Faust: A Tragedy
I'll give you a touch of choicest melody;
A moral song--that, while we seem to school her,
With the more certainty we may befool her.
[_Sings to the guitar._]
Why stands before
Her lover's door,
Young Catherine here,
At early break of day?
Beware, beware!
He lets thee in,
A maiden in,
A maiden not away!
When full it blows,
He breaks the rose,
And leaves thee then,
A wretched outcast thing!
Take warning, then,
And yield to none
But who hath shown,
And changed with thee the ring.
Valentin. [_advancing_]
Ho, serenaders! by the Element!
You whoreson rascals! you rat-catchers, you!
First, to the devil with the instrument,
And, after it, the harper too!
Mephistopheles.
Donner and blitz! my good guitar is broken!
Valentin.
And your skull, too, anon: by this sure token!
Mephistopheles.
Quick, Doctor! here's no time to tarry!
Keep close, as I shall lead the way.
Out with your goosewing![*2] out, I say!
Make you the thrusts, and I will parry.
Valentin.
Then parry that!
Mephistopheles.
Why not?
Valentin.
And that!
Mephistopheles.
Of course!
Valentin.
I deem the devil is here, or something worse.
Good God! what's this?--my arm is lamed!
Mephistopheles. [_to_ /Faust/]
Have at him there!
Valentin. [_falls_]
O woe!
Mephistopheles.
Now is the lubber tamed!
But let's be gone! why stand you gaping there?
They'll raise a cry of murder! I can play
A game with the policeman, any day;
But blood spilt is a dangerous affair.
[_Exeunt_ /Mephistopheles/ _and_ /Faust/.
Martha. [_at the window_]
Ho! murder, ho!
Margaret. [_at the window_]
A light! a light!
Martha. [_as above_]
They bawl, they brawl, they strike, they fight.
The People.
And here lies one already dead!
Martha. [_appearing below_]
Where are the murderers? are they fled?
Margaret. [_below_]
Who's this lies here?
The People.
Thy mother's son.
Margaret.
Almighty God! my brother dead!
Valentin.
I die! I die!--'tis quickly said,
And yet more quickly done.
Why stand you, women, and weep and wail?
Draw near, and listen to my tale!
[_They all come round him._]
My Margaret, mark me, you are young,
And in sense not overstrong;
You manage matters ill.
I tell thee in thine ear, that thou
Art, once for all, a strumpet,--now
Mayst go and take thy fill.
Margaret.
My brother! God! what do you mean?
Valentin.
Leave the Lord God out of the jest;
Said is said, and done is done;
Now you may manage, as you best
Know how to help the matter on.
You commenced the trade with one,
We shall have two, three, four, anon,
Next a dozen, and next a score,
And then the whole town at your door.
When sin is born it shuns the light
(For conscience guilt may not abide it),
And they draw the veil of night
Over head and ears, to hide it;
Yea, they would murder it, if they might.
But anon it waxes bolder,
And walks about in broad day-light,
And, uglier still as it grows older,
The less it offers to invite,
The more it courts the public sight.
Even now, methinks, I see the day,
When every honest citizen,
As from a corpse of tainted clay,
From thee, thou whore! will turn away.
Thy very heart shall fail thee then,
When they shall look thee in the face!
No more shall golden chain thee grace!
The Church shall spurn thee from its door!
The altar shall not own thee more!
Nor longer, with thy spruce lace-tippet,
Where the dance wheels, shalt thou trip it!
In some vile den of want and woe,
With beggars and cripples thou shalt bed;
And, if from Heaven forgiveness flow,
Earth shall rain curses on thy head!
Martha.
Speak softly, and prepare thy soul for death,
Nor mingle slander with thy parting breath!
Valentin.
Could I but reach thy withered skin,
Thou hag, thou bawd, so vile and shameless!
For such fair deed I might pass blameless,
To score the black mark from my blackest sin.
Margaret.
Brother, thou mak'st me feel a hell of pain!
Valentin.
I tell thee, all thy tears are vain!
When with thy honor thou didst part,
Thou dealt the blow that pierced my heart.
I go through death, with fearless mood,
To meet my God, as a soldier should. [_Dies._
Scene IX.
_A Cathedral._
_Mass, Organ, and Song._ /Margaret/ _amid a crowd of people,_
/Evil Spirit/ _behind her._
Evil Spirit.
How different, Margaret, was thy case,
When, in thine innocence, thou didst kneel
Before the altar,
And from the well-worn book
Didst lisp thy prayers,
Half childish play,
Half God in thy heart!
Margaret!
Where is thy head?
Within thy heart
What dire misdeed?
Prayest thou for thy mother's soul, whom thou
Didst make to sleep a long, long sleep of sorrow?
Whose blood is on thy threshold?
--And, underneath thy heart,
Moves not the swelling germ of life already,
And, with its boding presence
Thee tortures, and itself?
Margaret.
Woe, woe!
That I might shake away the thoughts,
That hither flit and thither,
Against me!
Quire.
_Dies iræ, dies illa,_
_Solvet saeclum in favilla._
[_The organ sounds._
Evil Spirit.
Terror doth seize thee!
The trumpet sounds!
The graves quake!
And thy heart,
From its rest of ashes,
To fiery pain
Created again,
Quivers to life!
Margaret.
Would I were hence!
I feel as if the organ stopped
My breath,
And, at the hymn,
My inmost heart
Melted away!
Quire.
_Judex ergo cum sedebit,_
_Quidquid latet adparebit,_
_Nil inultum remanebit._
Margaret.
I feel so straitened!
The pillar shafts
Enclasp me round!
The vault
Is closing o'er me!--Air!
Evil Spirit.
Yea! let them hide thee! but thy sin and shame
No vault can hide!
Air? Light? No!
Woe on thee! woe!
Quire.
_Quid sum miser tunc dicturus?_
_Quem patronum rogaturus?_
_Cum vix justus sit securus._
Evil Spirit.
The blessèd turn
Their looks away,
And the pure shudder
From touch of thee!
Woe!
Margaret.
Neighbor, help! help! I faint!
[_She falls down in a swoon._
/end of act fourth/.
ACT V.
Scene I.
_Walpurgis-Night._
_The Hartz Mountains. Neighborhood of Schirke and Elend._
/Faust/ _and_ /Mephistopheles/.
Mephistopheles.
Would you not like a broomstick to bestride?
Would God I had a stout old goat to ride!
The way is long; and I would rather spare me
This uphill work.
Faust.
While my good legs can bear me,
This knotted stick will serve my end.
What boots it to cut short the way?
Through the long labyrinth of vales to wend,
These rugged mountain-steeps to climb,
And hear the gushing waters' ceaseless chime,
No better seasoning on my wish to-day
Could wait, to make the Brocken banquet prime!
The Spring is waving in the birchen bower,
And ev'n the pine begins to feel its power;
Shall we alone be strangers to its sway?
Mephistopheles.
No whiff I feel that hath a smell of May;
I am most wintry cold in every limb;
I'd sooner track my road o'er frost and snow.
How sadly mounts the imperfect moon!--so dim
Shines forth its red disk, with belated glow,
We run the risk, at every step, on stones
Or stumps of crazy trees, to break our bones.
You must allow me to request the aid
Of a Will-o-the-Wisp;--I see one right ahead,
And in the bog it blazes merrily.
Holla! my good friend! dare I be so free?
Two travellers here stand much in need of thee;
Why should'st thou waste thy flickering flame in vain?
Pray be so good as light us up the hill!
Will-o-the-Wisp.
Out of respect to you, I will restrain,
If possible, my ever-shifting will;
But all our natural genius, and our skill
Is zigzag; straight lines go against the grain.
Mephistopheles.
Ha! ha! hast learned from men how to declaim?
March on, I tell thee, in the Devil's name!
Else will I blow thy flickering life-spark out.
Will-o-the-Wisp.
You are the master of the house, no doubt,
And therefore I obey you cheerfully.
Only remember! 'tis the first of May,
The Brocken is as mad as mad can be;
And when an _ignis fatuus_ leads the way,
You have yourselves to blame, if you should stray.
Faust, Mephistopheles, and Will-o-the-Wisp. [_in reciprocal song_]
Through the realms of fairy dreaming,
Through the air with magic teeming,
Guide us forward, guide us fairly,
Thanks to thee be rendered rarely;
Guide us quick, and guide us sure,
O'er the wide waste Brocken moor.
Trees on trees thick massed before us
Flit, and fling dark shadows o'er us,
Cliffs on cliffs in rugged masses
Nod above the narrow passes,
And each rock from jagged nose,
How it snorts, and how it blows!
Over turf and stones are pouring
Stream and streamlet, wildly roaring;
Is it rustling? is it singing?
Love's sweet plaint with gentle winging!
Voices of those days, the dearest,
When our light of hope was clearest!
And the echo, like the sounds
Of ancient story, back rebounds.
Oohoo! Shoohoo! what a riot!
Owl and pewit, jay and piet!
Will no bird to-night be quiet?
What is this? red salamanders,
With long legs and swoll'n paunches,
Weaving wreathy fire-meanders
Through the thicket's bristling branches!
And the trees, their roots outspreading
From the sand and rocky bedding,
Winding, stretching, twisting grimly,
Through the dun air darting dimly
Seek to seize us, seek to grasp us,
And with snaky coils enclasp us!
And the mice in motley muster,
Red and white, and blue and grey,
Thick as bees that hang in cluster,
Crowd along the heathy way.
And the fire-flies shooting lightly
Through the weirdly winding glade,
With bewildering escort, brightly
Lead the streaming cavalcade!
But tell me, in this strange confusion,
What is real, what delusion?
Do we walk with forward faces,
Or stand and halt with baffled paces?
All things seem to change their places,
Rocks and trees to make grimaces,
And the lights in witchy row,
Twinkle more and more they blow!
Mephistopheles.
Hold me tightly by the cue!
From this hillock, we may view,
At leisure, with admiring gaze,
How Mammon in the mount doth blaze!
Faust.
How strangely through the glooming glens
Dim sheen, like morning redness, glimmers!
Ev'n to the darkest, deepest dens
With its long streaky rays it shimmers.
Here mounts the smoke, there rolls the steam,
There flames through the white vapors gleam,
Here like a thread along the mountain
It creeps; there gushes in a fountain!
Here stretching out, in many a rood,
Along the vale, its veinèd flood,
And here at once it checks its flight,
And bursts in globes of studded light.
There sparks are showering on the ground,
Like golden sand besprinkled round,
And lo! where all the rocky height,
From head to foot is bathed in light!
Mephistopheles.
Hath not old Mammon lit with goodly flame