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Faust
TRANSLATED BY ANNA
SWANWICK
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STUDY
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FAUST (entering
with the poodle)
Now field and meadow I’ve forsaken; |
O’er them deep night
her veil doth draw; |
In us the better soul
doth waken, |
With feelings of
foreboding awe, |
All lawless promptings,
deeds unholy, |
Now slumber, and all
wild desires; |
The love of man doth
sway us wholly, |
And love to God the
soul inspires. |
|
Peace, poodle, peace!
Scamper not thus; obey me! |
Why at the threshold
snuffest thou so? |
Behind the stove now
quietly lay thee, |
My softest cushion to thee
I’ll throw. |
As thou, without, didst
please and amuse me |
Running and frisking about
on the hill, |
So tendance now I will not
refuse thee; |
A welcome guest, if thou’lt
be still. |
|
Ah! when the friendly
taper gloweth, |
Once more within our
narrow cell, |
Then in the heart
itself that knoweth, |
A light the darkness
doth dispel. |
Reason her voice
resumes; returneth |
Hope’s gracious bloom,
with promise rife; |
For streams of life the
spirit yearneth, |
Ah! for the very fount
of life. |
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Poodle, snarl not! with the
tone that arises, |
Hallow’d and peaceful, my
soul within, |
Accords not thy growl, thy
bestial din. |
We find it not strange,
that man despises |
What he conceives not; |
That he the good and fair
misprizes— |
Finding them often beyond
his ken; |
Will the dog snarl at them
like men? |
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But ah! Despite my will, it
stands confessed, |
Contentment welleth up no
longer in my breast. |
Yet wherefore must the
stream, alas, so soon be dry, |
That we once more athirst
should lie? |
Full oft this sad
experience hath been mine; |
Nathless the want admits of
compensation; |
For things above the earth
we learn to pine, |
Our spirits yearn for
revelation, |
Which nowhere burns with
purer beauty blent, |
Than here in the New
Testament. |
To ope the ancient text an
impulse strong |
Impels me, and its sacred
lore, |
With honest purpose to
explore, |
And render into my love
German tongue. (He opens a volume, and applies
himself to it.) |
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’Tis writ, “In the
beginning was the Word!” |
I pause, perplex’d! Who now
will help afford? |
I cannot the mere Word so
highly prize; |
I must translate it
otherwise, |
If by the spirit guided as
I read. |
“In the beginning was the
Sense!” Take heed, |
The import of this primal
sentence weigh, |
Lest thy too hasty pen be
led astray! |
Is force creative then of
Sense the dower? |
“In the beginning was the
Power!” |
Thus should it stand: yet,
while the line I trace, |
A something warns me, once
more to efface. |
The spirit aids! from
anxious scruples freed, |
I write, “In the beginning
was the Deed!” |
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Am I with thee my room
to share, |
Poodle, thy barking now
forbear, |
Forbear thy howling! |
Comrade so noisy, ever
growling, |
I cannot suffer here to
dwell. |
One or the other, mark
me well, |
Forthwith must leave
the cell. |
I’m loath the
guest-right to withhold; |
The door’s ajar, the
passage clear; |
But what must now mine
eyes behold! |
Are nature’s laws
suspended here? |
Real is it, or a
phantom show? |
In length and breadth
how doth my poodle grow! |
He lifts himself with
threat’ning mien, |
In likeness of a dog no
longer seen! |
What spectre have I
harbour’d thus! |
Huge as a hippopotamus, |
With fiery eye,
terrific tooth! |
Ah! now I know thee,
sure enough! |
For such a base,
half-hellish brood, |
The key of Solomon is
good. |
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SPIRITS (without)
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Captur’d there within
is one! |
Stay without and follow
none! |
Like a fox in iron
snare, |
Hell’s old lynx is
quaking there, |
But take heed! |
Hover round, above,
below, |
To and fro, |
Then from durance is he
freed! |
Can ye aid him, spirits
all, |
Leave him not in mortal
thrall! |
Many a time and oft
hath he |
Served us, when at
liberty. |
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FAUST
The monster to confront, at first, |
The spell of Four must be
rehears’d; |
|
Salamander shall
kindle, |
Writhe nymph of the
wave, |
In air sylph shall
dwindle, |
And Kobold shall
slave. |
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Who doth ignore |
The primal Four, |
Nor knows aright |
Their use and might, |
O’er spirits will he |
Ne’er master be! |
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Vanish in the fiery
glow, |
Salamander! |
Rushingly together
flow. |
Undine! |
Shimmer in the meteor’s
gleam, |
Sylphide! |
Hither bring thine
homely aid, |
Incubus! Incubus! |
Step forth! I do adjure
thee thus! |
None of the Four |
Lurks in the beast: |
He grins at me, untroubled
as before; |
I have not hurt him in the
least. |
A spell of fear |
Thou now shalt hear. |
Art thou, comrade fell, |
Fugitive from Hell? |
See then this sign, |
Before which incline |
The murky troops of
Hell! |
With bristling hair now
doth the creature swell. |
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Canst thou, reprobate, |
Read the uncreate, |
Unspeakable, diffused |
Throughout the heavenly
sphere, |
Shamefully abused, |
Transpierced with nail
and spear! |
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Behind the stove, tam’d by
my spells, |
Like an elephant he swells; |
Wholly now he fills the
room, |
He into mist will melt
away. |
Ascend not to the ceiling!
Come, |
Thyself at the master’s
feet now lay! |
Thou seest that mine is no
idle threat. |
With holy fire I will
scorch thee yet! |
Wait not the might |
That lies in the
triple-glowing light! |
Wait not the might |
Of all my arts in fullest
measure! |
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MEPHISTOPHELES
(As the mist sinks, comes forward from behind the
stove, in the dress of a travelling scholar)
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Why all this uproar? What’s
the master’s pleasure? |
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FAUST
This then the kernel of the brute! |
A traveling scholar? Why I
needs must smile. |
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MEPHISTOPHELES
Your learned reverence humbly I salute! |
You’ve made me swelter in a
pretty style. |
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FAUST
Thy name? |
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MEPHISTOPHELES
The question trifling seems from one, |
Who it appears the Word
doth rate so low; |
Who, undeluded by mere
outward show, |
To Being’s depths would
penetrate alone. |
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FAUST
With gentlemen like you indeed |
The inward essence
from the name we read, |
As all too plainly
it doth appear, |
When Beelzebub,
Destroyer, Liar, meets the ear. |
Who then art thou? |
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MEPHISTOPHELES
Part of that power which still |
Produceth good,
whilst ever scheming ill. |
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FAUST
What hidden mystery in this riddle lies? |
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MEPHISTOPHELES
The spirit I, which evermore denies! |
And justly; for
whate’er to light is brought |
Deserves again to
be reduced to naught; |
Then better ’twere
that naught should be. |
Thus all the
elements which ye |
Destruction, Sin,
or briefly, Evil, name, |
As my peculiar
element I claim. |
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FAUST
Thou nam’st thyself a part, and yet a whole I
see. |
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MEPHISTOPHELES
The modest truth I speak to thee. |
Though folly’s
microcosm, man, it seems, |
Himself to be a
perfect whole esteems: |
Part of the part am
I, which at the first was all, |
A part of darkness,
which gave birth to light, |
Proud light, who
now his mother would enthrall, |
Contesting space
and ancient rank with night. |
Yet he succeedeth
not, for struggle as he will, |
To forms material
he adhereth still; |
From them he
streameth, them he maketh fair, |
And still the
progress of his beams they check; |
And so, I trust,
when comes the final wreck, |
Light will, ere
long, the doom of matter share. |
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FAUST
Thy worthy avocation now I guess! |
Wholesale
annihilation won’t prevail, |
So thou’rt
beginning on a smaller scale. |
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MEPHISTOPHELES
And, to say truth, as yet with small success. |
Oppos’d to naught,
this clumsy world, |
The something—it
subsisteth still; |
Not yet is it to
ruin hurl’d, |
Despite the efforts
of my will. |
Tempests and
earthquakes, fire and flood, I’ve tried; |
Yet land and ocean
still unchang’d abide! |
And then of
humankind and beasts, the accursed brood,— |
Neither o’er them
can I extend my sway. |
What countless
myriads have I swept away! |
Yet ever circulates
the fresh young blood. |
It is enough to
drive me to despair! |
As in the earth, in
water, and in air, |
A thousand germs
burst forth spontaneously; |
In moisture,
drought, heat, cold, they still appear! |
Had I not flame
selected as my sphere |
Nothing apart had
been reversed for me. |
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FAUST
So thou with thy cold devil’s fist |
Still clench’d in
malice impotent |
Dost the creative
power resist, |
The active, the
beneficent! |
Henceforth some
other task essay, |
Of Chaos thou the
wondrous son! |
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MEPHISTOPHELES
We will consider what you say, |
And talk about it
more anon! |
For this time have
I leave to go? |
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FAUST
Why thou shouldst ask, I cannot see. |
Since thee I now
have learned to know, |
At thy good
pleasure, visit me. |
Here is the window,
here the door, |
The chimney, too,
may serve thy need. |
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MEPHISTOPHELES
I must confess, my stepping o’er |
Thy threshold a
slight hindrance doth impede; |
The wizard-foot
doth me retain. |
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FAUST
The pentagram thy peace doth mar? |
To me, thou son of
hell, explain, |
How camest thou in,
if this thine exit bar? |
Could such a spirit
aught ensnare? |
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MEPHISTOPHELES
Observe it well, it is not drawn with care, |
One of the angles,
that which points without, |
Is, as thou seest,
not quite closed. |
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FAUST
Chance hath the matter happily dispos’d! |
So thou my captive
art? No doubt! |
By accident thou
thus art caught! |
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MEPHISTOPHELES
In sprang the dog, indeed, observing naught; |
Things now assume
another shape, |
The devil’s in the
house and can’t escape. |
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FAUST
Why through the window not withdraw? |
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MEPHISTOPHELES
For ghosts and for the devil ’tis a law. |
Where they stole
in, there they must forth. We’re free |
The first to
choose; as to the second, slaves are we. |
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FAUST
E’en hell hath its peculiar laws, I see! |
I’m glad of that! a
pact may then be made, |
The which you
gentlemen will surely keep? |
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MEPHISTOPHELES
What e’er therein is promised thou shalt reap, |
No tittle shall
remain unpaid. |
But such
arrangements time require; |
We’ll speak of them
when next we meet; |
Most earnestly I
now entreat, |
This once
permission to retire. |
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FAUST
Another moment prithee here remain, |
Me with some happy
word to pleasure. |
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MEPHISTOPHELES
Now let me go! ere long I’ll come again, |
Then thou may’st
question at thy leisure. |
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FAUST
’Twas not my purpose thee to lime; |
The snare hast
entered of thine own free will: |
Let him who holds
the devil, hold him still! |
So soon he’ll catch
him not a second time. |
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MEPHISTOPHELES
If it so please thee, I’m at thy command; |
Only on this
condition, understand; |
That worthily thy
leisure to beguile, |
I here may exercise
my arts awhile. |
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FAUST
Thou’rt free to do so! Gladly I’ll attend; |
But be thine art a
pleasant one! |
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MEPHISTOPHELES
My friend, |
This hour enjoyment
more intense, |
Shall captivate
each ravish’d sense, |
Than thou could’st
compass in the bound |
Of the whole year’s
unvarying round; |
And what the dainty
spirits sing, |
The lovely images
they bring. |
Are no fantastic
sorcery. |
Rich odours shall
regale your smell, |
On choicest sweets
your palate dwell, |
Your feelings
thrill with ecstasy. |
No preparation do
we need, |
Here we together
are. Proceed. |
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SPIRITS
Hence overshadowing gloom, |
Vanish from
sight! |
O’er us thine
azure dome, |
Bend, beauteous
light! |
Dark clouds
that o’er us spread, |
Melt in thin
air! |
Stars, your
soft radiance shed, |
Tender and
fair. |
Girt with
celestial might, |
Winging their
airy flight, |
Spirits are
thronging. |
Follows their
forms of light |
Infinite
longing! |
Flutter their
vestures bright |
O’er field and
grove! |
Where in their
leafy bower |
Lovers the
livelong hour |
Vow deathless
love. |
Soft bloometh
bud and bower! |
Bloometh the
grove! |
Grapes from the
spreading vine |
Crown the full
measure; |
Fountains of
foaming wine |
Gush from the
pressure. |
Still where the
currents wind, |
Gems brightly
gleam. |
Leaving the
hills behind |
On rolls the
stream; |
Now into ample
seas, |
Spreadeth the
flood; |
Laving the
sunny leas, |
Mantled with
wood. |
Rapture the
feather’d throng, |
Gaily
careering, |
Sip as they
float along; |
Sunward they’re
steering; |
On towards the
isles of light |
Winging their
way, |
That on the
waters bright |
Dancingly play. |
Hark to the
choral strain, |
Joyfully
ringing! |
While on the
grassy plain |
Dancers are
springing; |
Climbing the
steep hill’s side, |
Skimming the
glassy tide, |
Wander they
there; |
Others on
pinions wide |
Wing the blue
air; |
All lifeward
tending, upward still wending, |
Towards yonder
stars that gleam, |
Far, far above; |
Stars from
whose tender beam |
Rains blissful
love. |
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MEPHISTOPHELES
Well done, my dainty spirits! now he slumbers! |
Ye have entranc’d
him fairly with your numbers! |
This minstrelsy of
yours I must repay,— |
Thou art not yet
the man to hold the devil fast!— |
With fairest shapes
your spells around him cast, |
And plunge him in a
sea of dreams! |
But that this charm
be rent, the threshold passed, |
Tooth of rat the
way must clear. |
I need not conjure
long it seems, |
One rustles
hitherward, and soon my voice will hear. |
The master of the
rats and mice, |
Of flies and frogs,
of bugs and lice, |
Commands thy
presence; without fear |
Come forth and gnaw
the threshold here, |
Where he with oil
has smear’d it.—Thou |
Com’st hopping
forth already! Now |
To work! The point
that holds me bound |
Is in the outer
angle found. |
Another bite—so-now
’tis done— |
Now, Faustus, till
we meet again, dream on. |
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FAUST (awaking)
Am I once more deluded! must I deem |
That thus the
throng of spirits disappear? |
The devil’s
presence, was it but a dream? |
Hath but a poodle
scap’d and left me here? |
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STUDY |
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FAUST.
MEPHISTOPHELES. |
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FAUST
A knock? Come in! Who now would break my rest? |
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MEPHISTOPHELES
’Tis I! |
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FAUST
Come in! |
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MEPHISTOPHELES
Thrice be the words express’d. |
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FAUST
Then I repeat, Come in! |
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MEPHISTOPHELES
’Tis well, |
I hope that we
shall soon agree! |
For now your
fancies to expel, |
Here, as a youth of
high degree, |
I come in gold-lac’d
scarlet vest, |
And stiff-silk
mantle richly dress’d, |
A cock’s gay
feather for a plume, |
A long and pointed
rapier, too; |
And briefly I would
counsel you |
To don at once the
same costume, |
And, free from
trammels, speed away, |
That what life is
you may essay. |
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FAUST
In every garb I needs must feel oppress’d, |
My heart to earth’s
low cares a prey. |
Too old the
trifler’s part to play, |
Too young to live
by no desire possess’d. |
What can the world
to me afford? |
Renounce! renouce!
is still the word; |
This is the
everlasting song |
In every ear that
ceaseless rings, |
And which, alas,
our whole life long, |
Hoarsely each
passing moment sings. |
But to new horror I
awake each morn, |
And I could weep
hot tears, to see the sun |
Dawn on another
day, whose round forlorn |
Accomplishes no
wish of mine—not one. |
Which still, with
froward captiousness, impains |
E’en the
presentiment of every joy, |
While low realities
and paltry cares |
The spirit’s fond
imaginings destroy. |
Then must I too,
when falls the veil of night, |
Stretch’d on my
pallet languish in despair, |
Appalling dreams my
soul affright; |
No rest vouchsafed
me even there. |
The god, who
throned within my breast resides, |
Deep in my soul can
stir the springs; |
With sovereign sway
my energies he guides, |
He cannot move
external things; |
And so existence is
to me a weight. |
Death fondly I
desire, and life I hate. |
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MEPHISTOPHELES
And yet, methinks, by most ’twill be confess’d |
That Death is never
quite a welcome guest. |
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FAUST
Happy the man around whose brow he binds |
The bloodstain’d
wreath in conquest’s dazzling hour; |
Or whom, excited by
the dance, he finds |
Dissolv’d in bliss,
in love’s delicious bower! |
O that before the
lofty spirit’s might, |
Enraptured, I had
rendered up my soul! |
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MEPHISTOPHELES
Yet did a certain man refrain one night, |
Of its brown juice
to drain the crystal bowl. |
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FAUST
To play the spy diverts you then? |
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MEPHISTOPHELES
I own, |
Though not
omniscient, much to me is known. |
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FAUST
If o’er my soul the tone familiar, stealing, |
Drew me from
harrowing thought’s bewild’ring maze, |
Touching the
ling’ring chords of childlike feeling, |
With sweet
harmonies of happier days: |
So curse I all,
around the soul that windeth |
Its magic and
alluring spell, |
And with delusive
flattery bindeth |
Its victim to this
dreary cell! |
Curs’d before all
things be the high opinion, |
Wherewith the
spirit girds itself around! |
Of shows delusive
curs’d be the dominion, |
Within whose
mocking sphere our sense is bound! |
Accurs’d of dreams
the treacherous wiles, |
The cheat of glory,
deathless fame! |
Accurs’d what each
as property beguiles, |
Wife, child, slave,
plough, whate’er its name! |
Accurs’d be mammon,
when with treasure |
He doth to daring
deeds incite: |
Or when to steep
the soul in pleasure, |
He spreads the
couch of soft delight! |
Curs’d be the
grape’s balsamic juice! |
Accurs’d love’s
dream, of joys the first! |
Accurs’d be hope!
accurs’d be faith! |
And more than all,
be patience curs’d! |
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CHORUS
OF SPIRITS (invisible)
|
|
Woe! Woe! |
Thou hast
destroy’d |
The beautiful
world |
With violent
blow; |
’Tis shiver’d!
’tis shatter’d! |
The fragments
abroad by a demigod scatter’d! |
Now we sweep |
The wrecks into
nothingness! |
Fondly we weep |
The beauty
that’s gone! |
Thou, ’mongst
the sons of earth, |
Lofty and
mighty one, |
Build it once
more! |
In thine own
bosom the lost world restore! |
Now with
unclouded sense |
Enter a new
career; |
Songs shall
salute thine ear, |
Ne’er heard
before! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
My little ones these spirits be. |
Hark! with shrewd
intelligence, |
How they recommend
to thee |
Action, and the
joys of sense! |
In the busy world
to dwell, |
Fain they would
allure thee hence: |
For within this
lonely cell, |
Stagnate sap of
life and sense. |
|
Forbear to trifle
longer with thy grief, |
Which,
vulture-like, consumes thee in this den. |
The worst society
is some relief, |
Making thee feel
thyself a man with men. |
Nathless, it is not
meant, I trow, |
To thrust thee ’mid
the vulgar throng. |
I to the upper
ranks do not belong; |
Yet if, by me
companion’d, thou |
Thy steps through
life forthwith wilt take, |
Upon the spot
myself I’ll make |
Thy comrade;— |
Should it suit thy
need, |
I am thy servant,
am thy slave indeed! |
|

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FAUST
And how must I thy services repay? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Thereto thou lengthen’d repite hast! |
|
FAUST
No! No! |
The devil is an
egoist I know: |
And, for Heaven’s
sake, ’tis not his way |
Kindness to any one
to show. |
Let the condition
plainly be exprest! |
Such a domestic is
a dangerous guest. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
I’ll pledge myself to be thy servant here, |
Still at thy back
alert and prompt to be; |
But when together
yonder we appear, |
Then shalt thou do
the same for me. |
|
FAUST
But small concern I feel for yonder world; |
Hast thou this
system into ruin hurl’d, |
Another may arise
the void to fill. |
This earth the
fountain whence my pleasures flow, |
This sun doth daily
shine upon my woe, |
And if this world I
must forego, |
Let happen
then,—what can and will. |
I to this theme
will close mine ears, |
If men hereafter
hate and love, |
And if there be in
yonder spheres |
A depth below or
height above. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
In this mood thou mayst venture it. But make |
The compact! I at
once will undertake |
To charm thee with
mine arts. I’ll give thee more |
Than mortal eye
hath e’er beheld before. |
|

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FAUST
What, sorry Devil, hast thou to bestow? |
Was ever mortal
spirit, in its high endeavour, |
Fathom’d by Being
such as thou? |
Yet food thou hast
which satisfieth never, |
Hast ruddy gold,
that still doth flow |
Like restless
quicksilver away, |
A game thou hast,
at which none win who play, |
A girl who would,
with amorous eyen, |
E’en from my
breast, a neighbour snare, |
Lofty ambition’s
joy divine, |
That, meteor-like,
dissolves in air. |
Show me the fruit
that, ere ’tis pluck’d, doth rot, |
And trees, whose
verdure daily buds anew! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Such a commission scares me not, |
I can provide such
treasures, it is true; |
But, my good
friend, a season will come round, |
When on what’s good
we may regale in peace. |
|
FAUST
If e’er upon my couch, stretched at my ease, I’m
found, |
Then may my life
that instant cease! |
Me canst thou cheat
with glozing wile |
Till self-reproach
away I cast,— |
Me with joy’s lure
canst thou beguile;— |
Let that day be for
me the last! |
Be this our wager! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Settled! |
|
FAUST
Sure and fast! |
When to the moment
I shall say, |
“Linger awhile! so
fair thou art!” |
Then mayst thou
fetter me straightway, |
Then to the abyss
will I depart! |
Then may the solemn
death-bell sound, |
Then from thy
service thou art free, |
The index then may
cease its round. |
And time be never
more for me! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
I shall remember: pause, ere ’tis too late. |
|
FAUST
Thereto a perfect right hast thou. |
My strength I do
not rashly overrate. |
Slave am I here, at
any rate, |
If thine, or whose,
it matters not, I trow. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
At thine inaugural feast I will this day |
Attend, my duties
to commence.— |
But one
thing!—Accidents may happen, hence |
A line or two in
writing grant, I pray. |
|
FAUST
A writing, Pedant! dost demand from me? |
Man, and man’s
plighted word, are these unknown to thee? |
Is’t not enough,
that by the word I gave, |
My doom for
evermore is cast? |
Doth not the world
in all its currents rave, |
And must a promise
hold me fast? |
Yet fixed is this
delusion in our heart; |
Who, of his own
free will, therefrom would part? |
How blest within
whose breast truth reigneth pure! |
No sacrifice will
he repent when made! |
A formal deed, with
seal and signature, |
A spectre this from
which all shrink afraid. |
The word its life
resigneth in the pen, |
Leather and wax
usurp the mastery then. |
Spirits of evil!
what dost thou require? |
Brass, marble,
parchment, paper, dost desire? |
Shall I with
chisel, pen, or graver write? |
Thy choice is free;
to me ’tis all the same. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Wherefore thy passion so excite |
And thus thine
eloquence inflame? |
A scrap is for our
compact good. |
Thou under-signest
merely with a drop of blood. |
|
FAUST
If this will satisfy thy mind, |
Thy whim I’ll
gratify, howe’er absurd. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Blood is a juice of very special kind. |
|
FAUST
Be not afraid that I shall break my word! |
The scope of all my
energy |
Is in exact
accordance with my vow. |
Vainly I have
aspired too high; |
I’m on a level but
with such as thou; |
Me the great spirit
scorn’d, defied; |
Nature from me
herself doth hide; |
Rent is the web of
thought; my mind |
Doth knowledge
loathe of every kind. |
In depths of
sensual pleasure drown’d, |
Let us our fiery
passions still! |
Enwrapp’d in
magic’s veil profound, |
Let wondrous charms
our senses thrill! |
Plunge we in time’s
tempestuous flow, |
Stem we the rolling
surge of chance! |
There may alternate
weal and woe, |
Success and
failure, as they can, |
Mingle and shift in
changeful dance! |
Excitement is the
sphere for man. |
|

|
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Nor goal, nor measure is prescrib’d to you, |
If you desire to
taste of every thing, |
To snatch at joy
while on the wing, |
May your career
amuse and profit too! |
Only fall to and
don’t be over coy! |
|
FAUST
Hearken! The end I aim at is not joy; |
I crave excitement,
agonizing bliss, |
Enamour’d hatred,
quickening vexation. |
Purg’d from the
love of knowledge, my vocation, |
The scope of all my
powers henceforth be this, |
To bare my breast
to every pang,—to know |
In my heart’s core
all human weal and woe, |
To grasp in thought
the lofty and the deep, |
Men’s various
fortunes on my breast to heap, |
And thus to theirs
dilate my individual mind, |
And share at length
with them the shipwreck of mankind. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Oh, credit me, who still as ages roll, |
Have chew’d this
bitter fare from year to year, |
No mortal, from the
cradle to the bier, |
Digests the ancient
leaven! Know, this Whole |
Doth for the Deity
alone subsist! |
He in eternal
brightness doth exist, |
Us unto darkness he
hath brought, and here |
Where day and night
alternate, is your sphere. |
|
FAUST
But ’tis my will! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Well spoken, I admit! |
But one thing
puzzles me, my friend; |
Time’s short, art
long; methinks ’twere fit |
That you to
friendly counsel should attend. |
A poet choose as
your ally! |
Let him thought’s
wide dominion sweep, |
Each good and noble
quality, |
Upon your honoured
brow to heap; |
The lion’s
magnanimity, |
The fleetness of
the hind, |
The fiery blood of
Italy, |
The Northern’s
steadfast mind. |
Let him to you the
mystery show |
To blend high aims
and cunning low; |
And while youth’s
passions are aflame |
To fall in love by
rule and plan! |
I fain would meet
with such a man; |
Would him Sir
Microcosmus name. |
|
FAUST
What then am I, if I aspire in vain |
The crown of our
humanity to gain, |
Towards which my
every sense doth strain? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Thou’rt after all-just what thou art. |
Put on thy head a
wig with countless locks, |
And to a cubit’s
height upraise thy socks, |
Still thou
remainest ever, what thou art. |
|
FAUST
I fell it, I have heap’d upon my brain |
The gather’d
treasure of man’s thought in vain; |
And when at length
from studious toil I rest, |
No power, new-born,
springs up within my breast; |
A hair’s breadth is
not added to my height, |
I am no nearer to
the infinite. |
|

|
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Good sir, these things you view indeed, |
Just as by other
men they’re view’d; |
We must more
cleverly proceed, |
Before life’s joys
our grasp elude. |
The devil! thou
hast hands and feet, |
And head and heart
are also thine; |
What I enjoy with
relish sweet, |
Is it on that
account less mine? |
If for six
stallions I can pay, |
|
|
|
|
|
Do I not own their strength
and speed? |
A proper man I dash away, |
As their two dozen legs
were mine indeed. |
Up then, from idle
pondering free, |
And forth into the world
with me! |
I tell you what;—your
speculative churl |
Is like a beast which some
ill spirit leads, |
On barren wilderness, in
ceaseless whirl, |
While all around lie fair
and verdant meads. |
|
FAUST
But how shall we begin? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
We will go hence with speed, |
A place of torment this
indeed! |
A precious life, thyself to
bore, |
And some few youngster
evermore! |
Leave that to neighbour
Paunch!—withdraw, |
Why wilt thou plague
thyself with thrashing straw? |
The very best that thou
dost know |
Thou dar’st not to the
striplings show. |
One in the passage now doth
wait! |
|
FAUST
I’m in no mood to see him now. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Poor lad! He must be tired, I trow; |
He must not go
disconsolate. |
Hand me thy cap and gown;
the mask |
Is for my purpose quite
first rate. (He changes his dress.) |
Now leave it to my wit! I
ask |
But quarter of an hour;
meanwhile equip, |
And make all ready for our
pleasant trip! (Exit FAUST.) |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES (in
FAUST’S long gown)
Mortal! the loftiest attributes of men, |
Reason and Knowledge, only
thus contemn, |
Still let the Prince of
lies, without control, |
With shows, and mocking
charms delude thy soul, |
I have thee unconditionally
then! |
Fate hath endow’d him with
an ardent mind, |
Which unrestrain’d still
presses on for ever, |
And whose precipitate
endeavour |
Earth’s joys o’erleaping,
leaveth them behind. |
Him will I drag through
life’s wild waste, |
Through scenes of vapid
dulness, where at last |
Bewilder’d, he shall
falter, and stick fast; |
And, still to mock his
greedy haste, |
Viands and drink shall
float his craving lips beyond— |
Vainly he’ll seek
refreshment, anguish-tost, |
And were he not the devil’s
by his bond, |
Yet must his soul
infallibly be lost! |
|

|
|
A STUDENT
enters
|
|
STUDENT
But recently I’ve quitted home, |
Full of devotion am I come |
A man to know and hear,
whose name |
With reverence is known to
fame. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Your courtesy much flatters me! |
A man like other men you
see; |
Pray have you yet applied
elsewhere? |
|
STUDENT
I would entreat your friendly care! |
I’ve youthful blood and
courage high; |
Of gold I bring a fair
supply; |
To let me go my mother was
not fain; |
But here I longed true
knowledge to attain. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
You’ve hit upon the very place. |
|
STUDENT
And yet my steps I would retrace. |
These walls, this
melancholy room, |
O’erpower me with a sense
of gloom; |
The space is narrow,
nothing green, |
No friendly tree is to be
seen: |
And in these halls, with
benches filled, distraught, |
Sight, hearing fail me, and
the power of thought. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
It all depends on habit. Thus at first |
The infant takes not kindly
to the breast, |
But before long, its eager
thirst |
Is fain to slake with
hearty zest: |
Thus at the breasts of
wisdom day by day |
With keener relish you’ll
your thirst allay. |
|
STUDENT
Upon her neck I fain would hang with joy; |
To reach it, say, what
means must I employ? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Explain, ere further time we lose, |
What special faculty you
choose? |
|
STUDENT
Profoundly learned I would grow, |
What heaven contains would
comprehend, |
O’er earth’s wide realm my
gaze extend, |
Nature and science I desire
to know. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Your are upon the proper track, I find; |
Take heed, let nothing
dissipate your mind. |
|
STUDENT
My heart and soul are in the chase! |
Though to be sure I fain
would seize, |
On pleasant summer
holidays, |
A little liberty and
careless ease. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Use well your time, so rapidly it flies; |
Method will teach you time
to win; |
Hence, my young friend, I
would advise, |
With college logic to
begin! |
Then will your mind be so
well braced, |
In Spanish boots so tightly
laced, |
That on ’twill
circumspectly creep, |
Thought’s beaten track
securely keep, |
Nor will it, ignis-fatuus
like, |
Into the path of error
strike. |
Then many a day they’ll
teach you how |
The mind’s spontaneous
acts, till now |
As eating and as drinking
free, |
Require a process;—one!
two! three! |
In truth the subtle web of
thought |
Is like the weaver’s fabric
wrought: |
One treadle moves a
thousand lines, |
Swift dart the shuttles to
and fro, |
Unseen the threads together
flow, |
A thousand knots one stroke
combines. |
Then forward steps your
sage to show, |
And prove to you, it must
be so; |
The first being so, and so
the second, |
The third and fourth
deduc’d we see; |
And if there were no first
and second, |
Nor third nor fourth would
ever be. |
This, scholars of all
countries prize,— |
Yet ’mong themselves no
weavers rise.— |
He who would know and treat
of aught alive, |
Seeks first the living
spirit thence to drive: |
Then are the lifeless
fragments in his hand, |
There only fails, alas! the
spirit-band. |
This process, chemists
name, in learned thesis, |
Mocking themselves,
Naturæ encheiresis. |
|

|
|
STUDENT
Your words I cannot full comprehend. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
In a short time you will improve, my friend, |
When of scholastic forms
you learn the use; |
And how by method all
things to reduce. |
|
STUDENT
So doth all this my brain confound, |
As if a mill-wheel there
were turning round. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
And next, before aught else you learn, |
You must with zeal to
metaphysics turn! |
There see that you
profoundly comprehend, |
What doth the limit of
man’s brain transcend; |
For that which is or is not
in the head |
A sounding phrase will
serve you in good stead. |
But before all strive this
half year |
From one fix’d order ne’er
to swerve! |
Five lectures daily you
must hear; |
The hour still punctually
observe! |
Yourself with studious zeal
prepare, |
And closely in your manual
look, |
Hereby may you be quite
aware |
That all he utters standeth
in the book; |
Yet write away without
cessation, |
As at the Holy Ghost’s
dictation! |
|
STUDENT
This, Sir, a second time you need not say! |
Your counsel I appreciate
quite; |
What we possess in black
and white, |
We can in peace and comfort
bear away. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
A faculty I pray you name. |
|
STUDENT
For jurisprudence, some distaste I own. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
To me this branch of science is well known, |
And hence I cannot your
repugnance blame. |
Customs and laws in every
place, |
Like a disease, an
heir-loom dread, |
Still trail their curse
from race to race, |
And furtively abroad they
spread. |
To nonsense, reason’s self
they turn; |
Beneficence becomes a pest; |
Woe unto thee, that thou’rt
a grandson born! |
As for the law born with
us, unexpressed;— |
That law, alas, none careth
to discern. |
|

|
|
STUDENT
You deepen my dislike. The youth |
Whom you instruct, is blest
in sooth! |
To try theology I feel
inclined. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
I would not lead you willingly astray, |
But as regards this
science, you will find |
So hard it is to shun the
erring way, |
And so much hidden poison
lies therein, |
Which scarce can you
discern from medicine. |
Here too it is the best, to
listen but to one, |
And by the master’s words
to swear alone. |
To sum up all—To words hold
fast! |
Then the safe gate securely
pass’d, |
You’ll reach the fane of
certainty at last. |
|
STUDENT
But then some meaning must the words convey. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Right! But o’er-anxious thought, you’ll find of no
avail, |
For there precisely where
ideas fail, |
A word comes opportunely
into play |
Most admirable weapons
words are found, |
On words a system we
securely ground, |
In words we can
conveniently believe, |
Nor of a single jot can we
a word bereave. |
|
STUDENT
Your pardon for my importunity; |
Yet once more must I
trouble you: |
On medicine, I’ll thank you
to supply |
A pregnant utterance or
two! |
Three years! how brief the
appointed tide! |
The field, heaven knows, is
all too wide! |
If but a friendly hint be
thrown, |
’Tis easier then to feel
one’s way. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES (aside)
I’m weary of the dry pedantic tone, |
And must again the genuine
devil play. |
|
(Aloud)
Of medicine the spirit’s caught with ease, |
The great and little world
you study through, |
That things may then their
course pursue, |
As heaven may please. |
In vain abroad you range
through science’ ample space, |
Each man learns only that
which learn he can; |
Who knows the moment to
embrace, |
He is your proper man. |
In person you are tolerably
made, |
Nor in assurance will you
be deficient: |
Self-confidence acquire, be
not afraid, |
Others will then esteem you
a proficient. |
Learn chiefly with the sex
to deal! |
Their thousands ahs and ohs, |
These the sage doctor
knows, |
He only from one point can
heal. |
Assume a decent tone of
courteous ease, |
You have them then to
humour as you please. |
First a diploma must belief
infuse, |
That you in your profession
take the lead: |
You then at once those easy
freedoms use |
For which another many a
year must plead; |
Learn how to feel with nice
address |
The dainty wrist;—and how
to press, |
With ardent furtive glance,
the slender waist, |
To feel how tightly it is
laced. |
|
STUDENT
There is some sense in that! one sees the how and why. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Grey is, young friend, all theory: |
And green of life the
golden tree. |
|

|
|
STUDENT
I swear it seemeth like a dream to me. |
May I some future time
repeat my visit, |
To hear on what your wisdom
grounds your views? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Command my humble service when you choose. |
|
STUDENT
Ere I retire, one boon I must solicit: |
Here is my album, do not,
Sir, deny |
This token of your favour! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Willingly! (He writes and returns
the book.) |
|
STUDENT (reads)
ERITIS SICUT DEUS,
SCIENTES BONUM ET MALUM (He reverently closes
the book and retires.) |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Let but this ancient proverb be your rule, |
My cousin follow still, the
wily snake, |
And with your likeness to
the gods, poor fool, |
Ere long be sure your poor
sick heart will quake! |
|
FAUST (enters)
Whither away? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
’Tis thine our course to steer. |
The little world, and then
the great we’ll view. |
With what delight, what
profit too, |
Thou’lt revel through thy
gay career! |
|
FAUST
Despite my length of beard I need |
The easy manners that
insure success; |
Th’ attempt I fear can
ne’er succeed; |
To mingle in the world I
want address; |
I still have an embarrass’d
air, and then |
I feel myself so small with
other men. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Time, my good friend, will all that’s needful give; |
Be only self-possessed, and
thou hast learn’d to live. |
|
FAUST
But how are we to start, I pray? |
Steeds, servants, carriage,
where are they? |
|

|
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
We’ve but to spread this mantle wide, |
’Twill serve whereon
through air to ride, |
No heavy baggage need you
take, |
When we our bold excursion
make, |
A little gas, which I will
soon prepare, |
Lifts us from earth; aloft
through air, |
Light laden we shall
swiftly steer;— |
I wish you joy of your new
life-career. |
|
AUERBACH’S
CELLAR IN LEIPZIG
A Drinking Party
FROSCH
No drinking? Naught a laugh to raise? |
None of your gloomy looks,
I pray! |
You, who so bright were
wont to blaze, |
Are dull as wetted straw
to-day. |
|
BRANDER
’Tis all your fault; your part you do not bear, |
No beastliness, no folly. |
|
FROSCH (pours
a glass of wine over his head)
There, |
You have them both! |
|
BRANDER
You double beast! |
|
FROSCH
’Tis what you ask’d me for, at least! |
|
SIEBEL
Whoever quarrels, turn him out! |
With open throat drink,
roar, and shout. |
Hollo! Hollo! Ho! |
|
ALTMAYER
Zounds, fellow, cease your deaf’ning cheers! |
Bring cotton-wool! He
splits my ears. |
|
SIEBEL
’Tis when the roof rings back the tone, |
Then first the full power
of the bass is known. |
|
FROSCH
Right! out with him who takes offence! |
A! tara lara da! |
|
ALTMAYER
A! tara lara da! |
|
FROSCH
Our throats are tuned. Come let’s commence! |
|
(Sings)
The holy Roman empire now, |
How holds it still
together? |
|

|
|
BRANDER
An ugly song! a song political! |
A song offensive! Thank
God, every morn |
To rule the Roman empire,
that you were not born! |
I bless my stars at least
that mine is not |
Either a kaiser’s or a
chancellor’s lot. |
Yet ’mong ourselves should
one still lord it o’er the rest; |
That we elect a pope I now
suggest. |
Ye know, what quality
ensures |
A man’s success, his rise
secures. |
|
FROSCH (sings)
Bear, lady nightingale above, |
Ten thousand greetings
to my love. |
|
SIEBEL
No greetings to a sweetheart! No love-songs shall there |
be! |
|
FROSCH
Love-greetings and love kisses! Thou shalt not hinder
me! |
|
(Sings)
Undo the bolt! in silly night, |
Undo the bolt! the
lover wakes. |
Shut to the bolt! when
morning breaks. |
|
SIEBEL
Ay, sing, sing on, praise her with all thy might! |
My turn to laugh will come
some day. |
Me hath she jilted once,
you the same trick she’ll play. |
Some gnome her lover be!
where cross-roads meet, |
With her to play the fool;
or old he-goat, |
From Blocksberg coming in
swift gallop, bleat |
A good night to her, from
his hairy throat! |
A proper lad of genuine
flesh and blood, |
Is for the damsel far too
good; |
The greeting she shall have
from me, |
To smash her window-panes
will be! |
|
BRANDER (striking
on the table)
Silence! Attend! to me give ear! |
Confess, sirs, I know how
to live: |
Some love-sick folk are
sitting here! |
Hence, ’tis but fit, their
hearts to cheer, |
That I a good-night strain
to them should give. |
Hark! of the newest fashion
is my song! |
Strike boldly in the
chorus, clear and strong! |
|
(He sings)
Once in a cellar lived a rat, |
He feasted there on
butter, |
Until his paunch
became as fat |
As that of Doctor
Luther. |
The cook laid
poison for the guest, |
Then was his heart
with pangs oppress’d, |
As if his frame
love wasted. |
|
Chorus (shouting)
As if his frame love wasted. |
|

|
|
BRANDER
He ran around, he ran abroad, |
Of every puddle
drinking. |
The house with rage
he scratch’d and gnaw’d, |
In vain,—he fast
was sinking; |
Full many an
anguish’d bound he gave, |
Nothing the hapless
brute could save, |
As if his frame
love wasted. |
|
CHORUS
As if his frame love wasted. |
|
BRANDER
By torture driven, in open day, |
The kitchen he
invaded, |
Convulsed upon the
hearth he lay, |
With anguish sorely
jaded; |
The poisoner
laugh’d, Ha! ha! quoth she, |
His life is ebbing
fast, I see, |
As if his frame
love wasted. |
|
CHORUS
As if his frame love wasted. |
|
SIEBEL
How the dull boors exulting shout! |
Poison for the poor rats to
strew |
A fine exploit it is no
doubt. |
|
BRANDER
They, as it seems, stand well with you! |
|
ALTMAYER
Old bald-pate! with the paunch profound! |
The rat’s mishap hath tamed
his nature; |
For he his counterpart hath
found |
Depicted in the swollen
creature. |
|
FAUST AND
MEPHISTOPHELES
|
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
I now must introduce to you |
Before aught else, this
jovial crew, |
To show how lightly life
may glide away; |
With tse folk here each
day’s a holiday. |
With little wit and much
content, |
Each on his own small round
intent, |
Like sportive kitten with
its tail; |
While no sick-headache they
bewail, |
And while their host will
credit give, |
Joyous and free from care
they live. |
|
BRANDER
They’re off a journey, that is clear,— |
From their strange manners;
they have scarce been here |
An hour. |
|

|
|
FROSCH
You’re right! Leipzig’s the place for me! |
’Tis quite a little Paris;
people there |
Acquire a certain easy
finish’d air. |
|
SIEBEL
What take you now these travellers to be? |
|
FROSCH
Let me alone! O’er a full glass you’ll see, |
As easily I’ll worm their
secret out, |
As draw an infant’s tooth.
I’ve not a doubt |
That my two gentlemen are
nobly born, |
They look dissatisfied and
full of scorn. |
|
BRANDER
They are but mountebanks, I’ll lay a bet! |
|
ALTMAYER
Most like. |
|
FROSCH
Mark me, I’ll screw it from them yet! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES (to
FAUST)
These fellows would not scent the devil out, |
E’en though he had them by
the very throat! |
|
FAUST
Good-morrow, gentlemen! |
|
SIEBEL
Thanks for your fair salute. (Aside,
glancing at MEPHISTOPHELES.) |
How! goes the fellow on a
halting foot? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Is it permitted here with you to sit? |
Then though good wine is
not forthcoming here, |
Good company at least our
hearts will cheer. |
|
ALTMAYER
A dainty gentleman, no doubt of it. |
|
FROSCH
You’re doubtless recently from Rippach? Pray, |
Did you with Master Hans
there chance to sup? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
To-day we pass’d him, but we did not stop! |
When last we met him he had
much to say |
Touching his cousins, and
to each he sent |
Full many a greeting and
kind compliment. (With an inclination towards FROSCH.) |
|
Altmayer (aside to
FROSCH)
You have it there! |
|
SIEBEL
Faith! he’s a knowing one! |
|
FROSCH
Have patience! I will show him up anon! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
We heard erewhile, unless I’m wrong, |
Voices well trained in
chorus pealing? |
Certes, most choicely here
must song |
Re-echo from this vaulted
ceiling! |
|

|
|
FROSCH
That you’re an amateur one plainly sees! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Oh no, though strong the love, I cannot boast much
skill. |
|
ALTMAYER
Give us a song! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
As many as you will. |
|
SIEBEL
But be it a brand new one, if you please! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
But recently returned from Spain are we, |
The pleasant land of wine
and minstrelsy. (Sings) |
A king there was once
reigning, |
Who had a goodly flea— |
|
FROSCH
Hark! did you rightly catch the words? a flea! |
An odd sort of a guest he
needs must be. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES (sings)
A king there was once reigning, |
Who had a goodly flea, |
Him loved he without
feigning, |
As his own son were he! |
His tailor then he
summon’d, |
The tailor to him goes: |
Now measure me the
youngster |
For jerkin and for
hose! |
|
BRANDER
Take proper heed, the tailor strictly charge, |
The nicest measurement to
take, |
And as he loves his head,
to make |
The hose quite smooth and
not too large! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
In satin and in velvet, |
Behold the yonker dressed; |
Bedizen’d o’er with
ribbons, |
A cross upon his breast. |
Prime minister they made
him, |
He wore a star of state; |
And all his poor relations |
Were courtiers, rich and
great. |
|
The gentlemen and ladies |
At court were sore
distressed; |
The queen and all her
maidens |
Were bitten by the pest, |
And yet they dared not
scratch them, |
Or chase the fleas away. |
If we are bit, we catch
them, |
And crack without delay. |
|

|
|
CHORUS (shouting)
If we are bit, &c. |
|
FROSCH
Bravo! That’s the song for me! |
|
SIEBEL
Such be the fate of every flea! |
|
BRANDER
With clever finger catch and kill! |
|
ALTMAYER
Hurrah for wine and freedom still! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Were but your wine a trifle better, friend, |
A glass to freedom I would
gladly drain, |
|
SIEBEL
You’d better not repeat those words again! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
I am afraid the landlord to offend; |
Else freely I would treat
each worthy guest |
From our own cellar to the
very best. |
|
SIEBEL
Out with it then! Your doings I’ll defend. |
|
FROSCH
Give a good glass, and straight we’ll praise you, one
and all. |
Only let not your samples
be too small; |
For if my judgment you
desire, |
Certes, an ample mouthful I
require. |
|
Altmayer (aside)
I guess they’re from the Rhenish land. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Fetch me a gimlet here! |
|
BRANDER
Say, what therewith to bore? |
You cannot have the
wine-casks at the door? |
|
ALTMAYER
Our landlord’s tool-basket behind doth yonder stand. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES (takes
the gimlet)
(To FROSCH)
Now only say! what liquor will you take?
|
|
FROSCH
How mean you that? have you of every sort? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Each may his own selection make. |
|
ALTMAYER (to
FROSCH)
Ha! Ha! You lick your lips already at the thought. |
|
FROSCH
Good, If I have my choice, the Rhenish I propose; |
For still the fairest gifts
the fatherland bestows. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
(boring a hole in the edge of the table opposite
to where Frosch is sitting)
Give me a little wax—and make some stoppers—quick! |
|

|
|
ALTMAYER
Why, this is nothing but a juggler’s trick! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES (to
BRANDER)
And you? |
|
BRANDER
Champagne’s the wine for me; |
Right brisk, and sparkling
let it be! (MEPHISTOPHELES
bores; one of the party has in the meantime prepared the
wax-stoppers and stopped the holes.) |
|
BRANDER
What foreign is one always can’t decline, |
What’s good is often
scatter’d far apart. |
The French your genuine
German hates with all his heart, |
Yet has a relish for their
wine. |
|
SIEBEL
(as MEPHISTOPHELES
approaches him)
I like not acid wine, I must allow, |
Give ma a glass of genuine
sweet! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES (bores)
Tokay |
Shall, if you wish it, flow
without delay. |
|
ALTMAYER
Come! look me in the face! no fooling now! |
You are but making fun of
us, I trow. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Ah! ah! that would indeed be making free |
With such distinguished
guests. Come, no delay; |
What liquor can I serve you
with, I pray? |
|
ALTMAYER
Only be quick, it matters not to me. (After the
holes are bored and stopped.) |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES (with
strange gestures)
Grapes the vine-stock bears, |
Horns the buck-goat
wears! |
Wine is sap, the
vine is wood, |
The wooden board
yields wine as good. |
With a deeper
glance and true |
The mysteries of
nature view! |
Have faith and
here’s a miracle! |
Your stoppers draw
and drink your fill! |
|
ALL (as
they draw the stoppers and the wine chosen by each
runs into his glass)
Oh beauteous spring, which flows so far! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Spill not a single drop, of this beware! (They drink
repeatedly.) |
|
ALL (sing)
Happy as cannibals are we, |
Or as five hundred
swine. |
|

|
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
They’re in their glory, mark their elevation! |
|
FAUST
Let’s hence, nor here our stay prolong. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Attend, of brutishness ere long |
You’ll see a glorious
revelation. |
|
SIEBEL
(drinks carelessly; the wine is spilt upon the
ground, and turns to flame)
Help! fire! help! Hell is burning! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
(addressing the flames)
Stop, |
Kind element, be still, I
say! (To the Company.) |
Of purgatorial fire as yet
’tis but a drop. |
|
SIEBEL
What means the knave! For this you’ll dearly pay! |
Us, it appears, you do not
know. |
|
FROSCH
Such tricks a second time he’d better show! |
|
|
|
ALTMAYER
Methinks’twere well we pack’d him quietly away. |
|
SIEBEL
What, sir! with us your hocus-pocus play! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Silence, old wine-cask! |
|
SIEBEL
How! add insult, too! |
Vile broomstick! |
|
BRANDER
Hold, or blows shall rain on you! |
|
Altmayer
(draws a stopper out of the table; fire springs
out against him)
I burn! I burn! |
|
SIEBEL
’Tis sorcery, I vow! |
Strike home! The fellow
is fair game, I trow! (They draw their knives and
attack MEPHISTOPHELES.) |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES (with
solemn gestures)
Visionary scenes appear! |
Words delusive
cheat the ear! |
Be ye there, and
be ye here! (They stand amazed and gaze at each
other.) |
|
ALTMAYER
Where am I? What a beauteous land! |
|

|
|
FROSCH
Vineyards! unless my sight deceives? |
|
SIEBEL
And clust’ring grapes too, close at hand! |
|
BRANDER
And underneath the spreading leaves, |
What stems there be! What
grapes I see! (He seizes SIEBEL
by the nose. The others reciprocally do the same, and
raise their knives.) |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES (as
above)
Delusion, from their eyes the bandage take! |
Note how the devil loves
a jest to break! (He disappears with FAUST;
the fellows draw back from one another.) |
|
SIEBEL
What was it? |
|
ALTMAYER
How? |
|
FROSCH
Was that your nose? |
|
BRANDER (to
SIEBEL)
And look, my hand doth thine enclose! |
|
ALTMAYER
I felt a shock, it went through every limb! |
A chair! I’m fainting!
All things swim! |
|
FROSCH
Say what has happened, what’s it all about? |
|
SIEBEL
Where is the fellow? Could I scent him out, |
His body from his soul
I’d soon divide! |
|
ALTMAYER
With my own eyes, upon a cask astride, |
Forth through the
cellar-door I saw him ride— |
Heavy as lead my feet are
growing. (Turning to the table.) |
I wonder is the wine
still flowing! |
|
SIEBEL
’Twas all delusion, cheat and lie. |
|
FROSCH
’Twas wine I drank, most certainly. |
|
BRANDER
But with the grapes how was it, pray? |
|
ALTMAYER
That none may miracles believe, who now will say? |
|

|
|
WITCHS’ KITCHEN
A large caldron hangs over the fire on a low
hearth; various figures appear in the vapour rising from
it. A FEMALE MONKEY
sits beside the caldron to skim it, and watch that it
does not boil over. The MALE MONKEY
with the young ones is seated near, warming himself. The
walls and ceiling are adorned with the strangest
articles of witch-furniture. |
|
FAUST,
MEPHISTOPHELES
|
|
FAUST
This senseless, juggling witchcraft I detest! |
Dost promise that in this
foul nest |
Of madness, I shall be
restored? |
Must I seek counsel from
an ancient dame? |
And can she, by these
rites abhorred, |
Take thirty winters from
my frame? |
Woe’s me, if thou naught
better canst suggest! |
Hope has already fled my
breast. |
Has neither nature nor a
noble mind |
A balsam yet devis’d of
any kind? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
My friend, you now speak sensibly. In truth, |
Nature a method giveth to
renew thy youth: |
But in another book the
lesson’s writ;— |
It forms a curious
chapter, I admit. |
|
FAUST
I fain would know it. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Good! A remedy |
Without physician, gold,
or sorcery: |
Away forthwith, and to
the fields repair, |
Begin to delve, to
cultivate the ground, |
Thy senses and thyself
confine |
Within the very narrowest
round, |
Support thyself upon the
simplest fare, |
Live like a very brute
the brutes among, |
Neither esteem it robbery |
The acre thou dost reap,
thyself to dung; |
This is the best method,
credit me, |
Again at eighty to grow
hale and young. |
|
FAUST
I am not used to it, nor can myself degrade |
So far, as in my hand to
take the spade. |
This narrow life would
suit me not at all. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Then we the witch must summon after all. |
|
FAUST
Will none but this old beldame do? |
Canst not thyself the
potion brew? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
A pretty play our leisure to beguile! |
A thousand bridges I
could build meanwhile. |
Not science only and
consummate art, |
Patience must also bear
her part. |
A quiet spirit worketh
whole years long; |
Time only makes the
subtle ferment strong. |
And all things that
belong thereto, |
Are wondrous and
exceeding rare! |
The devil taught her, it
is true; |
But yet the draught the
devil can’t prepare. (Perceiving the beasts.) |
Look yonder, what a
dainty pair! |
Here is the maid! the
knave is there! |
|
(To the beasts)
It seems your dame is not a home? |
|
THE MONKEYS
Gone to carouse, |
Out of the house, |
Thro’ the chimney
and away! |
|

|
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
How long is it her wont to roam? |
|
THE MONKEYS
While we can warm our paws she’ll stay. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES (to
FAUST)
What think you of the charming creatures? |
|
FAUST
I loathe alike their form and features! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Nay, such discourse, be it confessed, |
Is just the thing that
pleases me the best. |
|
(To the
MONKEYS)
Tell me, ye whelps, accursed crew! |
What stir ye in the broth
about? |
|
MONKEYS
Coarse beggar’s gruel here we stew. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Of customers you’ll have a rout. |
|
THE HE-MONKEY (approaching
and fawning on MEPHISTOPHELES)
Quick! quick! throw the dice, |
Make me rich in a
trice, |
Oh give me the
prize! |
Alas, for myself! |
Had I plenty of
pelf, |
I then should be
wise. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
How blest the ape would think himself, if he |
Could only put into the
lottery! (In the meantime the young MONKEYS
have been playing with a large globe, which they roll
forwards) |
|
THE HE-MONKEY
The world behold; |
Unceasingly
roll’d, |
It riseth and
falleth ever; |
It ringeth like
glass! |
How brittle,
alas! |
’Tis hollow, and
resteth never. |
How bright the
sphere, |
Still brighter
here! |
Now living am I! |
Dear son, beware! |
Nor venture
there! |
Thou too must
die! |
It is of clay; |
’Twill crumble
away; |
There fragments
lie. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Of what use is the sieve? |
|
THE HE-MONKEY (taking
it down)
The sieve would show, |
If thou wert a
thief or no? (He runs to the SHE-MONKEY,
and makes her look through it.) |
Look through the
sieve! |
Dost know him the
thief, |
And dar’st thou
not call him so? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES (approaching
the fire)
And then this pot? |
|
THE MONKEYS
The half-witted sot! |
He knows not the
pot! |
He know not the
kettle! |
|

|
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Unmannerly beast! |
Be civil at
least! |
|
THE HE-MONKEY
Take the whisk and sit down in the settle! (He makes
MEPHISTOPHELES sit down.) |
|
FAUST
(who all this time has been standing before a
looking-glass, now approaching, and now retiring
from it)
What do I see? what form, whose charms transcend |
The loveliness of earth,
is mirror’d here! |
O Love, to waft me to her
sphere, |
To me the swiftest of thy
pinions lend! |
Alas! If I remain not
rooted to this place, |
If to approach more near
I’m fondly lur’d, |
Her image fades, in
veiling mist obscur’d!— |
Model of beauty both in
form and face! |
Is’t possible? Hath woman
charms so rare? |
In this recumbent form,
supremely fair, |
The essence must I see of
heavenly grace? |
Can aught so exquisite on
earth be found? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
The six days’ labour of a god, my friend, |
Who doth himself cry
bravo, at the end, |
By something clever
doubtless should be crown’d. |
For this time gaze your
fill, and when you please |
Just such a prize for you
I can provide; |
How blest is he to whom
kind fate decrees, |
To take her to his home,
a lovely bride!
(FAUST continues to gaze into the mirror.
MEPHISTOPHELES
stretching himself on the settle and playing with the
whisk, continues to speak.) |
Here sit I, like a king
upon his throne; |
My sceptre this;—the
crown I want alone. |
|
The
Monkeys (who have hitherto
been making all sorts of strange gestures, bring
MEPHISTOPHELES a crown, with loud cries)
Oh, be so good, |
With sweat and
with blood |
The crown to
lime! (They handle the crown awkwardly and break it
in two pieces, with which they skip about.) |
’Twas fate’s
decree! |
We speak and see! |
We hear and
rhyme. |
|
FAUST (before
the mirror)
Woe’s me! well-nigh distraught I feel! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
|
(pointing to the
beasts) |
And even my own head
almost begins to reel. |
|
THE MONKEYS
If good luck attend, |
If fitly things
blend, |
Our jargon with
thought |
And with reason
is fraught! |
|
FAUST (as
above)
A flame is kindled in my breast! |
Let us begone! nor linger
here!
|
|
MEPHISTOPHELES (in
the same position)
It now at least must be confessed, |
|

|
|
That poets sometimes are
sincere. (The caldron which the SHE-MONKEY
has neglected begins to boil over; a great flame
arises, which streams up the chimney. The WITCH
comes down the chimney with horrible cries.) |
|
THE WITCH
Ough! ough! ough! ough! |
Accursed brute! accursed
sow! |
The caldron dost neglect,
for shame! |
Accursed brute to scorch
the dame! (Perceiving FAUST
and MEPHISTOPHELES) |
Whom have we here? |
Who’s sneaking here? |
Whence are ye come? |
With what desire? |
The plague of fire |
Your bones consume! (She
dips the skimming-ladle into the caldron and throws
flames at FAUST, MEPHISTOPHELES,
and the MONKEYS. The
MONKEYS whimper.) |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES (twirling
the whisk which he holds in his hand, and striking
among the glasses and pots)
Dash! Smash! |
There lies the
glass! |
There lies the
slime! |
’Tis but a jest; |
I but keep time, |
Thou hellish
pest, |
To thine own
chime! (While the WITCH
steps back in rage and astonishment.) |
Dost know me! Skeleton!
Vile scarecrow, thou! |
Thy lord and master dost
thou know? |
What holds me, that I
deal not now |
Thee and thine apes a
stunning blow? |
No more respect to my red
vest dost pay? |
Does my cock’s feather no
allegiance claim? |
Have I my visage masked
to-day? |
Must I be forced myself
to name? |
|
THE WITCH
Master, forgive this rude salute! |
But I perceive no cloven
foot. |
And your two ravens,
where are they? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
This once I must admit your plea;— |
For truly I must own that
we |
Each other have not seen
for many a day. |
The culture, too, that
shapes the world, at last |
Hath e’en the devil in
its sphere embraced; |
The northern phantom from
the scene hath pass’d, |
Tail, talons, horns, are
nowhere to be traced! |
As for the foot, with
which I can’t dispense, |
’Twould injure me in
company, and hence, |
Like many a youthful
cavalier, |
False calves I now have
worn for many a year. |
|
THE WITCH (dancing)
I am beside myself with joy, |
To see once more the
gallant Satan here! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Woman, no more that name employ! |
|
THE WITCH
But why! what mischief hath it done? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
To fable-books it now doth appertain; |
But people from the
change have nothing won. |
Rid of the evil one, the
evil ones remain. |
Lord Baron call thou me,
so is the matter good; |
Of other cavaliers the
mien I wear. |
Dost make no question of
my gentle blood; |
See here, this is the
scutcheon that I bear! (He makes an unseemly
gesture.) |
|
THE WITCH (laughing
immoderately)
Ha! Ha! Just like yourself! You are, I ween, |
The same mad wag that you
have ever been! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES (to
FAUST)
My friend, learn this to understand, I pray! |
To deal with witches this
is still the way. |
|

|
|
THE WITCH
Now tell me, gentlemen, what you desire? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Of your known juice a goblet we require. |
But for the very oldest
let me ask; |
Double its strength with
years doth grow. |
|
THE WITCH
Most willingly! And here I have a flask, |
From which I’ve sipp’d
myself ere now; |
What’s more, it doth no
longer stink; |
To you a glass I joyfully
will give.
(Aside.) |
If unprepar’d, however,
this man drink, |
He hath not, as you know,
an hour to live. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
He’s my good friend, with whom ’twill prosper well; |
I grudge him not the
choicest of thy store. |
Now draw thy circle,
speak thy spell, |
And straight a bumper for him pour! (The
WITCH,
with extraordinary gestures, describes a circle, and
places strange things within it. The glasses meanwhile
begin to ring, the caldron to sound, and to make music.
Lastly, she brings a great book; places the MONKEYS
in the circle to serve her as a desk,
and to hold the torches. She beckons FAUST to approach.) |
|
FAUST (to
MEPHISTOPHELES)
Tell me, to what doth all this tend? |
Were will these frantic
gestures end? |
This loathsome cheat,
this senseless stuff |
I’ve known and hated long
enough. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Mere mummery, a laugh to raise! |
Pray don’t be so
fastidious! She |
But as a leech, her
hocus-pocus plays, |
That well with you her
potion may agree. (He compels FAUST
to enter the circle.) (The WITCH,
with great emphasis, begins to declaim the book.) |
|
This must thou
ken: |
Of one make ten, |
Pass two, and
then |
Make square the
three, |
So rich thou’lt
be. |
Drop out the
four! |
From five and
six, |
Thus essays the
witch, |
Make seven and
eight. |
So all is
straight! |
And nine is one, |
And ten is none, |
This is the
witch’s one-time-one! |
|
FAUST
The hag doth as in fever rave. |
|

|
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
To these will follow many a stave. |
I know it well, so rings
the book throughout; |
Much time I’ve lost in
puzzling o’er its pages, |
For downright paradox, no
doubt, |
A mystery remains alike
to fools and sages, |
Ancient the art and
modern too, my friend. |
’Tis still the fashion as
it used to be, |
Error instead of truth
abroad to send |
By means of three and
one, and one and three. |
’Tis ever taught and
babbled in the schools. |
Who’d take the trouble to
dispute with fools? |
When words men hear, in
sooth, they usually believe, |
That there must needs
therein be something to conceive. |
|
THE WITCH (continues)
The lofty power |
Of wisdom’s
dower, |
From all the
world conceal’d! |
Who thinketh not, |
To him I wot, |
Unsought it is
reveal’d. |
|
FAUST
What nonsense doth the hag propound? |
My brain it doth
well-nigh confound. |
A hundred thousand fools
or more, |
Methinks I hear in chorus
roar. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Incomparable Sibyl cease, I pray! |
Hand us the liquor
without more delay. |
And to the very brim the
goblet crown! |
My friend he is, and need
not be afraid; |
Besides, he is a man of
many a grade, |
Who hath drunk deep
already. (The WITCH,
with many ceremonies, pours the liquor into a cup; as
FAUST lifts it to his mouth, a light flame arises.) |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Gulp it down! |
No hesitation! It will
prove |
A cordial, and your heart
inspire! |
What! with the devil hand
and glove, |
And yet shrink back
afraid of fire? (The WITCH
dissolves the circle. FAUST
steps out.) |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Now forth at once! thou dar’st not rest. |
Witch
And much, sir, may the liquor profit you! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES (to
the WITCH)
And if to pleasure thee I aught can do, |
Pray on Walpurgis mention
thy request. |
|
Witch
Here is a song, sung o’er, sometimes you’ll see, |
That ’twill a singular
effect produce. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES (to
FAUST)
Come, quick, and let thyself be led by me; |
Thou must perspire, in
order that the juice |
Thy frame may penetrate
through every part. |
Then noble idleness I
thee will teach to prize, |
And soon with ecstasy
thou’lt recognise |
How Cupid stirs and
gambols in thy heart. |
|
FAUST
Let me but gaze one moment in the glass! |
Too lovely was that
female form! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Nay! nay! |
A model which all women
shall surpass, |
In flesh and blood ere
long thou shalt survey.
(Aside.) |
As works that draught,
thou presently shalt greet |
A Helen in each woman
thou dost meet. |
|
A STREET
FAUST (MARGARET
passing by)
FAUST
Fair lady, may I thus make free |
To offer you my arm and
company? |
|
MARGARET
I am no lady, am not fair, |
Can without escort home
repair. (She disengages herself and exit.) |
|
FAUST
By heaven! This girl is fair indeed! |
No form like hers can I
recall. |
Virtue she hath, and
modest heed, |
Is piquant too, and sharp
withal. |
Her cheek’s soft light,
her rosy lips, |
No length of time will
e’er eclipse! |
Her downward glance in
passing by, |
Deep in my heart is
stamp’d for aye; |
How curt and sharp her
answer too, |
To ecstasy the feeling
grew! (MEPHISTOPHELES enters.) |
|

|
|
FAUST
This girl must win for me! Dost hear? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Which? |
|
FAUST
She who but now passed. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
What! She? |
She from confession
cometh here, |
From every sin absolved
and free; |
I crept near the
confessor’s chair. |
All innocence her virgin
soul, |
For next to nothing went
she there; |
O’er such as she I’ve no
control! |
|
FAUST
She’s past fourteen. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
You really talk |
Like any gay Lothario, |
Who every floweret from
its stalk |
Would pluck, and deems
nor grace, nor truth, |
Secure against his arts,
forsooth! |
This ne’er the less won’t
always do. |
|
FAUST
Sir Moralizer, prithee, pause; |
Nor plague me with your
tiresome laws! |
To cut the matter short,
my friend, |
She must this very night
be mine,— |
And if to help me you
decline, |
Midnight shall see our
compact end. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
What may occur just bear in mind! |
A fortnight’s space, at
least, I need, |
A fit occasion but to
find. |
|
FAUST
With but seven hours I could succeed; |
Nor should I want the
devil’s wile, |
So young a creature to
beguile. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Like any Frenchman now you speak, |
But do not fret, I pray;
why seek |
To hurry to enjoyment
straight? |
The pleasure is not half
so great, |
As when at first around,
above, |
With all the fooleries of
love, |
The puppet you can knead
and mould |
As in Italian story oft
is told. |
|
FAUST
No such incentives do I need. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
But now, without offense or jest! |
You cannot quickly, I
protest, |
In winning this sweet
child succeed. |
By storm we cannot take
the fort, |
To stratagem we must
resort. |
|
FAUST
Conduct me to her place of rest! |
Some token of the angel
bring! |
A kerchief from her snowy
breast, |
A garter bring me,—any
thing! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
That I my anxious zeal may prove, |
Your pangs to sooth and
aid your love, |
A single moment will we
not delay, |
Will lead you to her room
this very day. |
|
FAUST
And shall I see her?—Have her? |
|

|
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
No! |
She to a neighbour’s
house will go; |
But in her atmosphere
alone, |
The tedious hours
meanwhile you may employ, |
In blissful dreams of
future joy. |
|
FAUST
Can we go now? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
’Tis yet too soon. |
|
FAUST
Some present for my love procure! (Exit.) |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Presents so soon! ’tis well! success is sure! |
Full many a goodly place
I know, |
And treasures buried long
ago; |
I must a bit o’erlook
them now. (Exit.) |
|
EVENING. A SMALL
AND NEAT ROOM
MARGARET
(braiding and binding up her hair)
I would give something now to know, |
Who yonder gentleman
could be! |
He had a gallant air, I
trow, |
And doubtless was of high
degree: |
That written on his brow
was seen— |
Nor else would he so bold
have been. (Exit.) |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Come in! tread softly! be discreet! |
|
FAUST (after a
pause)
Begone and leave me, I entreat! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES (looking
round)
Not every maiden is so neat (Exit.) |
|

|
|
FAUST (gazing
round)
Welcome sweet twilight, calm and blest, |
That in this hallow’d
precinct reigns! |
Fond yearning love,
inspire my breast, |
Feeding on hope’s sweet
dew thy blissful pains! |
What stillness here
environs me! |
Content and order brood
around. |
What fulness in this
poverty! |
In this small cell what
bliss profound! (He throws himself on the leather
arm-chair beside the bed) |
Receive me thou, who hast
in thine embrace, |
Welcom’d in joy and grief
the ages flown! |
How oft the children of a
by-gone race |
Have cluster’d round this
patriarchal throne! |
Haply she, also, whom I
hold so dear, |
For Christmas gift, with
grateful joy possess’d, |
Hath with the full round
cheek of childhood, here, |
Her grandsire’s wither’d
hand devoutly press’d. |
Maiden! I feel thy spirit
haunt the place, |
Breathing of order and
abounding grace. |
As with a mother’s voice
it prompteth thee, |
The pure white cover o’er
the board to spread, |
To strew the crisping
sand beneath thy tread. |
Dear hand! so godlike in
its ministry! |
The hut becomes a
paradise through thee! |
And here— (He raises
the bed-curtain.) |
How thrills my pulse with
strange delight! |
Here could I linger hours
untold; |
Thou, Nature, didst in
vision bright, |
The embryo angel here
unfold. |
Here lay the child, her
bosom warm |
With life; while steeped
in slumber’s dew, |
To perfect grace, her
godlike form, |
With pure and hallow’d
weavings grew! |
|
And thou! ah here what
seekest thou? |
How quails mine inmost
being now! |
What wouldst thou here?
what makes thy heart so sore? |
Unhappy Faust! I know
thee now no more. |
|
Do I a magic atmosphere
inhale? |
Erewhile, my passion
would not brook delay! |
Now in a pure love-dream
I melt away. |
Are we the sport of every
passing gale? |
|
Should she return and
enter now, |
How wouldst thou rue thy
guilty flame! |
Proud vaunter—thou
wouldst hide thy brow,— |
And at her feet sink down
with shame. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Quick! quick! below I see her there. |
|
FAUST
Away! I will return no more! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Here is a casket, with a store |
Of jewels, which I
got elsewhere |
Just lay it in the
press; make haste! |
I swear to you,
’twill turn her brain; |
Therein some trifles
I have placed, |
Wherewith another to
obtain. |
But child is child,
and play is play. |
|
FAUST
I know not—shall I? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Do you ask? |
Perchance you would
retain the treasure? |
If such your wish, why
then, I say, |
Henceforth absolve me
from my task, |
Nor longer waste your
hours of leisure. |
I trust you’re not by
avarice led! |
I rub my hands, I scratch
my head,— (He places the casket in the press and
closes the lock.) |
Now quick! Away! |
That soon the sweet young
creature may |
The wish and purpose of
your heart obey; |
Yet stand you there |
As would you to the
lecture-room repair, |
As if before you stood, |
Arrayed in flesh and
blood, |
Physics and metaphysics
weird and grey!— |
Away! (Exeunt.) |
|

|
|
MARGARET (with
a lamp)
Here ’tis so close, so sultry now, (She
opens the window.) |
Yet out of doors ’tis not
so warm. |
I feel so strange, I know
not how— |
I wish my mother would
come home. |
Through me there runs a
shuddering— |
I’m but a foolish timid
thing! (While undressing herself she begins to sing.) |
There was a king in
Thule, |
True even to the
grave; |
To whom his dying
mistress |
A golden beaker gave. |
|
At every feast he
drained it, |
Naught was to him so
dear, |
And often as he
drained it, |
Gush’d from his eyes
the tear. |
|
When death came,
unrepining |
His cities o’er he
told; |
All to his heir
resigning, |
Except his cup of
gold. |
|
With many a knightly
vassal |
At a royal feast sat
he, |
In yon proud hall
ancestral, |
In his castle o’er
the sea. |
|
Up stood the jovial
monarch, |
And quaff’d his last
life’s glow, |
Then hurled the
hallow’d goblet |
Into the flood below. |
|
He saw it splashing,
drinking, |
And plunging in the
sea; |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|