|
|

|
|
His eyes meanwhile were
sinking, |
And never again drank
he. (She opens the press to put away her clothes,
and perceives the casket.) |
How comes this lovely
casket here? The press |
I locked, of that I’m
confident. |
’Tis very wonderful! What’s
in it I can’t guess; |
Perhaps ’twas brought by
some one in distress, |
And left in pledge for loan
my mother lent. |
Here by a ribbon hangs a
little key! |
I have a mind to open it
and see! |
Heavens! only look! what
have we here! |
In all my days ne’er saw I
such a sight! |
Jewels! which any noble
dame might wear, |
For some high pageant
richly dight! |
This chain—how would it
look on me! |
These splendid gems, whose
may they be? (She puts them on and steps before the
glass.) |
Were but the ear-rings only
mine! |
Thus one has quite another
air. |
What boots it to be young
and fair? |
It doubtless may be very
fine; |
But then, alas, none cares
for you, |
And praise sounds half like
pity too. |
Gold all doth lure, |
Gold doth secure |
All things. Alas, we poor! |
|
PROMENADE
FAUST walking thoughtfully
up and down. To him MEPHISTOPHELES
MEPHISTOPHELES
By all rejected love! By hellish fire I curse, |
Would I knew aught to make
my imprecation worse! |
|
FAUST
What aileth thee? what chafes thee now so sore? |
A face like that I never
saw before! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
I’d yield me to the devil instantly, |
Did it not happen that
myself am he! |
|
FAUST
There must be some disorder in thy wit! |
To rave thus like a madman,
is it fit? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Think! only think! The gems for Gretchen brought, |
Them hath a priest now made
his own!— |
A glimpse of them the
mother caught, |
And ’gan with secret fear
to groan. |
The woman’s scent is keen
enough; |
Doth ever in the
prayer-book snuff; |
Smells every article to
ascertain |
Whether the thing is holy
or profane, |
And scented in the jewels
rare, |
That there was not much
blessing there. |
“My child,” she cries,
“ill-gotten good |
Ensnares the soul, consumes
the blood; |
With them we’ll deck our
Lady’s shrine, |
She’ll cheer our souls with
bread divine!” |
At this poor Gretchen ’gan
to pout; |
’Tis a gift-horse, at
least, she thought, |
And sure, he godless cannot
be, |
Who brought them here so
cleverly. |
Straight for a priest the
mother sent, |
Who, when he understood the
jest, |
With what he saw was well
content. |
“This shows a pious mind!”
Quoth he: |
“Self-conquest is true
victory. |
The Church hath a good
stomach, she, with zest, |
Whole countries hath
swallow’d down, |
And never yet a surfeit
known. |
The Church alone, be it
confessed, |
Daughters, can ill-got
wealth digest.” |
|
FAUST
It is a general custom, too. |
Practised alike by king and
jew. |
|

|
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
With that, clasp, chain, and ring, he swept |
As they were mushrooms; and
the casket, |
Without one word of thanks,
he kept, |
As if of nuts it were a
basket. |
Promised reward in heaven,
then forth he hied— |
And greatly they were
edified. |
|
FAUST
And Gretchen! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
In unquiet mood |
Knows neither what she
would or should; |
The trinkets night and day
thinks o’er, |
On him who brought them,
dwells still more. |
|
FAUST
The darling’s sorrow grieves me, bring |
Another set without delay! |
The first, methinks, was no
great thing. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
All’s to my gentleman child’s play! |
|
FAUST
Plan all things to achieve my end! |
Engage the attention of her
friend! |
No milk-and-water devil be, |
And bring fresh jewels
instantly! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Ay, sir! Most gladly I’ll obey. (FAUST
exit.) |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Your doting love-sick fool, with ease, |
Merely his lady-love to
please, |
Sun, moon, and stars in
sport would puff away. (Exit.) |
|
THE
NEIGHBOUR’S HOUSE
MARTHA (alone)
God pardon my dear husband, he
|
Doth not in truth act well
by me! |
Forth in the world abroad
to roam, |
And leave me on the straw
at home. |
And yet his will I ne’er
did thwart, |
God knows, I lov’d him from
my heart. (She weeps.) |
Perchance he’s dead!—oh
wretched state!— |
Had I but a
certificate! (MARGARET comes) |
|

|
|
MARGARET
Dame Martha!
|
|
MARTHA
Gretchen? |
|
MARGARET
Only think! |
My knees beneath me
well-nigh sink! |
Within my press I’ve found
to-day, |
Another case, of ebony. |
And things—magnificent they
are, |
More costly than the first,
by far. |
|
MARTHA
You must not name it to your mother! |
It would to shrift, just
like the other. |
|
MARGARET
Nay look at them! now only see! |
|
MARTHA (dresses
her up)
Thou happy creature! |
|
MARGARET
Woe is me! |
Them in the street I cannot
wear, |
Or in the church, or any
where. |
|
MARTHA
Come often over here to me, |
The gems put on quite
privately; |
And then before the mirror
walk an hour or so, |
Thus we shall have our
pleasure too. |
Then suitable occasions we
must seize, |
As at a feast, to show them
by degrees: |
A chain at first, pearl
ear-drops then,—your mother |
Won’t see them, or we’ll
coin some tale or other. |
|
MARGARET
But, who, I wonder, could the caskets bring? |
I fear there’s something
wrong about the thing! (A knock.) |
Good heavens! can that my
mother be? |
|
MARTHA (peering
through the blind)
’Tis a strange gentleman, I see. |
Come in! (MEPHISTOPHELES
enters) |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
I’ve ventur’d to intrude to-day. |
Ladies, excuse the liberty,
I pray. (He steps back respectfully before MARGARET.) |
After dame Martha
Schwerdtlein I inquire! |
|
MARTHA
’Tis I. Pray what have you to say to me? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES (aside
to her)
I know you now,—and therefore will retire; |
At present you’ve
distinguished company. |
Pardon the freedom, Madam,
with your leave, |
I will make free to call
again at eve. |
|
MARTHA (aloud)
Why, child, of all strange notions, he |
For some grand lady taketh
thee! |
|

|
|
MARGARET
I am, in truth, of humble blood— |
The gentleman is far too
good— |
Nor gems nor trinkets are
my own. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Oh ’tis not the mere ornaments alone; |
Her glance and mien far
more betray. |
Rejoiced I am that I may
stay. |
|
MARTHA
Your business, Sir? I long to know— |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Would I could happier tidings show! |
I trust mine errand you’ll
not let me rue; |
Your husband’s dead, and
greeteth you. |
|
MARTHA
Is dead? True heart! Oh misery! |
My husband dead! Oh, I
shall die! |
|
MARGARET
Alas! good Martha! don’t despair! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Now listen to the sad affair! |
|
MARGARET
I for this cause should fear to love. |
The loss my certain death
would prove. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Joy still must sorrow, sorrow joy attend. |
|
MARTHA
Proceed, and tell the story of his end! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
At Padua, in St. Anthony’s, |
In holy ground his body
lies; |
Quiet and cool his place of
rest, |
With pious ceremonials
blest. |
|
MARTHA
And had you naught besides to bring? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Oh yes! one grave and solemn prayer; |
Let them for him three
hundred masses sing! |
But in my pockets, I have
nothing there. |
|
MARTHA
No trinket! no love-token did he send! |
What every journeyman safe
in his pouch will hoard |
There for remembrance
fondly stored, |
And rather hungers, rather
begs than spend! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Madam, in truth, it grieves me sore, |
But he his gold not
lavishly hath spent. |
His failings too he deeply
did repent, |
Ay! and his evil plight
bewail’d still more. |
|
MARGARET
Alas! That men should thus be doomed to woe! |
I for his soul will many a
requiem pray. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
A husband you deserve this very day; |
A child so worthy to be
loved. |
|
MARGARET
Ah no, |
That time hath not yet come
for me. |
|

|
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
If not a spouse, a gallant let it be. |
Among heaven’s choicest
gifts, I place, |
So sweet a darling to
embrace. |
|
MARGARET
Our land doth no such usage know. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Usage or not, it happens so. |
|
MARTHA
Go on, I pray! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
I stood by his bedside. |
Something less foul it was
than dung; |
’Twas straw half rotten;
yet, he as a Christian died. |
And sorely hath remorse his
conscience wrung. |
“Wretch that I was,” quoth
he, with parting breath, |
“So to forsake my business
and my wife! |
Ah! the remembrance is my
death, |
Could I but have her pardon
in this life!”— |
|
MARTHA (weeping)
Dear soul! I’ve long forgiven him, indeed! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
“Though she, God knows, was more to blame than I.” |
|
MARTHA
He lied! What, on the brink of death to lie! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
If I am skill’d the countenance to read, |
He doubtless fabled as he
parted hence.— |
“No time had I to gape, or
take my ease,” he said, |
“First to get children, and
then get them bread; |
And bread, too, in the very
widest sense; |
Nor could I eat in peace
even my proper share.” |
|
MARTHA
What, all my truth, my love forgotten quite? |
My weary drudgery by day
and night! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Not so! He thought of you with tender care. |
Quoth he: “Heaven knows how
fervently I prayed, |
For wife and children when
from Malta bound;— |
The prayer hath heaven with
favour crowned; |
We took a Turkish vessel
which conveyed |
Rich store of treasure for
the Sultan’s court; |
It’s own reward our gallant
action brought; |
The captur’d prize was
shared among the crew |
And of the treasure I
received my due.” |
|

|
|
MARTHA
How? Where? The treasure hath he buried, pray? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Where the four winds have blown it, who can say? |
In Naples as he stroll’d, a
stranger there,— |
A comely maid took pity on
my friend; |
And gave such tokens of her
love and care, |
That he retained them to
his blessed end. |
|
MARTHA
Scoundrel! to rob his children of their bread! |
And all this misery, this
bitter need, |
Could not his course of
recklessness impede! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Well, he hath paid the forfeit, and is dead. |
Now were I in your place,
my counsel hear; |
My weeds I’d wear for one
chaste year, |
And for another lover
meanwhile would look out. |
|
MARTHA
Alas, I might search far and near, |
Not quickly should I find
another like my first! |
There could not be a fonder
fool than mine, |
Only he loved too well
abroad to roam; |
Loved foreign women too,
and foreign wine, |
And loved besides the dice
accurs’d. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
All had gone swimmingly, no doubt, |
Had he but given you at
home, |
On his side, just as wide a
range. |
Upon such terms, to you I
swear, |
Myself with you would
gladly rings exchange! |
|
MARTHA
The gentleman is surely pleas’d to jest! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES (aside)
Now to be off in time, were best! |
She’d make the very devil
marry her. (To MARGARET.) |
How fares it with your
heart? |
|

|
|
MARGARET
How mean you, Sir? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES (aside)
The sweet young innocent! (aloud) |
Ladies,
farewell! |
|
MARGARET
Farewell! |
|
MARTHA
But ere you leave us, quickly tell! |
I from a witness fain had
heard, |
Where, how, and when my
husband died and was interr’d. |
To forms I’ve always been
attached indeed, |
His death I fain would in
the journals read. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Ay, madam, what two witnesses declare |
Is held as valid
everywhere; |
A gallant friend I have,
not far from here, |
Who will for you before the
judge appear. |
I’ll bring him straight. |
|
MARTHA
I pray you do! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
And this young lady, we shall find her too? |
A noble youth, far
travelled, he |
Shows to the sex all
courtesy. |
|
MARGARET
I in his presence needs must blush for shame. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Not in the presence of a crowned king! |
|
MARTHA
The garden, then, behind my house, we’ll name, |
There we’ll await you both
this evening. |
|
A STREET
FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES
FAUST
How is it now? How speeds it? Is’t in train? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Bravo! I find you all aflame! |
Gretchen full soon your own
you’ll name. |
This eve, at neighbour
Martha’s, her you’ll meet again; |
The woman seems expressly
made |
To drive the pimp and
gipsy’s trade. |
|

|
|
FAUST
Good! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
But from us she something would request. |
|
FAUST
A favour claims return as this world goes. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
We have on oath but duly to attest, |
That her dead husband’s
limbs, outstretch’d repose |
In holy ground at Padua. |
|
FAUST
Sage indeed! |
So I suppose we straight
must journey there! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Sancta simplicitas! For that no need! |
Without much knowledge we
have but to swear. |
|
FAUST
If you have nothing better to suggest, |
Against you plan I must at
once protest. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Oh, holy man! methinks I have you there! |
In all your life say, have
you ne’er |
False witness borne, until
this hour? |
Have you of God, the world,
and all it doth contain, |
Of man, and that which
worketh in his heart and brain, |
Not definitions given, in
words of weight and power, |
With front unblushing, and
a dauntless breast? |
Yet, if into the depth of
things you go, |
Touching these matters, it
must be confess’d, |
As much as of Herr
Schwerdtlein’s death you know! |
|
FAUST
Thou art and dost remain liar and sophist too. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Ay, if one did not take a somewhat deeper view! |
To-morrow, in all honour,
thou |
Poor Gretchen wilt befool,
and vow |
Thy soul’s deep love, in
lover’s fashion. |
|
FAUST
And from my heart. |
|

|
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
All good and fair! |
Then deathless constancy
thou’lt swear; |
Speak of one all
o’ermastering passion,— |
Will that too issue from
the heart? |
|
FAUST
Forbear! |
When passion sways me, and
I seek to frame |
Fir utterance for feeling,
deep, intense, |
And for my frenzy finding
no fit name, |
Sweep round the ample world
with every sense, |
Grasp at the loftiest words
to speak my flame, |
And call the glow,
wherewith I burn, |
Quenchless, eternal, yea,
eterne— |
Is that of sophistry a
devilish play? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Yet am I right! |
|
FAUST
Mark this, my friend, |
And spare my lungs; who
would the right maintain, |
And hath a tongue wherewith
his point to gain, |
Will gain it in the end. |
But come, of gossip I am
weary quite; |
Because I’ve no resource,
thou’rt in the right. |
|
A GARDEN
MARGARET on FAUST’S
arm. MARTHA with
MEPHISTOPHELES walking up
and down
MARGARET
I feel it, you but spare my ignorance, |
The gentleman to shame me
stoops thus low. |
A traveller from
complaisance, |
Still makes the best of
things; I know |
Too well, my humble prattle
never can |
Have power to entertain so
wise a man. |
|
FAUST
One glance, one word from thee doth charm me more, |
Than the world’s wisdom or
the sage’s lore. (He kisses her hand.) |
|
MARGARET
Nay! trouble not yourself! A hand so coarse, |
So rude as mine, how can
you kiss! |
What constant work at home
must I not do perforce! |
My mother too exacting
is. (They pass on.) |
|
MARTHA
Thus, sir, unceasing travel is your lot? |
|

|
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Traffic and duty urge us! With what pain |
Are we compelled to leave
full many a spot, |
Where yet we dare not once
remain! |
|
MARTHA
In youth’s wild years, with vigour crown’d, |
’Tis not amiss thus through
the world to sweep; |
But ah, the evil days come
round! |
And to a lonely grave as
bachelor to creep, |
A pleasant thing has no one
found. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
The prospect fills me with dismay. |
|
MARTHA
Therefore in time, dear sir, reflect, I pray. (They
pass on.) |
|
MARGARET
Ay, out of sight is out of mind! |
Politeness easy is to you; |
Friends everywhere, and not
a few, |
Wiser than I am, you will
find. |
|
FAUST
O dearest, trust me, what doth pass for sense |
Full oft is self-conceit
and blindness! |
|
MARGARET
How? |
|
FAUST
Simplicity and holy innocence,— |
When will ye learn your
hallow’d worth to know! |
Ah, when will meekness and
humility, |
Kind and all-bounteous
nature’s loftiest dower— |
|
MARGARET
Only one little moment think of me! |
To think of you I shall
have many an hour. |
|
FAUST
You are perhaps much alone? |
|
MARGARET
Yes, small our household is, I own, |
Yet must I see to it. No
maid we keep, |
And I must cook, sew, knit,
and sweep, |
Still early on my feet and
late; |
My mother is in all things,
great and small, |
So accurate! |
Not that for thrift there
is such pressing need; |
Than others we might make
more show indeed: |
My father left behind a
small estate, |
A house and garden near the
city-wall. |
But fairly quiet now my
days, I own; |
As soldier is my brother
gone; |
My little sister’s dead;
the babe to rear |
Occasion’d me some care and
fond annoy; |
But I would go through all
again with joy, |
The darling was to me so
dear. |
|
FAUST
An angel, sweet, if it resembled thee! |
|

|
|
MARGARET
I reared it up, and it grew fond of me. |
After my father’s death it
saw the day; |
We gave my mother up for
lost, she lay |
In such a wretched plight,
and then at length |
So very slowly she regain’d
her strength. |
Weak as she was, ’twas vain
for her to try |
Herself to suckle the poor
babe, so I |
Reared it on milk and water
all alone; |
And thus the child became
as ’twere my own; |
Within my arms it stretched
itself and grew, |
And smiling, nestled in my
bosom too. |
|
FAUST
Doubtless the purest happiness was thine. |
|
MARGARET
But many weary hours, in sooth, were also mine. |
At night its little cradle
stood |
Close to my bed; so was I
wide awake |
If it but stirred; |
One while I was obliged to
give it food, |
Or to my arms the darling
take; |
From bed full oft must
rise, whene’er its cry I heard, |
And, dancing it, must pace
the chamber to and fro; |
Stand at the wash-tub
early; forthwith go |
To market, and then mind
the cooking too— |
To-morrow like to-day, the
whole year through. |
Ah, sir, thus living, it
must be confess’d |
One’s spirits are not
always of the best; |
Yet it a relish gives to
food and rest. (They pass on.) |
|
MARTHA
Poor women! we are badly off, I own; |
A bachelor’s conversion’s
hard, indeed! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Madam, with one like you it rests alone, |
To tutor me a better course
to lead. |
|
MARTHA
Speak frankly, sir, none is there you have met? |
Has your heart ne’er
attach’d itself as yet? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
One’s own fire-side and a good wife are gold |
And pearls of price, so
says the proverb old. |
|
MARTHA
I mean, has passion never stirred your breast? |
|

|
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
I’ve everywhere been well received, I own. |
|
MARTHA
Yet hath your heart no earnest preference known? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
With ladies one should ne’er presume to jest. |
|
MARTHA
Ah! you mistake! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
I’m sorry I’m so blind |
But this I know-that you
are very kind. (They pass on.) |
|
FAUST
Me, little angel, didst thou recognize, |
When in the garden first I
came? |
|
MARGARET
Did you not see it? I cast down my eyes. |
|
FAUST
Thou dost forgive my boldness, dost not blame |
The liberty I took that
day, |
When thou from church didst
lately wend thy way? |
|
MARGARET
I was confused. So had it never been; |
No one of me could any evil
say. |
Alas, thought I, he
doubtless in thy mien, |
Something unmaidenly or
bold hath seen? |
It seemed as if it struck
him suddenly, |
Here’s just a girl with
whom one may make free! |
Yet I must own that then I
scarcely knew |
What in your favour here
began at once to plead; |
Yet I was angry with myself
indeed, |
That I more angry could not
feel with you. |
|
FAUST
Sweet love! |
|
MARGARET
Just wait awhile! (She gathers a
star-flower and plucks off the leaves one after another.) |
|

|
|
FAUST
A nosegay may that be? |
|
MARGARET
No! It is but a game. |
|
FAUST
How? |
|
MARGARET
Go, you’ll laugh at me! (She plucks
off the leaves and murmurs to herself.) |
|
FAUST
What murmurest thou? |
|
MARGARET (half
aloud)
He loves me—loves me not. |
|
FAUST
Sweet angel, with thy face of heavenly bliss! |
|
MARGARET (continues)
He loves me—not—he loves me-not— (Plucking off the
last leaf with fond joy.) |
He loves
me! |
|
FAUST
Yes! |
|
And this flower-language,
darling, let it be, |
A heavenly oracle! He
loveth thee! |
Know’st thou the meaning
of, He loveth thee? (He seizes both her hands.) |
|
MARGARET
I tremble so! |
|
FAUST
Nay! Do not tremble, love! |
Let this hand-pressure, let
this glance reveal |
Feelings, all power of
speech above; |
To give oneself up wholly
and to feel |
A joy that must eternal
prove! |
Eternal!—Yes, its end would
be despair. |
No end!—It cannot end! (MARGARET
presses his hand, extricates herself, and runs away.
He stands a moment in thought and then follows her.) |
|
MARTHA (approaching)
Night’s closing. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Yes, we’ll presently away. |
|
MARTHA
I would entreat you longer yet to stay; |
But ’tis a wicked place,
just here about; |
It is as if the folk had
nothing else to do, |
Nothing to think of too, |
But gaping watch their
neighbours, who goes in and out; |
And scandal’s busy still,
do whatsoe’er one may. |
And our young couple? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
They have flown up there. |
The wanton butterflies! |
|

|
|
MARTHA
He seems to take to her. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
And she to him. ’Tis of the world the way! |
|
A
SUMMER-HOUSE
(MARGARET runs in, hides
behind the door, holds the tip of her finger to her
lip, and peeps through the crevice.)
|
|
MARGARET
He comes! |
|
FAUST
Ah, little rogue, so thou |
Think’st to provoke me! I
have caught thee now! (He kisses her.) |
|
MARGARET (embracing
him, and returning the kiss)
Dearest of men! I love thee from my heart! (MEPHISTOPHELES
knocks.) |
|
FAUST (stamping
Who’s there? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
A friend! |
|
FAUST
A brute! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
’Tis time to part. |
|
MARTHA (comes)
Ay, it is late, good sir. |
|
FAUST
Mayn’t I attend you, then? |
|
MARGARET
Oh no—my mother would—adieu, adieu! |
|
FAUST
And must I really then take leave of you? |
Farewell! |
|
MARTHA
Good-bye! |
|
MARGARET
Ere long to meet again! (Exeunt
FAUST and MEPHISTOPHELES.) |
|

|
|
MARGARET
Good heavens! how all things far and near |
Must fill his mind,—a man
like this! |
Abash’d before him I
appear, |
And say to all things only,
yes. |
Poor simple child, I cannot
see, |
What ’tis that he can find
in me. (Exit.) |
|
FOREST AND
CAVERN
FAUST (alone)
Spirit sublime! Thou gav’st me, gav’st me all |
For which I prayed! Not
vainly hast thou turn’d |
To me thy countenance in
flaming fire: |
Gavest me glorious nature
for my realm, |
And also power to feel her
and enjoy; |
Not merely with a cold and
wondering glance, |
Thou dost permit me in her
depths profound, |
As in the bosom of a friend
to gaze. |
Before me thou dost lead
her living tribes, |
And dost in silent grove,
in air and stream |
Teach me to know my
kindred. And when roars |
The howling storm-blast
through the groaning wood, |
Wrenching the giant pine,
which in its fall |
Crashing sweeps down its
neighbour trunks and boughs, |
While hollow thunder from
the hill resounds; |
Then thou dost lead me to
some shelter’d cave, |
Dost there reveal me to
myself, and show |
Of my own bosom the
mysterious depths. |
And when with soothing
beam, the moon’s pale orb |
Full in my view climbs up
the pathless sky, |
From crag and dewy grove,
the silvery forms |
Of by-gone ages hover, and
assuage |
|
|
|
|

|
|
The joy austere of
contemplative thought. |
|
Oh, that naught perfect is
assign’d to man, |
I feel, alas! With this
exalted joy, |
Which lifts me near and
nearer to the gods, |
Thou gav’st me this
companion, unto whom |
I needs must cling, though
cold and insolent, |
He still degrades me to
myself, and turns |
Thy glorious gifts to
nothing, with a breath. |
He in my bosom with
malicious zeal |
For that fair image fans a
raging fire; |
From craving to enjoyment
thus I reel |
And in enjoyment languish
for desire. (MEPHISTOPHELES
enters.) |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Of this lone life have you not your fill? |
How for so long can it have
charms for you? |
’Tis well enough to try it
if you will; |
But then away again to
something new! |
|
FAUST
Would you could better occupy your leisure, |
Than in disturbing thus my
hours of joy. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Well! Well! I’ll leave you to yourself with pleasure, |
A serious tone you hardly
dare employ. |
To part from one so crazy,
harsh, and cross, |
Were not in truth a
grievous loss. |
The live-long day, for you
I toil and fret; |
Ne’er from his worship’s
face a hint I get, |
What pleases him, or what
to let alone. |
|
FAUST
Ay truly! that is just the proper tone! |
He wearies me, and would
with thanks be paid! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Poor Son of Earth, without my aid, |
How would thy weary days
have flown? |
Thee of thy foolish whims
I’ve cured, |
Thy vain imaginations
banished, |
And but for me, be well
assured, |
Thou from this sphere must
soon have vanished. |
In rocky hollows and in
caverns drear, |
Why like an owl sit moping
here? |
Wherefore from dripping
stones and moss with ooze embued, |
Dost suck, like any toad,
thy food? |
A rare, sweet pastime.
Verily! |
The doctor cleaveth still
to thee. |
|
FAUST
Dost comprehend what bliss without alloy |
From this wild wand’ring in
the desert springs?— |
Couldst thou but guess the
new life-power it brings, |
Thou wouldst be fiend
enough to envy me my joy. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
What super-earthly ecstasy! at night, |
To lie in darkness on the
dewy height, |
Embracing heaven and earth
in rapture high, |
The soul dilating to a
deity; |
With prescient yearnings
pierce the core of earth, |
Feel in your labouring
breast the six-days’ birth, |
Enjoy, in proud delight
what no one knows, |
While your love-rapture
o’er creation flows,— |
The earthly lost in
beatific vision, |
And then the lofty
intuition— (With a gesture.) |
I need not tell you how—to
close! |
|
FAUST
Fie on you! |
|

|
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
This displeases you? “For shame!” |
You are forsooth entitled
to exclaim; |
We to chaste ears it seems
must not pronounce |
What, nathless, the chaste
heart cannot renounce. |
Well, to be brief, the joy
as fit occasions rise, |
I grudge you not, of
specious lies. |
But long this mood thou’lt
not retain. |
Already thou’rt again
outworn, |
And should this last, thou
wilt be torn |
By frenzy or remorse and
pain. |
Enough of this! Thy true
love dwells apart, |
And all to her seems flat
and tame; |
Alone thine image fills her
heart, |
She loves thee with an
all-devouring flame. |
First came thy passion with
o’erpowering rush, |
Like mountain torrent,
swollen by the melted snow; |
Full in her heart didst
pour the sudden gush, |
Now has thy brooklet ceased
to flow. |
Instead of sitting throned
midst forests wild, |
It would become so great a
lord |
To comfort the enamour’d
child, |
And the young monkey for
her love reward. |
To her the hours seem
miserably long; |
She from the window sees
the clouds float by |
As o’er the lofty
city-walls they fly, |
“If I a birdie were!” so
runs her song, |
Half through the night and
all day long. |
Cheerful sometimes, more
oft at heart full sore; |
Fairly outwept seem now her
tears, |
Anon she tranquil is, or so
appears, |
And love-sick evermore. |
|
FAUST
Snake! Serpent vile! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES (aside)
Good! If I catch thee with my guile! |
|
FAUST
Vile reprobate! go get thee hence; |
Forbear the lovely girl to
name! |
Nor in my half-distracted
sense, |
Kindle anew the smouldering
flame! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
What wouldest thou! She thinks you’ve taken flight; |
It seems, she’s partly in
the right. |
|
FAUST
I’m near her still—and should I distant rove, |
Her I can ne’er forget,
ne’er lose her love; |
And all things touch’d by
those sweet lips of hers, |
Even the very Host, my envy
stirs. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
’Tis well! I oft have envied you indeed, |
The twin-pair that among
the roses feed. |
|
FAUST
Pander, avaunt! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Go to! I laugh, the while you rail, |
The power which fashion’d
youth and maid, |
Well understood the noble
trade; |
So neither shall occasion
fail. |
But hence!—A mighty grief I
trow! |
Unto thy lov’d one’s
chamber thou |
And not to death shouldst
go. |
|

|
|
FAUST
What is to me heaven’s joy within her arms? |
What though my life her
bosom warms!— |
Do I not ever feel her woe? |
The outcast am I not,
unhoused, unblest, |
Inhuman monster, without
aim or rest, |
Who, like the greedy surge,
from rock to rock, |
Sweeps down the dread abyss
with desperate shock? |
While she, within her lowly
cot, which graced |
The Alpine slope, beside
the waters wild, |
Her homely cares in that
small world embraced, |
Secluded lived, a simple,
artless child. |
Was’t not enough, in thy
delirious whirl |
To blast the steadfast
rocks; |
Her, and her peace as well, |
Must I, God-hated one, to
ruin hurl! |
Dost claim this holocaust,
remorseless Hell! |
Fiend, help me to cut short
the hours of dread! |
Let what must happen,
happen speedily! |
Her direful doom fall
crushing on my head, |
And into ruin let her
plunge with me! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Why how again it seethes and glows! |
Away, thou fool! Her
torment ease! |
When such a head no issue
sees, |
It pictures straight the
final close. |
Long life to him who boldly
dares! |
A devil’s pluck thou’rt
wont to show; |
As for a devil who
despairs, |
Nothing I find so mawkish
here below. |
|
MARGARET’S
ROOM
MARGARET (alone at her spinning wheel)
My peace is gone, |
My heart is sore, |
I find it never, |
And nevermore! |
|
Where him I have not, |
Is the grave; and all |
The world to me |
Is turned to gall. |
|
My wilder’d brain |
Is overwrought; |
My feeble senses |
Are distraught. |
|
My peace is gone, |
My heart is sore, |
I find it never, |
And nevermore! |
|
For him from the window |
I gaze, at home; |
For him and him only |
Abroad I roam. |
|
His lofty step, |
His bearing high, |
The smile of his lip, |
The power of his eye, |
|
His witching words, |
Their tones of bliss, |
His hand’s fond pressure |
And ah—his kiss! |
|
My peace is gone, |
My heart is sore, |
I find it never, |
And nevermore. |
|
My bosom aches |
To feel him near; |
Ah, could I clasp |
And fold him here! |
|
Kiss him and kiss him |
Again would I, |
And on his kisses |
I fain would die. |
|

|
|
MARTHA’S
GARDEN
MARGARET and FAUST
MARGARET
Promise me, Henry! |
|
FAUST
What I can! |
|
MARGARET
How thy religion fares, I fain would hear. |
Thou art a good
kind-hearted man, |
Only that way not
well-disposed, I fear. |
|
FAUST
Forbear, my child! Thou feelest thee I love; |
My heart, my blood I’d
give, my love to prove, |
And none would of their
faith or church bereave. |
|
MARGARET
That’s not enough, we must ourselves believe! |
|
FAUST
Must we? |
|
MARGARET
Ah, could I but thy soul inspire! |
Thou honourest not the
sacraments, alas! |
|
FAUST
I honour them. |
|
MARGARET
But yet without desire; |
’Tis long since thou hast
been either to shrift or mass. |
Dost thou believe in God? |
|
FAUST
My darling, who dares say, |
Yes, I in God believe? |
Question or priest or sage,
and they |
Seem, in the answer you
receive, |
To mock the questioner. |
|
MARGARET
Then thou dost not believe? |
|
FAUST
Sweet one! my meaning do not misconceive! |
Him who dare name? |
And who proclaim, |
Him I believe? |
Who that can feel, |
His heart can steel, |
To say: I believe him not? |
The All-embracer, |
All-sustainer, |
Holds and sustains he not |
Thee, me, himself? |
Lifts not the Heaven its
dome above? |
Doth not the firm-set earth
beneath us lie? |
And beaming tenderly with
looks of love, |
Climb not the everlasting
stars on high? |
Do we not gaze into each
other’s eyes? |
Nature’s impenetrable
agencies, |
Are they not thronging on
thy heart and brain, |
Viewless, or visible to
mortal ken, |
Around thee weaving their
mysterious chain? |
Fill thence thy heart, how
large soe’er it be; |
And in the feeling when
thou utterly art blest, |
Then call it, what thou
wilt,— |
Call it Bliss! Heart! Love!
God! |
I have no name for it! |
’Tis feeling all; |
Name is but sound and smoke |
Shrouding the glow of
heaven. |
|
MARGARET
All this is doubtless good and fair; |
Almost the same the parson
says, |
Only in slightly different
phrase. |
|
FAUST
Beneath Heaven’s sunshine, everywhere, |
This is the utterance of
the human heart; |
Each in his language doth
the like impart; |
Then why not I in mine? |
|

|
|
MARGARET
What thus I hear |
Sounds plausible, yet I’m
not reconciled; |
There’s something wrong
about it; much I fear |
That thou art not a
Christian. |
|
FAUST
My sweet child! |
|
MARGARET
Alas! it long hath sorely troubled me, |
To see thee in such odious
company. |
|
FAUST
How so? |
|
MARGARET
The man who comes with thee, I hate, |
Yea, in my spirit’s inmost
depths abhor; |
As his loath’d visage, in
my life before, |
Naught to my heart e’er
gave a pang so great. |
|
FAUST
Him fear not, my sweet love! |
|
MARGARET
His presence chills my blood. |
Towards all beside I have a
kindly mood; |
Yet, though I yearn to gaze
on thee, I feel |
At sight of him strange
horror o’er me steal; |
That he’s a villain my
conviction’s strong. |
May Heaven forgive me, if I
do him wrong! |
|
FAUST
Yet such strange fellows in the world must be! |
|
MARGARET
I would not live with such an one as he. |
If for a moment he but
enter here, |
He looks around him with a
mocking sneer, |
And malice ill-conceal’d; |
That he with naught on
earth can sympathize is clear |
Upon his brow ’tis legibly
revealed, |
That to his heart no living
soul is dear. |
So blest I feel, within
thine arms, |
So warm and happy,—free
from all alarms; |
And still my heart doth
close when he comes near. |
|
FAUST
Foreboding angel! check thy fear! |
|
MARGARET
It so o’ermasters me, that when, |
Or wheresoe’er, his step I
hear, |
I almost think, no more I
love thee then. |
Besides, when he is near, I
ne’er could pray. |
This eats into my heart;
with thee |
The same, my Henry, it must
be. |
|
FAUST
This is antipathy! |
|
MARGARET
I must away. |
|
FAUST
For one brief hour then may I never rest, |
And heart to heart, and
soul to soul be pressed? |
|
MARGARET
Ah, if I slept alone! To-night |
The bolt I fain would leave
undrawn for thee; |
But then my mother’s sleep
is light, |
Were we surprised by her,
ah me! |
Upon the spot I should be
dead. |
|

|
|
FAUST
Dear angel! there’s no cause for dread. |
Here is a little phial,—if
she take |
Mixed in her drink three
drops, ’twill steep |
Her nature in a deep and
soothing sleep. |
|
MARGARET
What do I not for thy dear sake! |
To her it will not harmful
prove? |
|
FAUST
Should I advise it else, sweet love? |
|
MARGARET
I know not, dearest, when thy face I see, |
What doth my spirit to thy
will constrain; |
Already I have done so much
for thee, |
That scarcely more to do
doth now remain. (Exit.) |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES (enters)
MEPHISTOPHELES
The monkey! Is she gone? |
|
FAUST
Again hast played the spy? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Of all that pass’d I’m well apprized, |
I heard the doctor
catechised, |
And trust he’ll profit much
thereby! |
Fain would the girls
inquire indeed |
Touching their lover’s
faith and creed, |
And whether pious in the
good old way; |
They think, if pliant
there, us too he will obey. |
|
FAUST
Thou monster, does not see that this |
Pure soul, possessed by
ardent love, |
Full of the living faith, |
To her of bliss |
The only pledge, must holy
anguish prove, |
Holding the man she loves,
fore-doomed to endless death! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Most sensual, supersensualist? The while |
A damsel leads thee by the
nose! |
|
FAUST
Of filth and fire abortion vile! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
In physiognomy strange skill she shows; |
She in my presence feels
she knows not how; |
My mask it seems a hidden
sense reveals; |
That I’m a genius she must
needs allow, |
That I’m the very devil
perhaps she feels. |
So then to-night— |
|
FAUST
What’s that to you? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
I’ve my amusement in it too! |
|
AT THE WELL
MARGARET and BESSY,
with pitchers
BESSY
Of Barbara hast nothing heard? |
|
MARGARET
I rarely go from home,—no, not a word. |
|

|
|
BESSY
’Tis true: Sybilla told me so to-day! |
That comes of being proud,
methinks; |
She played the fool at
last. |
|
MARGARET
How so? |
|
BESSY
They say |
That two she feedeth when
she eats and drinks. |
|
MARGARET
Alas! |
|
BESSY
She’s rightly served, in sooth, |
How long she hung upon the
youth! |
What promenades, what
jaunts there were, |
To dancing booth and
village fair! |
The first she everywhere
must shine, |
He always treating her to
pastry and to wine |
Of her good looks she was
so vain, |
So shameless too, that to
retain |
His presents, she did not
disdain; |
Sweet words and kisses came
anon— |
And then the virgin flower
was gone. |
|
MARGARET
Poor thing! |
|
BESSY
Forsooth dost pity her? |
At night, when at our
wheels we sat, |
Abroad our mothers ne’er
would let us stir. |
Then with her lover she
must chat, |
Or on the bench or in the
dusky walk, |
Thinking the hours too
brief for their sweet talk; |
Her proud head she will
have to bow, |
And in white sheet do
penance now! |
|
MARGARET
But he will surely marry her? |
|
BESSY
Not he! |
He won’t be such a fool! a
gallant lad |
Like him, can roam o’er
land and sea, |
Besides, he’s off. |
|
MARGARET
That is not fair! |
|
BESSY
If she should get him, ’twere almost as bad! |
Her myrtle wreath the boys
would tear; |
And then we girls would
plagued her too, |
For we chopp’d straw before
her door would strew! (Exit.) |
|
MARGARET (walking
towards home)
How stoutly once I could inveigh, |
If a poor maiden went
astray; |
Not words enough my tongue
could find, |
’Gainst others’ sin to
speak my mind! |
Black as it seemed, I
blacken’d it still more, |
And strove to make it
blacker than before. |
And did myself securely
bless— |
Now my own trespass doth
appear! |
Yet ah!—what urg’d me to
transgress, |
God knows, it was so sweet,
so dear! |
|

|
|
ZWINGER
Enclosure between the City-wall and the Gate.
(In the niche of the wall a devotional image of
the Mater dolorosa, with flower-pots before it.)
MARGARET (putting fresh
flowers in the pots)
Ah, rich in sorrow, thou, |
Stoop thy maternal brow, |
And mark with pitying eye
my misery! |
The sword in thy pierced
heart, |
Thou dost with bitter
smart, |
Gaze upwards on thy Son’s
death agony. |
To the dear God on high, |
Ascends thy piteous sigh, |
Pleading for his and thy
sore misery. |
Ah, who can know |
The torturing woe, |
The pangs that rack me to
the bone? |
How my poor heart, without
relief, |
Trembles and throbs, its
yearning grief |
Thou knowest, thou alone! |
Ah, wheresoe’er I go, |
With woe, with woe, with
woe, |
My anguish’d breast is
aching! |
When all alone I creep, |
I weep, I weep, I weep, |
Alas! my heart is breaking! |
The flower-pots at my
window |
Were wet with tears of
mine, |
The while I pluck’d these
blossoms, |
At dawn to deck thy shrine! |
When early in my chamber |
Shone bright the rising
morn, |
I sat there on my pallet, |
My heart with anguish torn. |
Help! from disgrace and
death deliver me! |
Ah! rich in sorrow, thou, |
Stoop thy maternal brow, |
And mark with pitying eye
my misery! |
|
NIGHT.
STREET BEFORE MARGARET’S DOOR
VALENTINE (a soldier,
MARGARET’S brother)
When seated ’mong the jovial crowd, |
Where merry comrades
boasting loud |
Each named with pride his
favourite lass, |
And in her honour drain’d
his glass; |
Upon my elbows I would
lean, |
With easy quiet view the
scene, |
Nor give my tongue the rein
until |
Each swaggering blade had
talked his fill. |
Then smiling I my beard
would stroke, |
The while, with brimming
glass, I spoke; |
“Each to his taste!—but to
my mind, |
Where in the country will
you find, |
A maid, as my dear Gretchen
fair, |
Who with my sister can
compare?” |
Cling! Clang! so rang the
jovial sound! |
Shouts of assent went
circling round; |
Pride of her sex is
she!—cried some; |
Then were the noisy
boasters dumb. |
|
And now!—I could tear out
my hair, |
Or dash my brains out in
despair!— |
Me every scurvy knave may
twit, |
With stinging jest and
taunting sneer! |
Like skulking debtor I must
sit, |
And sweat each casual word
to hear! |
And though I smash’d them
one and all,— |
Yet them I could not liars
call. |
|
Who comes this way?
who’s sneaking here? |
If I mistake not, two
draw near. |
If he be one, have at
him;—well I wot |
Alive he shall not
leave this spot! |
|
FAUST.
MEPHISTOPHELES
FAUST
How from yon sacristy, athwart the night, |
Its beams the ever-burning
taper throws, |
While ever waning, fades
the glimmering light, |
As gathering darkness doth
around it close! |
So night-like gloom doth in
my bosom reign. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
I’m like a tom-cat in a thievish vein, |
That up fire-ladders tall
and steep, |
And round the walls doth
slyly creep; |
Virtuous withal, I feel,
with, I confess, |
A touch of thievish joy and
wantonness. |
Thus through my limbs
already burns |
The glorious Walpurgis
night! |
After to-morrow it returns, |
Then why one wakes, one
knows aright! |
|
FAUST
Meanwhile, the treasure I see glimmering there, |
Will it ascend into the
open air? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Ere long thou wilt proceed with pleasure, |
To raise the casket with
its treasure; |
I took a peep, therein are
stored, |
Of lion-dollars a rich
hoard. |
|

|
|
FAUST
And not a trinket? not a ring? |
Wherewith my lovely girl to
deck? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
I saw among them some such thing, |
A string of pearls to grace
her neck. |
|
FAUST
’Tis well! I’m always loath to go, |
Without some gift my love
to show. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Some pleasures gratis to enjoy, |
Should surely cause you no
annoy. |
While bright with stars the
heavens appear, |
I’ll sing a masterpiece of
art: |
A moral song shall charm
her ear, |
More surely to beguile her
heart. (Sings to the guitar.) |
Kathrina say, |
Why lingering stay |
At dawn of day |
Before your lover’s door? |
Maiden, beware, |
Nor enter there, |
Lest forth you fare, |
A maiden never more. |
|
Maiden take heed! |
Reck well my rede! |
Is’t done, the deed? |
Good night, you poor, poor
thing! |
The spoiler’s lies, |
His arts despise, |
Nor yield your prize, |
Without the marriage ring! |
|
VALENTINE (steps
forward)
Whom are you luring here? I’ll give it you! |
Accursed rat-catchers, your
strains I’ll end! |
First, to the devil the
guitar I’ll send! |
Then to the devil with the
singer too! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
The poor guitar! ’tis done for now. |
|
VALENTINE
Your skull shall follow next, I trow! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES (to
FAUST)
Doctor, stand fast! your strength collect! |
Be prompt, and do as I
direct. |
Out with your whisk, keep
close, I pray, |
I’ll parry! do you thrust
away! |
|
VALENTINE
Then parry that! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Why not? |
|
VALENTINE
That too! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
With ease! |
|
VALENTINE
The devil fights for you! |
Why how is this? my hand’s
already lamed! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES (to
FAUST)
Thrust home! |
|
VALENTINE (falls)
Alas! |
|

|
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
There! Now the lubber’s tamed! |
But quick, away! We must at
once take wing; |
A cry of murder strikes
upon the ear; |
With the police I know my
course to steer, |
But with the blood-ban ’tis
another thing. |
|
MARTHA (at
the window)
Without! without! |
|
|
|
|
MARGARET (at
the window)
Quick, bring a light! |
|
MARTHA (as
above)
They rail and scuffle, scream and fight! |
|
PEOPLE
One lieth here already dead! |
|
MARTHA (coming
out)
Where are the murderers? are they fled? |
|
MARGARET (coming
out)
Who lieth here? |
|
PEOPLE
Thy mother’s son. |
|
MARGARET
Almighty God! I am undone! |
|
VALENTINE
I’m dying—’tis a soon-told tale, |
And sooner done the deed. |
Why, women, do ye howl and
wail? |
To my last words give
heed! (All gather round him.) |
My Gretchen see! still
young art thou, |
Art not discreet enough, I
trow, |
Thou dost thy matters ill; |
Let this in confidence be
said: |
Since thou the path of
shame dost tread, |
Tread it with right good
will! |
|
MARGARET
My brother! God! what can this mean? |
|
VALENTINE
Abstain, |
Nor dare God’s holy name
profane! |
What’s done, alas, is done
and past! |
Matters will take their
course at last; |
By stealth thou dost begin
with one, |
Others will follow him
anon; |
And when a dozen thee have
known, |
Thou’lt common be to all
the town. |
When infamy is newly born, |
In secret she is brought to
light, |
And the mysterious veil of
night |
O’er head and ears is
drawn; |
The loathsome birth men
fain would slay; |
But soon, full grown, she
waxes bold, |
And though not fairer to
behold, |
With brazen front insults
the day: |
The more abhorrent to the
sight, |
The more she courts the
day’s pure light. |
|
The time already I discern, |
When thee all honest folk
will spurn, |
And shun thy hated form to
meet, |
As when a corpse infects
the street. |
Thy heart will sink in
blank despair, |
When they shall look thee
in the face! |
A golden chain no more
thou’lt wear! |
Nor near the altar take in
church thy place! |
In fair lace collar simply
dight |
Thou’lt dance no more with
spirits light! |
In darksome corners thou
wilt bide, |
Where beggars vile and
cripples hide, |
And e’en though God thy
crime forgive, |
On earth, a thing accursed,
thou’lt live! |
|

|
|
MARTHA
Your parting soul to God commend! |
Your dying breath in
slander will you spend? |
|
VALENTINE
Could I but reach thy wither’d frame, |
Thou wretched beldame, void
of shame! |
Full measure I might hope
to win |
Of pardon then for every
sin. |
|
MARGARET
Brother! what agonizing pain! |
|
VALENTINE
I tell thee, from vain tears abstain! |
’Twas thy dishonour pierced
my heart, |
Thy fall the fatal
death-stab gave. |
Through the death-sleep I
now depart |
To God, a soldier true and
brave. (dies.) |
|

|
|
CATHEDRAL
Service, Organ, and Anthem
MARGARET amongst a number
of people
EVIL-SPIRIT
behind MARGARET
EVIL-SPIRIT
How different, Gretchen, was it once with thee, |
When thou, still full of
innocence, |
Here to the altar camest, |
And from the small and
well-conn’d book |
Didst lisp thy prayer, |
Half childish sport, |
Half God in thy young
heart! |
Gretchen! |
What thoughts are thine? |
What deed of shame |
Lurks in thy sinful heart? |
Is thy prayer utter’d for
thy mother’s soul, |
Who into long, long torment
slept through thee? |
Whose blood is on thy
threshold? |
—And stirs there not
already ’neath thy heart |
Another quick’ning pulse,
that even now |
Tortures itself and thee |
With its foreboding
presence? |
|
MARGARET
Woe! Woe! |
Oh could I free me from the
thoughts |
That hither, thither, crowd
upon my brain, |
Against my will! |
|
CHORUS
Dies iræ, dies illa, |
Solvet sæclum in
favilla. (The organ sounds.) |
|
EVIL-SPIRIT
Grim horror seizes thee! |
The trumpet sounds! |
The graves are shaken! |
And thy heart |
From ashy rest |
For torturing flames |
A new created, |
Trembles into life! |
|
MARGARET
Would I were hence! |
It is as if the organ |
Choked my breath, |
As if the choir |
Melted my inmost heart! |
|
CHORUS
Judex ergo cum sedebit, |
Quidquid latet
adparebit, |
Nil inultum
remanebit. |
|
MARGARET
I feel oppressed! |
The pillars of the wall |
Imprison me! |
The vaulted roof |
Weighs down upon me!—air! |
|
EVIL-SPIRIT
Wouldst hide thee? sin and shame |
Remain not hidden! |
Air! light! |
Woe’s thee! |
|
CHORUS
Quid sum miser tunc dicturus? |
Quem patronum rogaturus! |
Cum vix justus sit
securus. |
|
EVIL-SPIRIT
The glorified their faces turn |
Away from thee! |
Shudder the pure to reach |
Their hands to thee! |
Woe! |
|
CHORUS
Quid sum miser tunc dicturus— |
|
MARGARET
Neighbour! your smelling bottle! (She swoons away.) |
|

|
|
WALPURGIS-NIGHT
THE HARTZ MOUNTAINS. DISTRICT OF
SCHIERKE AND ELEND
FAUST and MEPHISTOPHELES
MEPHISTOPHELES
A broomstick dost thou not at least desire? |
The roughest he-goat fain
would I bestride, |
By this road from our goal
we’re still far wide. |
|
FAUST
While fresh upon my legs, so long I naught require, |
Except this knotty staff.
Beside, |
What boots it to abridge a
pleasant way? |
Along the labyrinth of
these vales to creep, |
Then scale these rocks,
whence, in eternal spray, |
Adown the cliffs the
silvery fountains leap: |
Such is the joy that
seasons paths like these! |
Spring weaves already in
the birchen trees; |
E’en the late pine-grove
feels her quickening powers; |
Should she not work within
these limbs of ours? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Naught of this genial influence do I know! |
Within me all is wintry.
Frost and snow |
I should prefer my dismal
path to bound. |
How sadly, yonder, with
belated glow |
Rises the ruddy moon’s
imperfect round, |
Shedding so faint a light,
at every tread |
One’s sure to stumble
’gainst a rock or tree! |
An Ignis Fatuus I must call
instead. |
Yonder one burning merrily,
I see. |
Holla! my friend! may I
request your light? |
Why should you flare away
so uselessly? |
Be kind enough to show us
up the height! |
|
IGNIS
FATUUS
Through reverence, I hope I may subdue |
The lightness of my nature;
true, |
Our course is but a zigzag
one. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Ho! ho! |
So men, forsooth, he thinks
to imitate! |
Now, in the devil’s name,
for once go straight! |
Or out at once your
flickering life I’ll blow. |
|
IGNIS
FATUUS
That you are master here is obvious quite; |
To do your will, I’ll
cordially essay; |
Only reflect! The hill is
magic-mad to-night; |
And if to show the path you
choose a meteor’s light, |
You must not wonder should
we go astray. |
|
FAUST,
MEPHISTOPHELES, IGNIS
FATUUS (in
alternate song)
Through the dream and magic-sphere, |
As it seems, we now are
speeding; |
Honour win, us rightly
leading, |
That betimes we may appear |
In yon wide and desert
region! |
|
Trees on trees, a stalwart
legion, |
Swiftly past us are
retreating, |
And the cliffs with lowly
greeting; |
Rocks long-snouted, row on
row, |
How they snort, and how
they blow! |
|
Through the stones and
heather springing, |
Brook and brooklet haste
below; |
Hark the rustling! Hark the
singing! |
Hearken to love’s plaintive
lays; |
Voices of those heavenly
days— |
What we hope, and what we
love! |
Like a tale of olden time, |
Echo’s voice prolongs the
chime. |
|
To-whit! To-whoo! It sounds
more near; |
Plover, owl and jay appear, |
All awake, around, above? |
Paunchy salamanders too |
Peer, long-limbed, the
bushes through! |
And, like snakes, the roots
of trees |
|
Coil themselves from rock
and sand, |
Stretching many a wondrous
band, |
Us to frighten, us to
seize; |
From rude knots with life
embued, |
Polyp-fangs abroad they
spread, |
To snare the wanderer!
’Neath our tread, |
Mice, in myriads,
thousand-hued, |
Through the heath and
through the moss! |
And the fire-flies’
glittering throng, |
Wildering escort, whirls
along, |
Here and there, our path
across. |
Tell me, stand we
motionless, |
Or still forward do we
press? |
All things round us whirl
and fly; |
Rocks and trees make
strange grimaces, |
Dazzling meteors change
their places, |
How they puff and multiply! |
|

|
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Now grasp my doublet-we at last |
A central peak have
reached, which shows, |
If round a wondering glance
we cast, |
How in the mountain Mammon
glows, |
|
FAUST
How through the chasms strangely gleams, |
A lurid light, like dawn’s
red glow, |
Pervading with its
quivering beams, |
The gorges of the gulf
below! |
Here vapours rise, there
clouds float by, |
Here through the mist the
light doth shine; |
Now, like a fount, it
bursts on high, |
Meanders now, a slender
line; |
Far reaching, with a
hundred veins, |
Here through the valley see
it glide; |
Here, where its force the
gorge restrains, |
At once it scatters, far
and wide; |
Anear, like showers of
golden sand |
Strewn broadcast, sputter
sparks of light: |
And mark yon rocky walls
that stand |
Ablaze, in all their
towering height! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Doth not Sir Mammon for this fête |
Grandly illume his palace!
Thou |
Art lucky to have seen it;
now, |
The boisterous guests, I
feel, are coming straight. |
|
FAUST
How through the air the storm doth whirl! |
Upon my neck it strikes
with sudden shock. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Cling to these ancient ribs of granite rock, |
Else to yon depths profound
it you will hurl. |
A murky vapour thickens
night. |
Hark! Through the woods the
tempests roar! |
The owlets flit in wild
affright. |
Hark! Splinter’d are the
columns that upbore |
The leafy palace, green for
aye: |
The shivered branches whirr
and sigh, |
Yawn the huge trunks with
mighty groan. |
The roots upriven, creak
and moan! |
In fearful and entangled
fall, |
One crashing ruin whelms
them all, |
While through the desolate
abyss, |
Sweeping the wreck-strewn
precipice, |
The raging storm-blasts
howl and hiss! |
Aloft strange voices dost
thou hear? |
Distant now and now more
near? |
Hark! the mountain ridge
along, |
Streameth a raving
magic-song! |
|
WITCHES (in
chorus)
Now to the Brocken the witches hie, |
The stubble is yellow,
the corn is green; |
Thither the gathering
legions fly, |
And sitting aloft is
Sir Urian seen: |
O’er stick and o’er
stone they go whirling along, |
Witches and he-goats, a
motley throng, |
|
VOICES
Alone old Baubo’s coming now; |
She rides upon a farrow
sow. |
|
CHORUS
Honour to her, to whom honour is due! |
Forward, Dame Baubo!
Honour to you! |
A goodly sow and mother
thereon, |
The whole witch chorus
follows anon. |
|
Voice |
|
Which way didst come? |
|
VOICE
O’er Ilsenstein! |
There I peep’d in an
owlet’s nest. |
With her broad eye she
gazed in mine! |
|
VOICE
Drive to the devil, thou hellish pest! |
Why ride so hard? |
|
VOICE
She has graz’d my side, |
Look at the wounds, how
deep and how wide! |
|
WITCHES (in
chorus)
The way is broad, the way is long; |
What mad pursuit! What
tumult wild! |
Scratches the besom and
sticks the prong; |
Crush’d is the mother,
and stifled the child. |
|
WIZARDS (half
chorus)
Like house-encumber’d snail we creep; |
While far ahead the
women keep, |
For when to the devil’s
house we speed, |
By a thousand steps
they take the lead. |
|
THE
OTHER HALF
Not so, precisely do we view it;— |
They with a thousand
steps may do it; |
But let them hasten as
they can, |
With one long bound
’tis clear’d by man. |
|
VOICES (above)
Come with us, come with us from Felsensee. |
|
VOICES (from
below)
Aloft to you we would mount with glee! |
We wash, and free from all
stain are we, |
Yet barren evermore must
be! |
|
BOTH
CHORUSES
The wind is hushed, the stars grow pale, |
The pensive moon her
light doth veil; |
And whirling on, the
magic choir |
Sputters forth sparks
of drizzling fire. |
|
VOICE (from
below)
Stay! stay! |
Voice (from
above)
What voice of woe |
Calls from the cavern’d
depths below? |
|
VOICE (from
below)
Take me with you! Oh take me too! |
Three centuries I climb in
vain, |
And yet can ne’er the
summit gain! |
To be with my kindred I am
fain. |
|
BOTH
CHORUSES
Broom and pitch-fork, goat and prong, |
Mounted on these we
whirl along; |
Who vainly strives to
climb to-night, |
Is evermore a luckless
wight! |
|
DEMI-WITCH (below)
I hobble after, many a day; |
Already the others are far
away! |
No rest at home can I
obtain— |
Here too my efforts are in
vain! |
|
CHORUS OF
WITCHES
Salve gives the witches strength to rise; |
A rag for a sail does
well enough; |
A goodly ship is every
trough; |
To-night who flies not,
never flies. |
|
BOTH
CHORUSES
And when the topmost peak we round, |
Then alight ye on the
ground; |
The heath’s wide
regions cover ye |
With your mad swarms of
witchery! (They let themselves down.) |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
They crowd and jostle, whirl and flutter! |
They whisper, babble,
twirl, and splutter! |
They glimmer, sparkle,
stink and flare— |
A true witch-element!
Beware! |
Stick close! else we shall
severed be. |
Where art thou? |
|
FAUST (in
the distance)
Here! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Already, whirl’d so far away! |
The master then indeed I
needs must play. |
Give ground! Squire Voland
comes! Sweet folk, give ground! |
Here, doctor, grasp me!
With a single bound |
Let us escape this
ceaseless jar; |
Even for me too mad these
people are. |
Hard by there shineth
something with peculiar glare, |
Yon brake allureth me; it
is not far; |
Come, come along with me!
we’ll slip in there. |
|
FAUST
Spirit of contradiction! Lead! I’ll follow straight! |
’Twas wisely done, however,
to repair |
On May-night to the
Brocken, and when there |
By our own choice ourselves
to isolate! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Mark, of those flames the motley glare! |
A merry club assembles
there. |
In a small circle one is
not alone. |
|
FAUST
I’d rather be above, though, I must own! |
Already fire and eddying
smoke I view; |
The impetuous millions to
the devil ride; |
Full many a riddle will be
there untied. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Ay! and full many a riddle tied anew. |
But let the great world
rave and riot! |
Here will we house
ourselves in quiet. |
A custom ’tis of ancient
date, |
Our lesser worlds within
the great world to create! |
Young witches there I see,
naked and bare, |
And old ones, veil’d more
prudently. |
For my sake only courteous
be! |
The trouble’s small, the
sport is rare. |
Of instruments I hear the
cursed din— |
One must get used to it.
Come in! come in! |
There’s now no help for it.
I’ll step before |
And introducing you as my
good friend, |
Confer on you one
obligation more. |
How say you now? ’Tis no
such paltry room; |
Why only look, you scarce
can see the end. |
A hundred fires in rows
disperse the gloom; |
They dance, they talk, they
cook, make love, and drink: |
Where could we find aught
better, do you think? |
|
FAUST
To introduce us, do you purpose here |
As devil or as wizard to
appear? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Though I am wont indeed to strict incognito, |
Yet upon gala-days one must
one’s orders show. |
No garter have I to
distinguish me, |
Nathless the cloven foot
doth here give dignity. |
Seest thou yonder snail?
Crawling this way she hies: |
With searching feelers,
she, no doubt, |
Hath me already scented
out; |
Here, even if I would, for
me there’s no disguise. |
From fire to fire, we’ll
saunter at our leisure, |
The gallant you, I’ll cater
for your pleasure. (To a party seated round some
expiring embers.) |
Old gentleman, apart, why
sit ye moping here? |
Ye in the midst should be
of all this jovial cheer, |
Girt round with noise and
youthful riot; |
At home one surely has
enough of quiet. |
|
GENERAL
In nations put his trust, who may, |
Whate’er for them one may
have done; |
For with the people, as
with women, they |
Honour your rising stars
alone! |
|
MINISTER
Now all too far they wander from the right; |
I praise the good old ways,
to them I hold, |
Then was the genuine age of
gold, |
When we ourselves were
foremost in men’s sight. |
|
PARVENU
Ne’er were we ’mong your dullards found, |
And what we ought not, that
to do were fair; |
Yet now are all things
turning round and round, |
When on firm basis we would
them maintain. |
|
AUTHOR
Who, as a rule, a treatise now would care |
To read, of even moderate
sense? |
As for the rising
generation, ne’er |
Has youth displayed such
arrogant pretence. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES (suddenly
appearing very old)
Since for the last time I the Brocken scale, |
That folk are ripe for
doomsday, now one sees; |
And just because my cask
begins to fail, |
So the whole world is also
on the lees. |
|
HUCKSTER-WITCH
Stop, gentlemen, nor pass me by, |
Of wares I have a choice
collection: |
Pray honour them with your
inspection. |
Lose not his opportunity! |
Yet nothing in my booth
you’ll find |
Without its counterpart on
earth; there’s naught, |
Which to the world, and to
mankind, |
Hath not some direful
mischief wrought. |
No dagger here, which hath
not flow’d with blood, |
No chalice, whence, into
some healthy frame |
Hath not been poured hot
poison’s wasting flood. |
No trinket, but hath
wrought some woman’s shame, |
No weapon but hath cut some
sacred tie, |
Or from behind hath stabb’d
an enemy. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Gossip! For wares like these the time’s gone by, |
What’s done is past! what’s
past is done! |
With novelties your booth
supply; |
Us novelties attract alone. |
|
FAUST
May this wild scene my senses spare! |
This, may in truth be
called a fair! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Upward the eddying concourse throng; |
Thinking to push, thyself
art push’d along. |
|
FAUST
Who’s that, pray? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Mark her well! That’s Lilith. |
|
FAUST
Who? |
|

|
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Adam’s first wife. Of her rich locks beware! |
That charm in which she’s
parallel’d by few; |
When in its toils a youth
she doth ensnare, |
He will not soon escape, I
promise you. |
|
FAUST
There sit a pair, the old one with the young; |
Already they have bravely
danced and sprung! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Here there is no repose to-day. |
Another dance begins; we’ll
join it, come away! |
|
FAUST
(dancing with the young one) Once a
fair vision came to me;
|
There in I saw an
apple-tree, |
Two beauteous
apples charmed mine eyes; |
I climb’d forthwith
to reach the prize. |
|
THE
FAIR ONE
Apples still fondly ye desire, |
From paradise it
hath been so. |
Feelings of joy my
breast inspire |
That such too in my
garden grow. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES (with
the old one)
Once a weird vision came to me; |
Therein I saw a
rifted tree. |
It had
a . . . . . . ; |
But as it was it
pleased me too. |
|
THE
OLD ONE
I beg most humbly to salute |
The gallant with
the cloven foot! |
Let him a … have
ready here, |
If he a … does not
fear. |
|
PROCTOPHANTASMIST
Accursed mob! How dare ye thus to meet? |
Have I not shown and
demonstrated too, |
That ghosts stand not on
ordinary feet? |
Yet here ye dance, as other
mortals do! |
|
THE
FAIR ONE (dancing)
Then at our ball, what doth he here? |
|
FAUST (dancing)
Oh! He must everywhere appear. |
He must adjudge, when
others dance; |
If on each step his say’s
not said, |
So is that step as good as
never made. |
He’s most annoyed, so soon
as we advance; |
If ye would circle in one
narrow round, |
As he in his old mill, then
doubtless he |
Your dancing would
approve,—especially |
If ye forthwith salute him
with respect profound! |
|
PROCTOPHANTASMIST
Still here! what arrogance! unheard of quite! |
Vanish; we now have fill’d
the world with light! |
Laws are unheeded by the
devil’s host; |
Wise as we are, yet Tegel
hath its ghost! |
How long at this conceit
I’ve swept with all my might, |
Lost is the labour: ’tis
unheard of quite! |
|
THE
FAIR ONE
Cease here to teaze us any more, I pray. |
|
PROCTOPHANTASMIST
Spirits, I plainly to your face declare: |
No spiritual control myself
will bear, |
Since my own spirit can
exert no sway. (The dancing continues.) |
To-night, I see, I shall in
naught succeed; |
But I’m prepar’d my travels
to pursue, |
And hope, before my final
step indeed, |
To triumph over bards and
devils too. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Now in some puddle will he take his station, |
Such is his mode of seeking
consolation; |
Where leeches, feasting on
his rump, will drain |
Spirits alike and spirit
from his brain. (To FAUST,
who has left the dance.) |
But why the charming damsel
leave, I pray, |
Who to you in the dance so
sweetly sang? |
|
FAUST
Ah, in the very middle of her lay, |
Out of her mouth a small
red mouse there sprang. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Suppose there did! One must not be too nice. |
’Twas well it was not grey,
let that suffice. |
Who ’mid his pleasures for
a trifle cares? |
|
FAUST
Then saw I— |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
What? |
|
FAUST
Mephisto, seest thou there |
Standing far off, a lone
child, pale and fair? |
Slow from the spot her
drooping form she tears, |
And seems with shackled
feet to move along; |
I own, within me the
delusion’ strong, |
That she the likeness of my
Gretchen wears. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Gaze not upon her! ’Tis not good! Forbear! |
’Tis lifeless, magical, a
shape of air, |
An idol. Such to meet with,
bodes no good; |
That rigid look of hers
doth freeze man’s blood, |
And well-nigh petrifies his
heart to stone:— |
The story of Medusa thou
hast known. |
|
FAUST
Ay, verily! a corpse’s eyes are those, |
Which there was no fond
loving hand to close. |
That is the bosom I so
fondly press’d, |
That my sweet Gretchen’s
form, so oft caress’d! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Deluded fool! ’Tis magic, I declare! |
To each she doth his lov’d
one’s image wear. |
|
FAUST
What bliss! what torture! vainly I essay |
To turn me from that
piteous look away. |
|
|
|
|
How strangely doth a single
crimson line |
Around that lovely neck its
coil entwine, |
It shows no broader than a
knife’s blunt edge! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Quite right. I see it also, and allege |
That she beneath her arm
her head can bear, |
Since Perseus cut it
off.—But you I swear |
Are craving for illusion
still! |
Come then, ascend yon
little hill! |
As on the Prater all is
gay, |
And if my senses are not
gone, |
I see a theatre,—what’s
going on? |
|
SERVIBILIS
They are about to recommence;—the play |
Will be the last of seven,
and spick-span new— |
’Tis usual here that number
to present. |
A dilettante did the piece
invent, |
And dilettanti will enact
it too. |
Excuse me, gentlemen; to
me’s assign’d |
As dilettante to uplift the
curtain. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
You on the Blocksberg I’m rejoiced to find, |
That ’tis your most
appropriate sphere is certain. |
|
WALPURGIS-NIGHT’S
DREAM
OR
OBERON AND TITANIA’S
GOLDEN WEDDING-FEAST
Intermezzo
THEATRE
MANAGER
Vales, where mists still shift and play, |
To ancient hills
succeeding,— |
These our scenes;—so we,
to-day, |
May rest, brave sons of
Mieding. |
|
HERALD
That the marriage golden be, |
Must fifty years be
ended; |
More dear this feast of
gold to me, |
Contention now suspended. |
|
OBERON
Spirits, if present, grace the scene. |
And if with me united, |
Then gratulate the king and
queen, |
Their troth thus newly
plighted! |
|
PUCK
Puck draws near and wheels about, |
In mazy circles dancing! |
Hundreds swell his joyous
shout, |
Behind him still
advancing. |
|
ARIEL
Ariel wakes his dainty air, |
His lyre celestial
stringing.— |
Fools he lureth, and the
fair, |
With his celestial
singing. |
|
OBERON
Wedded ones, would ye agree, |
We court your imitation: |
Would ye fondly love as we, |
We counsel separation. |
|
TITANIA
If husband scold and wife retort, |
Then bear them far
asunder; |
Her to the burning south
transport, |
And him the North Pole
under. |
|
THE
WHOLE ORCHESTRA (fortissimo)
Flies and midges all unite |
With frog and chirping
cricket, |
Our orchestra throughout
the night, |
Resounding in the
thicket! |
|
(SOLO)
Yonder doth the bagpipe come! |
Its sack an airy bubble. |
Schnick, schnick, schnack,
with nasal hum, |
Its notes it doth
redouble. |
|
EMBRYO
SPIRIT
Spider’s foot and midge’s wing, |
A toad in form and
feature; |
Together verses it can
string, |
Though scarce a living
creature. |
|
A LITTLE
PAIR
Tiny step and lofty bound, |
Through dew and
exhalation; |
Ye trip it deftly on the
ground, |
But gain no elevation. |
|
INQUISITIVE
TRAVELLER
Can I indeed believe my eyes? |
Is’t not mere
masquerading? |
What! Oberon in beauteous
guise, |
Among the groups
parading! |
|
ORTHODOX
No claws, no tail to whisk about, |
To fright us at our
revel;— |
Yet like the gods of
Greece, no doubt, |
He too’s a genuine devil. |
|
NORTHERN
ARTIST
These that I’m hitting off to-day |
Are sketches
unpretending; |
Towards Italy without
delay, |
My steps I think of
bending. |
|
PURIST
Alas! ill-fortune leads me here, |
Where riot still grows
louder; |
And ’mong the witches
gather’d here |
But two alone wear
powder! |
|
YOUNG
WITCH
Your powder and your petticoat, |
Suit hags, there’s no
gainsaying; |
Hence I sit fearless on my
goat, |
My naked charms
displaying. |
|
MATRON
We’re too well-bred to squabble here, |
Or insult back to render; |
But may you wither soon, my
dear, |
Although so young and
tender. |
|
LEADER OF
THE BAND
Nose of fly and gnat’s proboscis, |
Throng not the naked
beauty! |
Frogs and crickets in the
mosses, |
Keep time and do your
duty! |
|
WEATHERCOCK (towards
one side)
What charming company I view |
Together here collected! |
Gay bachelors, a hopeful
crew. |
And brides so unaffected! |
|
WEATHERCOCK (towards
the other side)
Unless indeed the yawning ground |
Should open to receive
them, |
From this vile crew, with
sudden bound, |
To Hell I’d jump and
leave them. |
|
XENIEN
With small sharp shears, in insect guise |
Behold us at your revel! |
That we may tender,
filial-wise, |
Our homage to the devil. |
|
HENNINGS
Look now at yonder eager crew, |
How naively they’re
jesting! |
That they have tender
hearts and true, |
They stoutly keep
protesting! |
|
MUSAGET
Oneself amid this witchery |
How pleasantly one loses; |
For witches easier are to
me |
To govern than the Muses! |
|
CI-DEVANT
GENIUS OF THE AGE
With proper folks when we appear, |
No one can then surpass
us! |
Keep close, wide is the
Blocksberg here |
As Germany’s Parnassus. |
|
INQUISITIVE
TRAVELLER
How name ye that stiff formal man, |
Who strides with lofty
paces? |
He tracks the game where’er
he can, |
“He scents the Jesuits’
traces.” |
|
CRANE
Where waters troubled are or clear, |
To fish I am delighted; |
Thus pious gentlemen appear |
With devils here united. |
|
WORLDLING
By pious people, it is true, |
No medium is rejected; |
Conventicles, and not a
few, |
On Blocksberg are
erected. |
|
DANCER
Another chorus now succeeds, |
Far off the drums are
beating. |
Be still! The bitterns
’mong the reeds |
Their one note are
repeating. |
|
DANCING
MASTER
Each twirls about and never stops, |
And as he can he fareth. |
The crooked leaps, the
clumsy hops, |
Nor for appearance careth. |
|
FIDDLER
To take each other’s life, I trow, |
Would cordially delight
them! |
As Orpheus’ lyre the
beasts, so now |
The bagpipe doth unite
them. |
|
DOGMATIST
My views, in spite of doubt and sneer, |
I hold with stout
persistence, |
Inferring from the devils
here, |
The evil one’s existence. |
|
IDEALIST
My every sense rules Phantasy |
With sway quite too
potential; |
Sure I’m demented if the
I |
Alone is the essential. |
|
REALIST
This entity’s a dreadful bore, |
And cannot choose but vex
me; |
The ground beneath me ne’er
before |
Thus totter’d to perplex
me. |
|
SUPERNATURALIST
Well pleased assembled here I view |
Of spirits this
profusion; |
From devils, touching
angels too, |
I gather some conclusion. |
|
SCEPTIC
The ignis fatuus they track out, |
And think they’re near
the treasure. |
Devil alliterates with
doubt, |
Here I abide with
pleasure. |
|
LEADER OF
THE BAND
Frog and cricket in the mosses,— |
Confound your
gasconading! |
Nose of fly and gnat’s
proboscis;— |
Most tuneful serenading! |
|
THE
KNOWING ONES
Sans-souci, so this host we greet, |
Their jovial humour
showing; |
There’s now no walking on
our feet, |
So on our heads we’re
going. |
|
THE
AWKWARD ONES
In seasons past we snatch’d, ’tis true, |
Some tit-bits by our
cunning; |
Our shoes, alas, are now
danced through, |
On our bare soles we’re
running. |
|
WILL-O’-THE-WISPS
From marshy bogs we sprang to light, |
Yet here behold us
dancing; |
The gayest gallants of the
night, |
In glitt’ring rows
advancing. |
|
SHOOTING
STAR
With rapid motion from on high, |
I shot in starry
splendour; |
Now prostrate on the grass
I lie;— |
Who aid will kindly
render? |
|
THE
MASSIVE ONES
Room! wheel round! They’re coming lo! |
Down sink the bending
grasses. |
Though spirits, yet their
limbs, we know, |
Are huge substantial
masses. |
|
PUCK
Don’t stamp so heavily, I pray; |
Like elephants you’re
treading! |
And ’mong the elves be Puck
to-day, |
The stoutest at the
wedding! |
|
ARIEL
If nature boon, or subtle sprite, |
Endow your soul with
pinions;— |
Then follow to yon rosy
height, |
Through ether’s calm
dominions! |
|
ORCHESTRA (pianissimo)
Drifting cloud and misty wreathes |
Are fill’d with light
elysian; |
O’er reed and leaf the
zephyr breathes— |
So fades the fairy
vision! |
|
A GLOOMY
DAY. A PLAIN
FAUST and MEPHISTOPHELES
FAUST
In misery! despairing! long wandering pitifully on
the face of the earth and now imprisoned! This
gentle hapless creature, immured in the dungeon as a
malefactor and reserved for horrid tortures! That it
should come to this! To this!—Perfidious, worthless
spirit, and this thou hast concealed from me!—Stand!
ay, stand! roll in malicious rage thy fiendish eyes!
Stand and brave me with thine insupportable
presence! Imprisoned! In hopeless misery! Delivered
over to the power of evil spirits and the judgment
of unpitying humanity!—And me, the while, thou wert
lulling with tasteless dissipations, concealing from
me her growing anguish, and leaving her to perish
without help!
|
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
She is not the first. |
|
FAUST
Hound! Execrable monster!—Back with him, oh thou
infinite spirit! back with the reptile into his dog’s
shape, in which it was his wont to scamper before me at
eventide, to roll before the feet of the harmless
wanderer, and to fasten on his shoulders when he fell!
Change him again into his favourite shape, that he may
crouch on his belly before me in the dust, whilst I
spurn him with my foot, the reprobate!—Not the
first!—Woe! Woe! By no human soul is it conceivable,
that more than one human creature has ever sunk into a
depth of wretchedness like this, or that the first in
her writhing death-agony should not have atoned in the
sight of all-pardoning Heaven for the guilt of all the
rest! The misery of this one pierces me to the very
marrow, and harrows up my soul; thou art grinning calmly
over the doom of thousands! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Now we are once again at our wit’s end, just where the
reason of you mortals snaps! Why dost thou seek our
fellowship, if thou canst not go through with it? Wilt
fly, and art not proof against dizziness? Did we force
ourselves on thee, or thou on us? |
|
FAUST
Cease thus to gnash thy ravenous fangs at me! I loathe
thee!—Great and glorious spirit, thou who didst
vouchsafe to reveal thyself unto me, thou who dost know
my very heart and soul, why hast thou linked me with
this base associate, who feeds on mischief and revels in
destruction? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Hast done? |
|
FAUST
Save her!—or woe to thee! The direst of curses on thee
for thousands of years! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
I cannot loose the bands of the avenger, nor withdraw
his bolts.—Save her!—Who was it plunged her into
perdition? I or thou? (FAUST
looks wildly around.) |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
Would’st grasp the thunder? Well for you, poor mortals,
that ’tis not yours to wield! To smite to atoms the
being however innocent, who obstructs his path, such is
the tyrant’s fashion of relieving himself in
difficulties! |
|
FAUST
Convey me thither! She shall be free! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
And the danger to which thou dost expose thyself? Know,
the guilt of blood, shed by thy hand, lies yet upon the
town. Over the place where fell the murdered one,
avenging spirits hover and watch for the returning
murderer. |
|
FAUST
This too from thee? The death and downfall of a world be
on thee, monster! Conduct me thither, I say, and set her
free! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
I will conduct thee. And what I can do,—hear! Have I all
power in heaven and upon earth! I’ll cloud the senses of
the warder,—do thou possess thyself of the keys and lead
her forth with human hand! I will keep watch! The magic
steeds are waiting, I bear thee off. Thus much is in my
power. |
|
FAUST
Up and away! |
|
NIGHT. OPEN
COUNTRY
FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES (Rushing
along on black horses)
FAUST
What weave they yonder round the Ravenstone? |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
I know not what they shape and brew. |
|
FAUST
They’re soaring, swooping, bending, stooping. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
A witches’ pack. |
|
FAUST
They charm, they strew. |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
On! On! |
|
DUNGEON
FAUST (with a bunch of
keys and a lamp before a small iron door)
A fear unwonted o’er my spirit falls; |
Man’s concentrated woe
o’erwhelms me here! |
She dwells immur’d within
these dripping walls; |
Her only trespass a
delusion dear! |
Thou lingerest at the fatal
door, |
Thou dread’st to see her
face once more? |
On! While thou dalliest,
draws her death-hour near. (He seizes the lock.
Singing within.) |
My mother, the
harlot, |
She took me and
slew! |
My father, the
scoundrel, |
Hath eaten me too! |
My sweet little
sister |
Hath all my bones
laid, |
Where soft breezes
whisper |
All in the cool
shade! |
Then became I a wood-bird,
and sang on the spray, |
Fly away! little bird, fly
away! fly away! |
|
FAUST (opening
the lock)
Ah! she forebodes not that her lover’s near, |
The clanking chains, the
rustling straw, to hear. (He enters.) |
|
MARGARET (hiding
her face in the bed of straw)
Woe! woe! they come! on bitter ’tis to die! |
|
FAUST (softly)
Hush! hush! be still! I come to set thee free! |
|
MARGARET (throwing
herself at his feet)
If thou art human, feel my misery! |
|
FAUST
Thou wilt awake the jailor with thy cry! (He grasps
the chains to unlock them.) |
|
MARGARET (on
her knees)
Who, headsman, unto thee this power |
O’er me could give? |
Thou com’st for me at
midnight-hour. |
Be merciful, and let me
live! |
Is morrow’s dawn not time
enough? (She stands up.) |
I’m still so young, so
young— |
And must so early die! |
Fair was I too, and that
was my undoing. |
My love is now afar, he
then was nigh; |
Torn lies the garland, the
fair blossoms strew’d. |
Nay, seize me not with hand
so rude! |
Spare me! What harm have I
e’er done to thee? |
Oh let me not in vain
implore! |
I ne’er have seen thee in
my life before! |
|
FAUST
Can I endure this bitter agony? |
|
MARGARET
I now am at thy mercy quite. |
Let me my babe but suckle
once again! |
I fondled it the live-long
night; |
They took it from me but to
give me pain, |
And now, they say that I my
child have slain. |
Gladness I ne’er again
shall know. |
Then they sing songs about
me,—’tis wicked of the throng— |
An ancient ballad endeth
so; |
Who bade them thus apply
the song? |
|
FAUST
(throwing himself on the ground)
A lover at thy feet bends low, |
To loose the bonds of
wretchedness and woe. |
|
MARGARET (throws
herself beside him)
Oh, let us kneel and move the saints by prayer! |
Look! look! yon stairs
below, |
Under the threshold there, |
Hell’s flames are all
aglow! |
Beneath the floor, |
With hideous noise, |
The devils roar! |
|
FAUST (aloud)
Gretchen! Gretchen! |
|
MARGARET (listening)
That was my lov’d one’s voice! (She springs up, the
chains fall off.) |
Where is he? I heard him
calling me. |
Free am I! There’s none
shall hinder me. |
To his neck will I fly, |
On his bosom will lie! |
Gretchen, he called!—On yon
threshold he stood; |
Amidst all the howling of
hell’s fiery flood, |
The scoff and the scorn of
its devilish crew, |
The tones of his voice,
sweet and loving, I knew. |
|
FAUST
’Tis I! |
|
MARGARET
’Tis thou! O say so once again! (embracing
him.) |
’Tis he! ’Tis he! where’s
now the torturing pain? |
Where are the fetters?
where the dungeon’s gloom? |
’Tis thou! To save me thou
art come! |
And I am sav’d!— |
Already now the street I
see |
Where the first time I
caught a glimpse of thee. |
There too the pleasant
garden shade, |
Where I and Martha for thy
coming stay’d. |
|
FAUST (endeavouring
to lead her away)
Come! come away! |
|
MARGARET
Oh do not haste! |
I love to linger where thou
stayest. (caressing him.) |
|
FAUST
Ah haste! For if thou still delayest, |
Our lingering we shall both
deplore. |
|
MARGARET
How, dearest? canst thou kiss no more! |
So short a time away from
me, and yet, |
To kiss thou couldst so
soon forget! |
Why on thy neck so anxious
do I feel— |
When formerly a perfect
heaven of bliss |
From thy dear looks and
words would o’er me steal? |
As thou wouldst stifle me
thou then didst kiss!— |
Kiss me! |
Or I’ll kiss thee! (She
embraces him.) |
Woe! woe! Thy lips are
cold,— |
Are dumb! |
Thy love where hast thou
left? |
Who hath me of thy love
bereft? (She turns away from him.) |
|
FAUST
Come! Follow me, my dearest love, be bold! |
I’ll cherish thee with
ardour thousand-fold; |
I but entreat thee now to
follow me! |
|
MARGARET (turning
towards him)
And art thou he? and art thou really he? |
|
FAUST
’Tis I! O come! |
|
MARGARET
Thou wilt strike off my chain, |
And thou wilt take me to
thine arms again. |
How comes it that thou dost
not shrink from me?— |
And dost thou know, love,
whom thou wouldst set free? |
|
FAUST
Come! come! already night begins to wane. |
|
MARGARET
I sent my mother to her grave, |
I drown’d my child beneath
the wave. |
Was it not given to thee
and me—thee too? |
’Tis thou thyself! I scarce
believe it yet. |
Give me thy hand! It is no
dream! ’Tis true! |
Thine own dear hand!—But
how is this? ’Tis wet? |
Quick, wipe it off! Meseems
that yet |
There’s blood thereon. |
Ah God! what hast thou
done? |
Put up thy sword, |
I beg of thee! |
|
FAUST
Oh, dearest, let the past forgotten be! |
Death is in every word. |
|
MARGARET
No, thou must linger here in sorrow! |
The graves I will describe
to thee, |
And thou to them must see |
To-morrow: |
The best place give to my
mother, |
Close at her side my
brother, |
Me at some distance lay— |
But not too far away! |
And the little one place on
my right breast, |
Nobody else will near me
lie! |
To nestle beside thee so
lovingly, |
That was a rapture,
gracious and sweet! |
A rapture I never again
shall prove; |
Methinks I would force
myself on thee, love, |
And thou dost spurn me, and
back retreat— |
Yet ’tis thyself, thy fond
kind looks I see. |
|
FAUST
If thou dost feel ’tis I, then come with me! |
|
MARGARET
What, there? without? |
|
FAUST
Yes, forth in the free air. |
|
MARGARET
Ay, if the grave’s without,—If death lurk there! |
Hence to the everlasting
resting-place, |
And not one step
beyond!—Thou’rt leaving me? |
Oh Henry! would that I
could go with thee! |
|
FAUST
Thou canst! But will it! Open stands the door. |
|
MARGARET
I dare not go! I’ve naught to hope for more. |
What boots it to escape?
They lurk for me! |
’Tis wretched to beg, as I
must do, |
And with an evil conscience
thereto! |
’Tis wretched, in foreign
lands to stray; |
And me they will catch, do
what I may! |
|
FAUST
With thee will I abide. |
|
MARGARET
Quick! Quick! |
Save thy poor
child! |
Keep to the path |
The brook along, |
Over the bridge |
To the wood beyond, |
To the left, where
the plank is, |
In the pond. |
Seize it at once! |
It fain would rise, |
It struggles still! |
Save it. Oh save! |
|
FAUST
Dear Gretchen, more collected be! |
One little step, and thou
art free! |
|
MARGARET
Were we but only past the hill! |
There sits my mother upon a
stone— |
My brain, alas, is cold
with dread!— |
There sits my mother upon a
stone, |
And to and fro she shakes
her head; |
She winks not, she nods
not, her head it droops sore; |
She slept so long, she
waked no more; |
She slept, that we might
taste of bliss: |
Ah! those were happy times,
I wis! |
|
FAUST
Since here avails nor argument nor prayer, |
Thee hence by force I needs
must bear. |
|
MARGARET
Loose me! I will not suffer violence! |
With murderous hand hold
not so fast! |
I have done all to please
thee in the past! |
|
FAUST
Day dawns! My love! My love! |
|
MARGARET
Yes! day draws near. |
The day of judgment too
will soon appear! |
It should have been my
bridal! No one tell, |
That thy poor Gretchen thou
hast known too well. |
Woe to my garland! |
Its bloom is o’er! |
Though not at the dance— |
We shall meet once more. |
The crowd doth gather, in
silence it rolls; |
The squares, the streets, |
Scarce hold the throng. |
The staff is broken,—the
death-bell tolls,— |
They bind and seize me! I’m
hurried along, |
To the seat of blood
already I’m bound! |
Quivers each neck as the
naked steel |
Quivers on mine the blow to
deal— |
The silence of the grave
now broods around! |
|
FAUST
Would I had ne’er been born! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES (appears
without)
Up! or you’re lost. |
Vain hesitation! Babbling,
quaking! |
My steeds are shivering, |
Morn is breaking. |
|
MARGARET
What from the floor ascendeth like a ghost? |
’Tis he! ’Tis he! Him from
my presence chase! |
What would he in this holy
place? |
It is for me he cometh! |
|
FAUST
Thou shalt live! |
|
MARGARET
Judgment of God! To thee my soul I give! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES (to
FAUST)
Come, come! With her I’ll else abandon thee! |
|
MARGARET
Father, I’m thine! Do thou deliver me! |
Ye angels! Ye angelic
hosts! descend, |
Encamp around to guard me
and defend!— |
Henry! I shudder now to
look on thee! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES
She now is judged! |
|
VOICES (from
above)
Is saved! |
|
MEPHISTOPHELES (to
FAUST)
Come thou with me! (Vanishes with
FAUST.) |
|
VOICE (from
within, dying away)
Henry! Henry! |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|