair one_. And yet on us the stupid bore still tries it! + +_Proctophantasmist_. I tell you spirits, to the face, +I give to spirit-tyranny no place, +My spirit cannot exercise it. + [_They dance on_.] +I can't succeed to-day, I know it; +Still, there's the journey, which I like to make, +And hope, before the final step I take, +To rid the world of devil and of poet. + +_Mephistopheles_. You'll see him shortly sit into a puddle, +In that way his heart is reassured; +When on his rump the leeches well shall fuddle, +Of spirits and of spirit he'll be cured. + [_To_ FAUST, _who has left the dance_.] +Why let the lovely girl slip through thy fingers, +Who to thy dance so sweetly sang? + +_Faust_. Ah, right amidst her singing, sprang +A wee red mouse from her mouth and made me cower. + +_Mephistopheles_. That's nothing wrong! You're in a dainty way; +Enough, the mouse at least wan't gray. +Who minds such thing in happy amorous hour? + +_Faust_. Then saw I-- + +_Mephistopheles_. What? + +_Faust_. Mephisto, seest thou not +Yon pale, fair child afar, who stands so sad and lonely, +And moves so slowly from the spot, +Her feet seem locked, and she drags them only. +I must confess, she seems to me +To look like my own good Margery. + +_Mephistopheles_. Leave that alone! The sight no health can bring. +it is a magic shape, an idol, no live thing. +To meet it never can be good! +Its haggard look congeals a mortal's blood, +And almost turns him into stone; +The story of Medusa thou hast known. + +_Faust_. Yes, 'tis a dead one's eyes that stare upon me, +Eyes that no loving hand e'er closed; +That is the angel form of her who won me, +Tis the dear breast on which I once reposed. + +_Mephistopheles_. 'Tis sorcery all, thou fool, misled by passion's dreams! +For she to every one his own love seems. + +_Faust_. What bliss! what woe! Methinks I never +My sight from that sweet form can sever. +Seeft thou, not thicker than a knife-blade's back, +A small red ribbon, fitting sweetly +The lovely neck it clasps so neatly? + +_Mephistopheles_. I see the streak around her neck. +Her head beneath her arm, you'll next behold her; +Perseus has lopped it from her shoulder,-- +But let thy crazy passion rest! +Come, climb with me yon hillock's breast, +Was e'er the Prater[40] merrier then? +And if no sorcerer's charm is o'er me, +That is a theatre before me. +What's doing there? + +_Servibilis_. They'll straight begin again. +A bran-new piece, the very last of seven; +To have so much, the fashion here thinks fit. +By Dilettantes it is given; +'Twas by a Dilettante writ. +Excuse me, sirs, I go to greet you; +I am the curtain-raising Dilettant. + +_Mephistopheles_. When I upon the Blocksberg meet you, +That I approve; for there's your place, I grant. + + + + + WALPURGIS-NIGHT'S DREAM, OR OBERON AND TITANIA'S GOLDEN NUPTIALS. + + _Intermezzo_. + + +_Theatre manager_. Here, for once, we rest, to-day, +Heirs of Mieding's[41] glory. +All the scenery we display-- +Damp vale and mountain hoary! + +_Herald_. To make the wedding a golden one, +Must fifty years expire; +But when once the strife is done, +I prize the _gold_ the higher. + +_Oberon_. Spirits, if my good ye mean, +Now let all wrongs be righted; +For to-day your king and queen +Are once again united. + +_Puck_. Once let Puck coming whirling round, +And set his foot to whisking, +Hundreds with him throng the ground, +Frolicking and frisking. + +_Ariel_. Ariel awakes the song +With many a heavenly measure; +Fools not few he draws along, +But fair ones hear with pleasure. + +_Oberon_. Spouses who your feuds would smother, +Take from us a moral! +Two who wish to love each other, +Need only first to quarrel. + +_Titania_. If she pouts and he looks grim, +Take them both together, +To the north pole carry him, +And off with her to t'other. + + _Orchestra Tutti_. + +_Fortissimo_. Fly-snouts and gnats'-noses, these, +And kin in all conditions, +Grass-hid crickets, frogs in trees, +We take for our musicians! + +_Solo_. See, the Bagpipe comes! fall back! +Soap-bubble's name he owneth. +How the _Schnecke-schnicke-schnack_ +Through his snub-nose droneth! +_Spirit that is just shaping itself_. Spider-foot, toad's-belly, too, +Give the child, and winglet! +'Tis no animalcule, true, +But a poetic thinglet. + +_A pair of lovers_. Little step and lofty bound +Through honey-dew and flowers; +Well thou trippest o'er the ground, +But soarst not o'er the bowers. + +_Curious traveller_. This must be masquerade! +How odd! +My very eyes believe I? +Oberon, the beauteous God +Here, to-night perceive I! + +_Orthodox_. Neither claws, nor tail I see! +And yet, without a cavil, +Just as "the Gods of Greece"[42] were, he +Must also be a devil. + +_Northern artist_. What here I catch is, to be sure, +But sketchy recreation; +And yet for my Italian tour +'Tis timely preparation. + +_Purist_. Bad luck has brought me here, I see! +The rioting grows louder. +And of the whole witch company, +There are but two, wear powder. + +_Young witch_. Powder becomes, like petticoat, +Your little, gray old woman: +Naked I sit upon my goat, +And show the untrimmed human. + +_Matron_. To stand here jawing[43] with you, we +Too much good-breeding cherish; +But young and tender though you be, +I hope you'll rot and perish. + +_Leader of the music_. Fly-snouts and gnat-noses, please, +Swarm not so round the naked! +Grass-hid crickets, frogs in trees, +Keep time and don't forsake it! + +_Weathercock_ [_towards one side_]. Find better company, who can! +Here, brides attended duly! +There, bachelors, ranged man by man, +Most hopeful people truly! + +_Weathercock [towards the other side_]. +And if the ground don't open straight, +The crazy crew to swallow, +You'll see me, at a furious rate, +Jump down to hell's black hollow. + +_Xenia[_44] We are here as insects, ah! +Small, sharp nippers wielding, +Satan, as our _cher papa_, +Worthy honor yielding. + +_Hennings_. See how naively, there, the throng +Among themselves are jesting, +You'll hear them, I've no doubt, ere long, +Their good kind hearts protesting. + +_Musagetes_. Apollo in this witches' group +Himself right gladly loses; +For truly I could lead this troop +Much easier than the muses. + +_Ci-devant genius of the age_. Right company will raise man up. +Come, grasp my skirt, Lord bless us! +The Blocksberg has a good broad top, +Like Germany's Parnassus. + +_Curious traveller_. Tell me who is that stiff man? +With what stiff step he travels! +He noses out whate'er he can. +"He scents the Jesuit devils." + +_Crane_. In clear, and muddy water, too, +The long-billed gentleman fishes; +Our pious gentlemen we view +Fingering in devils' dishes. + +_Child of this world_. Yes, with the pious ones, 'tis clear, +"All's grist that comes to their mill;" +They build their tabernacles here, +On Blocksberg, as on Carmel. + +_Dancer_. Hark! a new choir salutes my ear! +I hear a distant drumming. +"Be not disturbed! 'mong reeds you hear +The one-toned bitterns bumming." + +_Dancing-master._ How each his legs kicks up and flings, +Pulls foot as best he's able! +The clumsy hops, the crooked springs, +'Tis quite disreputable! + +_Fiddler_. The scurvy pack, they hate, 'tis clear, +Like cats and dogs, each other. +Like Orpheus' lute, the bagpipe here +Binds beast to beast as brother. + +_Dogmatist_. You'll not scream down my reason, though, +By criticism's cavils. +The devil's something, that I know, +Else how could there be devils? + +_Idealist_. Ah, phantasy, for once thy sway +Is guilty of high treason. +If all I see is I, to-day, +'Tis plain I've lost my reason. + +_Realist_. To me, of all life's woes and plagues, +Substance is most provoking, +For the first time I feel my legs +Beneath me almost rocking. + +_Supernaturalist_. I'm overjoyed at being here, +And even among these rude ones; +For if bad spirits are, 'tis clear, +There also must be good ones. + +_Skeptic_. Where'er they spy the flame they roam, +And think rich stores to rifle, +Here such as I are quite at home, +For _Zweifel_ rhymes with _Teufel_.[45] + +_Leader of the music_. Grass-hid cricket, frogs in trees, +You cursed dilettanti! +Fly-snouts and gnats'-noses, peace! +Musicians you, right jaunty! + +_The Clever ones_. Sans-souci we call this band +Of merry ones that skip it; +Unable on our feet to stand, +Upon our heads we trip it. + +_The Bunglers_. Time was, we caught our tit-bits, too, +God help us now! that's done with! +We've danced our leathers entirely through, +And have only bare soles to run with. + +_Jack-o'lanterns_. From the dirty bog we come, +Whence we've just arisen: +Soon in the dance here, quite at home, +As gay young _sparks_ we'll glisten. + +_Shooting star_. Trailing from the sky I shot, +Not a star there missed me: +Crooked up in this grassy spot, +Who to my legs will assist me? + +_The solid men_. Room there! room there! clear the ground! +Grass-blades well may fall so; +Spirits are we, but 'tis found +They have plump limbs also. + +_Puck_. Heavy men! do not, I say, +Like elephants' calves go stumping: +Let the plumpest one to-day +Be Puck, the ever-jumping. + +_Ariel_. If the spirit gave, indeed, +If nature gave you, pinions, +Follow up my airy lead +To the rose-dominions! + +_Orchestra_ [_pianissimo_]. Gauzy mist and fleecy cloud +Sun and wind have banished. +Foliage rustles, reeds pipe loud, +All the show has vanished. + + + + + DREARY DAY.[46] + + _Field_. + + + FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES. + +_Faust_. In wretchedness! In despair! Long hunted up and down the earth, a +miserable fugitive, and caught at last! Locked up as a malefactor in +prison, to converse with horrible torments--the sweet, unhappy creature! +Even to this pass! even to this!--Treacherous, worthless spirit, and this +thou hast hidden from me!--Stand up here--stand up! Roll thy devilish eyes +round grimly in thy head! Stand and defy me with thy intolerable presence! +Imprisoned! In irretrievable misery! Given over to evil spirits and to the +judgment of unfeeling humanity, and me meanwhile thou lullest in insipid +dissipations, concealest from me her growing anguish, and leavest her +without help to perish! + +_Mephistopheles_. She is not the first! + +_Faust_. Dog! abominable monster! Change him, thou Infinite Spirit! change +the worm back into his canine form, as he was often pleased in the night +to trot before me, to roll before the feet of the harmless wanderer, and, +when he fell, to hang on his shoulders. Change him again into his favorite +shape, that he may crawl before me on his belly in the sand, and that I +may tread him under foot, the reprobate!--Not the first! Misery! Misery! +inconceivable by any human soul! that more than one creature ever sank +into the depth of this wretchedness, that the first in its writhing +death-agony did not atone for the guilt of all the rest before the eyes of +the eternally Forgiving! My very marrow and life are consumed by the +misery of this single one; thou grinnest away composedly at the fate of +thousands! + +_Mephistopheles_. Here we are again at our wits' ends already, where the +thread of sense, with you mortals, snaps short. Why make a partnership +with us, if thou canst not carry it through? Wilt fly, and art not proof +against dizziness? Did we thrust ourselves on thee, or thou on us? + +_Faust_. Gnash not so thy greedy teeth against me! It disgusts me!--Great +and glorious spirit, thou that deignedst to appear to me, who knowest my +heart and soul, why yoke me to this shame-fellow, who feeds on mischief +and feasts on ruin? + +_Mephistopheles_. Hast thou done? + +_Faust_. Rescue her! O woe be unto thee! The most horrible curse on thee +for thousands of years! + +_Mephistopheles_. I cannot loose the bonds of the avenger, nor open his +bolts.--Rescue her!--Who was it that plunged her into ruin? I or thou? + [FAUST _looks wildly round_.] +Grasp'st thou after the thunder? Well that it was not given to you +miserable mortals! To crush an innocent respondent, that is a sort of +tyrant's-way of getting room to breathe in embarrassment. + +_Faust_. Lead me to her! She shall be free! + +_Mephistopheles_. And the danger which thou incurrest? Know that the guilt +of blood at thy hand still lies upon the town. Over the place of the +slain, avenging spirits hover and lurk for the returning murderer. + +_Faust_. That, too, from thee? Murder and death of a world upon thee, +monster! Lead me thither, I say, and free her! + +_Mephistopheles_. I will lead thee, and hear what I can do! Have I all +power in heaven and on earth? I will becloud the turnkey's senses; possess +thyself of the keys, and bear her out with human hand. I will watch! The +magic horses shall be ready, and I will bear you away. So much I can do. + +_Faust_. Up and away! + + + + + NIGHT. OPEN FIELD. + + FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES. + _Scudding along on black horses_. + +_Faust_. What's doing, off there, round the gallows-tree?[47] + +_Mephistopheles_. Know not what they are doing and brewing. + +_Faust_. Up they go--down they go--wheel about, reel about. + +_Mephistopheles_. A witches'-crew. + +_Faust_. They're strewing and vowing. + +_Mephistopheles_. Pass on! Pass on! + + + + + PRISON. + + FAUST [_with a bunch of keys and a lamp, before an iron door_] +A long unwonted chill comes o'er me, +I feel the whole great load of human woe. +Within this clammy wall that frowns before me +Lies one whom blinded love, not guilt, brought low! +Thou lingerest, in hope to grow bolder! +Thou fearest again to behold her! +On! Thy shrinking slowly hastens the blow! + [_He grasps the key. Singing from within_.] +My mother, the harlot, +That strung me up! +My father, the varlet, +That ate me up! +My sister small, +She gathered up all +The bones that day, +And in a cool place did lay; +Then I woke, a sweet bird, at a magic call; +Fly away, fly away! + +_Faust [unlocking_]. She little dreams, her lover is so near, +The clanking chains, the rustling straw can hear; + [_He enters_.] + +_Margaret [burying herself in the bed_]. Woe! woe! +They come. O death of bitterness! + +_Faust_ [_softly_]. Hush! hush! I come to free thee; thou art dreaming. + +_Margaret_ [_prostrating herself before him_]. +Art thou a man, then feel for my distress. + +_Faust_. Thou'lt wake the guards with thy loud screaming! + [_He seizes the chains to tin lock them._] + +_Margaret_ [_on her knees_]. Headsman, who's given thee this right +O'er me, this power! +Thou com'st for me at dead of night; +In pity spare me, one short hour! +Wilt't not be time when Matin bell has rung? + [_She stands up._] +Ah, I am yet so young, so young! +And death pursuing! +Fair was I too, and that was my undoing. +My love was near, far is he now! +Tom is the wreath, the scattered flowers lie low. +Take not such violent hold of me! +Spare me! what harm have I done to thee? +Let me not in vain implore thee. +Thou ne'er till now sawft her who lies before thee! + +_Faust_. O sorrow worse than death is o'er me! + +_Margaret_. Now I am wholly in thy power. +But first I'd nurse my child--do not prevent me. +I hugged it through the black night hour; +They took it from me to torment me, +And now they say I killed the pretty flower. +I shall never be happy again, I know. +They sing vile songs at me! 'Tis bad in them to do it! +There's an old tale that ends just so, +Who gave that meaning to it? + +_Faust [prostrates himself_]. A lover at thy feet is bending, +Thy bonds of misery would be rending. + +_Margaret [flings herself beside him_]. +O let us kneel, the saints for aid invoking! +See! 'neath the threshold smoking, +Fire-breathing, +Hell is seething! +There prowling, +And grim under cover, +Satan is howling! + +_Faust [aloud_]. Margery! Margery! + +_Margaret [listening_]. That was the voice of my lover! + [_She springs up. The chains fall off_.] + +Where is he? Where? He calls. I hear him. +I'm free! Who hinders? I will be near him. +I'll fly to his neck! I'll hold him! +To my bosom I'll enfold him! +He stood on the threshold--called Margery plainly! +Hell's howling and clattering to drown it sought vainly,-- +Through the devilish, grim scoffs, that might turn one to stone, +I caught the sweet, loving, enrapturing tone. + +_Faust_. 'Tis I! + +_Margaret_. 'Tis thou! O say it once again. + [_Clasping again._] +'Tis he! 'tis he! Where now is all my pain? +And where the dungeon's anguish? Joy-giver! +'Tis thou! And come to deliver! +I am delivered! +Again before me lies the street, +Where for the first time thou and I did meet. +And the garden-bower, +Where we spent that evening hour. + +_Faust_ [_trying to draw her away_]. Come! Come with me! + +_Margaret_. O tarry! +I tarry so gladly where thou tarriest. + [_Caressing him._] + +_Faust_. Hurry! +Unless thou hurriest, +Bitterly we both must rue it. + +_Margaret_. Kiss me! Canst no more do it? +So short an absence, love, as this, +And forgot how to kiss? +What saddens me so as I hang about thy neck? +When once, in thy words, thy looks, such a heaven of blisses +Came o'er me, I thought my heart would break, +And it seemed as if thou wouldst smother me with kisses. +Kiss thou me! +Else I kiss thee! + [_She embraces him._] +Woe! woe! thy lips are cold, +Stone-dumb. +Where's thy love left? +Oh! I'm bereft! +Who robbed me? + [_She turns from him_] + +_Faust_. O come! +Take courage, my darling! Let us go; +I clasp-thee with unutterable glow; +But follow me! For this alone I plead! + +_Margaret [turning to him_]. Is it, then, thou? +And is it thou indeed? + +_Faust_. 'Tis I! Come, follow me! + +_Margaret_. Thou break'st my chain, +And tak'st me to thy breast again! +How comes it, then, that thou art not afraid of me? +And dost thou know, my friend, who 'tis thou settest free? + +_Faust_. Come! come! The night is on the wane. + +_Margaret_. Woe! woe! My mother I've slain! +Have drowned the babe of mine! +Was it not sent to be mine and thine? +Thine, too--'tis thou! Scarce true doth it seem. +Give me thy hand! 'Tis not a dream! +Thy blessed hand!--But ah! there's dampness here! +Go, wipe it off! I fear +There's blood thereon. +Ah God! what hast thou done! +Put up thy sword again; +I pray thee, do! + +_Faust_. The past is past--there leave it then, +Thou kill'st me too! + +_Margaret_. No, thou must longer tarry! +I'll tell thee how each thou shalt bury; +The places of sorrow +Make ready to-morrow; +Must give the best place to my mother, +The very next to my brother, +Me a little aside, +But make not the space too wide! +And on my right breast let the little one lie. +No one else will be sleeping by me. +Once, to feel _thy_ heart beat nigh me, +Oh, 'twas a precious, a tender joy! +But I shall have it no more--no, never; +I seem to be forcing myself on thee ever, +And thou repelling me freezingly; +And 'tis thou, the same good soul, I see. + +_Faust_. If thou feelest 'tis I, then come with me + +_Margaret_. Out yonder? + +_Faust_. Into the open air. + +_Margaret_. If the grave is there, +If death is lurking; then come! +From here to the endless resting-place, +And not another pace--Thou +go'st e'en now? O, Henry, might I too. + +_Faust_. Thou canst! 'Tis but to will! The door stands open. + +_Margaret_. I dare not go; for me there's no more hoping. +What use to fly? They lie in wait for me. +So wretched the lot to go round begging, +With an evil conscience thy spirit plaguing! +So wretched the lot, an exile roaming--And +then on my heels they are ever coming! + +_Faust_. I shall be with thee. + +_Margaret_. Make haste! make haste! +No time to waste! +Save thy poor child! +Quick! follow the edge +Of the rushing rill, +Over the bridge +And by the mill, +Then into the woods beyond +On the left where lies the plank +Over the pond. +Seize hold of it quick! +To rise 'tis trying, +It struggles still! +Rescue! rescue! + +_Faust_. Bethink thyself, pray! +A single step and thou art free! + +_Margaret_. Would we were by the mountain. See! +There sits my mother on a stone, +The sight on my brain is preying! +There sits my mother on a stone, +And her head is constantly swaying; +She beckons not, nods not, her head falls o'er, +So long she's been sleeping, she'll wake no more. +She slept that we might take pleasure. +O that was bliss without measure! + +_Faust_. Since neither reason nor prayer thou hearest; +I must venture by force to take thee, dearest. + +_Margaret_. Let go! No violence will I bear! +Take not such a murderous hold of me! +I once did all I could to gratify thee. + +_Faust_. The day is breaking! Dearest! dearest! + +_Margaret_. Day! Ay, it is day! the last great day breaks in! +My wedding-day it should have been! +Tell no one thou hast been with Margery! +Alas for my garland! The hour's advancing! +Retreat is in vain! +We meet again, +But not at the dancing. +The multitude presses, no word is spoke. +Square, streets, all places-- +sea of faces-- +The bell is tolling, the staff is broke. +How they seize me and bind me! +They hurry me off to the bloody block.[48] +The blade that quivers behind me, +Quivers at every neck with convulsive shock; +Dumb lies the world as the grave! + +_Faust_. O had I ne'er been born! + +_Mephistopheles [appears without_]. Up! or thou'rt lost! The morn +Flushes the sky. +Idle delaying! Praying and playing! +My horses are neighing, +They shudder and snort for the bound. + +_Margaret_. What's that, comes up from the ground? +He! He! Avaunt! that face! +What will he in the sacred place? +He seeks me! + +_Faust_. Thou shalt live! + +_Margaret_. Great God in heaven! +Unto thy judgment my soul have I given! + +_Mephistopheles [to Faust_]. +Come! come! or in the lurch I leave both her and thee! + +_Margaret_. Thine am I, Father! Rescue me! +Ye angels, holy bands, attend me! +And camp around me to defend me I +Henry! I dread to look on thee. + +_Mephistopheles_. She's judged! + +_Voice [from above_]. She's saved! + +_Mephistopheles [to Faust_]. Come thou to me! + [_Vanishes with_ FAUST.] + +_Voice [from within, dying away_]. Henry! Henry! + + + + +NOTES. + + +[Footnote 1: Dedication. The idea of Faust had early entered into Goethe's +mind. He probably began the work when he was about twenty years old. It +was first published, as a fragment, in 1790, and did not appear in its +present form till 1808, when its author's age was nearly sixty. By the +"forms" are meant, of course, the shadowy personages and scenes of the +drama.] + +[Footnote 2: --"Thy messengers"-- + "He maketh the winds his-messengers, + The flaming lightnings his ministers." + _Noyes's Psalms_, c. iv. 4.] + +[Footnote 3: "The Word Divine." In translating the German "Werdende" +(literally, the _becoming, developing_, or _growing_) by the term _word_, +I mean the _word_ in the largest sense: "In the beginning was the Word, +&c." Perhaps "nature" would be a pretty good rendering, but "word," being +derived from "werden," and expressing philosophically and scripturally the +going forth or manifestation of mind, seemed to me as appropriate a +translation as any.] + +[Footnote 4: "The old fellow." The commentators do not seem quite agreed +whether "den Alten" (the old one) is an entirely reverential phrase here, +like the "ancient of days," or savors a little of profane pleasantry, like +the title "old man" given by boys to their schoolmaster or of "the old +gentleman" to their fathers. Considering who the speaker is, I have +naturally inclined to the latter alternative.] + +[Footnote 5: "Nostradamus" (properly named Michel Notre Dame) lived +through the first half of the sixteenth century. He was born in the south +of France and was of Jewish extraction. As physician and astrologer, he +was held in high honor by the French nobility and kings.] + +[Footnote 6: The "Macrocosm" is the great world of outward things, in +contrast with its epitome, the little world in man, called the microcosm +(or world in miniature).] + +[Footnote 7: "Famulus" seems to mean a cross between a servant and a +scholar. The Dominie Sampson called Wagner, is appended to Faust for the +time somewhat as Sancho is to Don Quixote. The Doctor Faust of the legend +has a servant by that name, who seems to have been more of a _Sancho_, in +the sense given to the word by the old New England mothers when upbraiding +bad boys (you Sanch'!). Curiously enough, Goethe had in early life a +(treacherous) friend named Wagner, who plagiarized part of Faust and made +a tragedy of it.] + +[Footnote 8: "Mock-heroic play." We have Schlegel's authority for thus +rendering the phrase "Haupt- und Staats-Action," (literally, "head and +State-action,") who says that this title was given to dramas designed for +puppets, when they treated of heroic and historical subjects.] + +[Footnote 9: The literal sense of this couplet in the original is:-- + "Is he, in the bliss of becoming, + To creative joy near--" +"Werde-lust" presents the same difficulty that we found in note 3. This +same word, "Werden," is also used by the poet in the introductory theatre +scene (page 7), where he longs for the time when he himself was +_ripening_, growing, becoming, or _forming_, (as Hayward renders it.) I +agree with Hayward, "the meaning probably is, that our Saviour enjoys, in +coming to life again," (I should say, in being born into the upper life,) +"a happiness nearly equal to that of the Creator in creating."] + +[Footnote 10: The Angel-chorusses in this scene present the only instances +in which the translator, for the sake of retaining the ring and swing of +the melody, has felt himself obliged to give a transfusion of the spirit +of the thought, instead of its exact form. + +The literal meaning of the first chorus is:-- + + Christ is arisen! + Joy to the Mortal, + Whom the ruinous, + Creeping, hereditary + Infirmities wound round. + +Dr. Hedge has come nearer than any one to reconciling meaning and melody +thus:-- + + "Christ has arisen! + Joy to our buried Head! + Whom the unmerited, + Trailing, inherited + Woes did imprison." + +The present translator, without losing sight of the fact that "the Mortal" +means Christ, has taken the liberty (constrained by rhyme,--which is +sometimes more than the _rudder_ of verse,) of making the congratulation +include Humanity, as incarnated in Christ, "the second Adam." + +In the closing Chorus of Angels, the translator found that he could best +preserve the spirit of the five-fold rhyme:-- + + "Thaetig ihn preisenden, + Liebe beweisenden, + Bruederlich speisenden, + Predigend reisenden, + Wonne verheissenden," + +by running it into three couplets.] + +[Footnote 11: The prose account of the alchymical process is as follows:-- + +"There was red mercury, a powerfully acting body, united with the tincture +of antimony, at a gentle heat of the water-bath. Then, being exposed to +the heat of open fire in an aludel, (or alembic,) a sublimate filled its +heads in succession, which, if it appeared with various hues, was the +desired medicine."] + +[Footnote 12: "Salamander, &c." The four represent the spirits of the +four elements, fire, water, air, and earth, which Faust successively +conjures, so that, if the monster belongs in any respect to this mundane +sphere, he may be exorcized. But it turns out that he is beyond and +beneath all.] + +[Footnote 13: Here, of course, Faust makes the sign of the cross, or holds +out a crucifix.] + +[Footnote 14: "Fly-God," _i.e._ Beelzebub.] + +[Footnote 15: The "Drudenfuss," or pentagram, was a pentagonal figure +composed of three triangles, thus: +[Illustration] + +[Footnote 16: Doctor's Feast. The inaugural feast given at taking a +degree.] + +[Footnote 17: "Blood." When at the first invention of printing, the art +was ascribed to the devil, the illuminated red ink parts were said by the +people to be done in blood.] + +[Footnote 18: "The Spanish boot" was an instrument of torture, like the +Scottish boot mentioned in Old Mortality.] + +[Footnote 19: "Encheiresin Naturae." Literally, a handling of nature.] + +[Footnote 20: Still a famous place of public resort and entertainment. On +the wall are two old paintings of Faust's carousal and his ride out of the +door on a cask. One is accompanied by the following inscription, being two +lines (Hexameter and Pentameter) broken into halves:-- + + "Vive, bibe, obgregare, memor + Fausti hujus et hujus + Poenae. Aderat clauda haec, + Ast erat ampla gradu. 1525." + + "Live, drink, be merry, remembering + This Faust and his + Punishment. It came slowly + But was in ample measure."] + +[Footnote 21:_Frosch, Brander_, &c. These names seem to be chosen with an +eye to adaptation, Frosch meaning frog, and Brander fireship. "Frog" +happens also to be the nickname the students give to a pupil of the +gymnasium, or school preparatory to the university.] + +[Footnote 22: Rippach is a village near Leipsic, and Mr. Hans was a +fictitious personage about whom the students used to quiz greenhorns.] + +[Footnote 23: The original means literally _sea-cat_. Retzsch says, it is +the little ring-tailed monkey.] + +[Footnote 24: One-time-one, _i.e._ multiplication-table.] + +[Footnote 25: "Hand and glove." The translator's coincidence with Miss +Swanwick here was entirely accidental. The German is "thou and thou," +alluding to the fact that intimate friends among the Germans, like the +sect of Friends, call each other _thou_.] + +[Footnote 26: The following is a literal translation of the song referred +to:-- + + Were I a little bird, + Had I two wings of mine, + I'd fly to my dear; + But that can never be, + So I stay here. + + Though I am far from thee, + Sleeping I'm near to thee, + Talk with my dear; + When I awake again, + I am alone. + + Scarce is there an hour in the night, + When sleep does not take its flight, + And I think of thee, + How many thousand times + Thou gav'st thy heart to me.] + +[Footnote 27: Donjon. The original is _Zwinger_, which Hayward says is +untranslatable. It probably means an old tower, such as is often found in +the free cities, where, in a dark passage-way, a lamp is sometimes placed, +and a devotional image near it.] + +[Footnote 28: It was a superstitious belief that the presence of buried +treasure was indicated by a blue flame.] + +[Footnote 29: Lion-dollars--a Bohemian coin, first minted three centuries +ago, by Count Schlick, from the mines of Joachim's-Thal. The one side +bears a lion, the other a full length image of St. John.] + +[Footnote 30: An imitation of Ophelia's song: _Hamlet_, act 14, scene 5.] + +[Footnote 31: The Rat-catcher was supposed to have the art of drawing rats +after him by his whistle, like a sort of Orpheus.] + +[Footnote 32: Walpurgis Night. May-night. Walpurgis is the female saint +who converted the Saxons to Christianity.--The Brocken or Blocksberg is +the highest peak of the Harz mountains, which comprise about 1350 square +miles.--Schirke and Elend are two villages in the neighborhood.] + +[Footnote 33: Shelley's translation of this couplet is very fine: +("_O si sic omnia!_") + + "The giant-snouted crags, ho! ho! + How they snort and how they blow!"] + +[Footnote 34: The original is _Windsbraut_, (wind's-bride,) the word used +in Luther's Bible to translate Paul's _Euroclydon_.] + +[Footnote 35: One of the names of the devil in Germany.] + +[Footnote 36: One of the names of Beelzebub.] + +[Footnote 37: "The Talmudists say that Adam had a wife called Lilis before +he married Eve, and of her he begat nothing but devils." + _Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy_. + +A learned writer says that _Lullaby_ is derived from "Lilla, abi!" "Begone +Lilleth!" she having been supposed to lie in wait for children to kill +them.] + +[Footnote 38: This name, derived from two Greek words meaning _rump_ and +_fancy_, was meant for Nicolai of Berlin, a great hater of Goethe's +writings, and is explained by the fact that the man had for a long time a +violent affection of the nerves, and by the application he made of leeches +as a remedy, (alluded to by Mephistopheles.)] + +[Footnote 39: Tegel (mistranslated _pond_ by Shelley) is a small place a +few miles from Berlin, whose inhabitants were, in 1799, hoaxed by a ghost +story, of which the scene was laid in the former place.] + +[Footnote 40: The park in Vienna.] + +[Footnote 41: He was scene-painter to the Weimar theatre.] + +[Footnote 42: A poem of Schiller's, which gave great offence to the +religious people of his day.] + +[Footnote 43: A literal translation of _Maulen_, but a slang-term in +Yankee land.] + +[Footnote 44: Epigrams, published from time to time by Goethe and Schiller +jointly. Hennings (whose name heads the next quatrain) was editor of the +_Musaget_, (a title of Apollo, "leader of the muses,") and also of the +_Genius of the Age_. The other satirical allusions to classes of +notabilities will, without difficulty, be guessed out by the readers.] + +[Footnote 45: "_Doubt_ is the only rhyme for devil," in German.] + +[Footnote 46: The French translator, Stapfer, assigns as the probable +reason why this scene alone, of the whole drama, should have been left in +prose, "that it might not be said that Faust wanted any one of the +possible forms of style."] + +[Footnote 47: Literally the _raven-stone_.] + +[Footnote 48: The _blood-seat_, in allusion to the old German custom of +tying a woman, who was to be beheaded, into a wooden chair.] + + * * * * * + +P. S. There is a passage on page 84, the speech of Faust, ending with the +lines:-- + + Show me the fruit that, ere it's plucked, will rot, + And trees from which new green is daily peeping, + +which seems to have puzzled or misled so much, not only English +translators, but even German critics, that the present translator has +concluded, for once, to depart from his usual course, and play the +commentator, by giving his idea of Goethe's meaning, which is this: Faust +admits that the devil has all the different kinds of Sodom-apples which he +has just enumerated, gold that melts away in the hand, glory that vanishes +like a meteor, and pleasure that perishes in the possession. But all these +torments are too insipid for Faust's morbid and mad hankering after the +luxury of spiritual pain. Show me, he says, the fruit that rots _before_ +one can pluck it, and [a still stronger expression of his diseased craving +for agony] trees that fade so quickly as to be every day just putting +forth new green, only to tantalize one with perpetual promise and +perpetual disappointment. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Faust, by Goethe + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FAUST *** + +***** This file should be named 14460.txt or 14460.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/4/6/14460/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Bidwell and the PG Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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