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+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.net

+

+

+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

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