Faust: A Tragedy
His palace for the jubilee?
Thou art in luck to see the game;
Even now I scent the lusty company.
Faust.
How the mad storm doth howl and hiss
And beats my neck with angry buffeting!
Mephistopheles.
To the old mountain's hard ribs cling,
Or the strong blast will hurl thee down the abyss;
The night with clouds is overcast;
Hear in the woods the grinding of the blast!
How the frightened owlets flit!
How the massive pillars split
Of the dark pine-palaces!
How the branches creak and break!
How the riven stems are groaning!
How the gaping roots are moaning!
In terrible confusion all,
One on another clashing, they fall,
And through the clefts, where their wrecks are buried,
Hissing and howling the winds are hurried.
Sounds of voices dost thou hear?
Voices far, and voices near?
And, all the mountain-side along,
Streams a raving wizard song.
Witches. [_in chorus_]
The witches to the Brocken ride,
The stubble is yellow, the corn is green;
A merry crew to a merry scene,
And good Sir Urian is the guide.[*n10]
Over stock and stone we float,
Wrinkled hag and rank old goat.
A Voice.
Old mother Baubo comes up now,
Alone, and riding on a sow.
Chorus.
Honor to him to whom honor is due!
Lady Baubo heads the crew!
On the back of a sow, with the wings of the wind,
And all the host of witches behind.
A Voice.
Sister, which way came you?
A Voice.
By Ilsenstein! and I looked into
An owlet's nest, as on I fared,
That with its two eyes broadly stared!
A Voice.
The deuce! at what a devil's pace
You go; this march is not a race.
A Voice.
It tore me, it flayed me!
These red wounds it made me!
Witches. [_in chorus_]
The road is broad, the road is long,
Why crowd you so on one another?
Scrapes the besom, pricks the prong,
Chokes the child, and bursts the mother.
Wizards. [_semi-chorus_]
We trail us on, like very snails,
The women fly with flaunting sails;
For, when we run Squire Satan's races,
They always win by a thousand paces.
Semi-Chorus.
Not quite so bad: the women need
A thousand paces to help their speed;
But let them speed what most they can,
With one spring comes up the man.
Voice. [_from above_]
Come up! come up from the lake with me.
Voices. [_from below_]
Right gladly would we mount with thee;
We wash, and wash, and cease from washing never;
Our skins are as white as white can be,
But we are as dry and barren as ever.
Both Choruses.
The wind is hushed, the stars take flight,
The sullen moon hath veiled her light,
The magic choir from whizzing wings,
Long lines of sparkling glory flings.
Voice. [_from below_]
Stop, stop!
Voice. [_from above_]
Who bawls so loud from the cleft?
Voice. [_from below_]
Let me go with you! let me not be left!
Three hundred years I grope and grope
Round the base and up the slope,
But still the summit cheats my hope.
I fain would be a merry guest
At Satan's banquet with the rest.
Both Choruses.
On broomstick, and on lusty goat,
On pitchfork, and on stick, we float;
And he, to-day who cannot soar,
Is a lost man for evermore.
Half-Witch. [_below_]
I hobble on behind them all,
The others scarcely hear my call!
I find no rest at home: and here,
I limp on lamely in the rear.
Chorus of Witches.
The ointment gives our sinews might,[*n11]
For us each rag is sail enough,
We find a ship in every trough;
Whoso will fly must fly to-night.
Both Choruses.
While we upon the summit ride,
Be yours to sweep along the side;
Up and down, and far and wide,
On the left, and on the right,
Witch and wizard massed together,
Scour the moor and sweep the heather,
Bravely on Walpurgis-night!
[_They alight._
Mephistopheles.
What a thronging, and jolting, and rolling, and rattling!
What a whizzing, and whirling, and jostling, and battling!
What a sparkling, and blazing, and stinking, and burning!
And witches that all topsy-turvy are turning!--
Hold fast by me, or I shall lose you quite,
Where are you?
Faust. [_at a distance_]
Here!
Mephistopheles.
What! so far in the rear!
Why then 'tis time that I should use my right,
As master of the house to-night.
Make way! Squire Voland comes,[*n12] sweet mob, make way!
Here, Doctor, hold by me!--and now, I say,
We must cut clear
Of this wild hubbub, while we may;
Even my cloth is puzzled here.
See'st thou that light on yonder mound quite near,
It hath a most peculiar glare,
We'll slip in there,
And watch behind the bush the humors of the Fair.
Faust.
Strange son of contradiction!--may'st even guide us!
A rare conceit! of course you must be right;
This weary way we march on famed Walpurgis night,
Like hermits in a corner here to hide us!
Mephistopheles.
Lo! where the flames mount up with bickering glee;
In sooth it is a goodly company.
In such a place one cannot be alone.
Faust.
And yet a place I'd rather own
Upon the top, where whirling smoke I see;
There thousands to the evil Spirit hie,
And many a riddle there he will untie.
Mephistopheles.
Yes: and for every knot he disentangles,
He'll make another to produce new wrangles.
Let the great world rant and riot,
We'll know to house us here in quiet;
In the great world 'tis a sanctioned plan,
Each makes a little world the best he can.
Look there; you see young witches without cover,
And old ones prudently veiled over;
Yield but to me, and I can promise thee,
With little labor, mickle glee.
I hear their noisy instruments begin!
Confound their scraping!--one must bear the din.
Come, come! what must be must be--let's go in!
With my good introduction on this night,
Thou shalt have laughter to thy heart's delight.
What say'st thou, friend? this is no common show,
A hundred lights are burning in a row,
You scarce may see the end;
They dance, they talk, they cook, they drink, they court;
Now tell me, saw you ever better sport?
Faust.
Say, in what character do you intend
To appear here, and introduce your friend?
Devil or conjurer?
Mephistopheles.
I love incognito,
Yet on a gala-day my order I may show;
And, though a garter here is but of small avail,
The famous horse's foot I ne'er yet knew to fail.
See even now that cautious creeping snail!
With her long feeling visage, she
Has smelt out something of hell in me.
Do what I can, they have a snout,
In this keen air to scent me out;
Come! come; from fire to fire we roam; the game
Be mine to start, and yours to woo the dame.
[_To some who are sitting round a glimmering coal-fire._]
Why mope you here, old sirs, toasting your toes?
Methinks your Brocken hours were better spent
Amid the youthful roar and merriment;
One is enough alone at home, God knows.
General.
Who would rely upon the faith of nations!
They leave you thankless, when their work is done;
The people, like the women, pour libations
Only in honor of the rising sun.
Minister.
The liberties these modern changes bring,
I must confess I cannot praise;
The good old times, when we were everything,
These were the truly golden days.
Parvenu.
We, too, pushed forward with the pushing crew,
And for the need could stretch a point or two;
But now all's changed; and with the whirling bucket,
We lose the fruit, just when our hand would pluck it.
Author.
No solid work now suits the reading nation,
And year by year the world more shallow grows;
And, for the glib-tongued rising generation,
They hang their wisdom on their up-turned nose!
Mephistopheles. [_Who all at once appears very old_]
The people here seem ripe for Doom's day; I
Suspect the world is now on its last legs;
And, since mine own good cask is running dry,
Men and their ways, I guess, are near the dregs!
Peddler-Witch.
Good sirs, I pray you pass not by,
Cast on my wares a friendly eye!
One cannot see such rich display
Of curious trinkets every day.
Yet is there nothing in my store
(Which far all other stores excels),
That hath not done some mischief sore
To earth, and all on earth that dwells;
No dagger by which blood hath not been shed,
No cup from which, through sound and healthy life,
Corroding fiery juice hath not been spread,
No gaud but hath seduced some lovely wife,
No sword that hath not made a truce miscarry,
Or stabbed behind the back its adversary.
Mephistopheles.
Good lady cousin! you come rather late.
Your wares, believe me, are quite out of date;
Deal in the new and newest; that
Our palate smacks; all else is flat.
Faust.
This is a fair that beats the Leipzig hollow!
My head is so confused, I scarce can follow.
Mephistopheles.
To the top the stream is rushing,
And we are pushed, when we think we are pushing.
Faust.
Who, then, is that?
Mephistopheles.
Look at her well.
'Tis Lilith.[*n13]
Faust.
Who?
Mephistopheles.
Adam's first wife. Beware,
Art thou a wise man, of her glossy hair!
'Tis fair to look on, but its look is fell.
Those locks with which she outshines all the train,
When she hath bound a young man with that chain,
She'll hold him fast; he'll scarce come back again.
Faust.
There sit an old and young one on the sward;
They seem to have been dancing somewhat hard.
Mephistopheles.
O! once begun, they'll go on like the devil.
Come, come! they rise again--let's join the revel.
[/Faust/ _and_ /Mephistopheles/ _join the dance; the former
with the Young Witch as his partner; the latter with the Old one._
Faust. [_dancing with the young Witch_]
A lovely dream once came to me,
I saw in my sleep an apple-tree;
Two lovely apples on it did shine;
I clomb the pole to make them mine.
The Young Witch.
For apples your sire in Paradise
And primal dame had longing eyes:
And, if your eyes are wise to see,
You'll find such apples on my tree.
Mephistopheles. [_dancing with the old Witch_]
An ugly dream once came to me,
I dreamed I saw a cloven tree;
In the tree there sat an ugly owl;
I called it fair, though it was foul.
The Old Witch.
My best salute this night shall be,
Thou knight of the cloven foot, to thee;
A cloven tree with an ugly owl,
And I for thee, or fair, or foul.
Proctophantasmist.[*n14] [_to the dancers_]
Listen to order, you presumptuous brood!
Have we not proved beyond disputing,
That ghosts on terra firma have no footing?
And yet you dance like any flesh and blood?
The Young Witch. [_dancing_]
What wants he here, that rude-like fellow there?
Faust. [_dancing_]
O, he is everywhere!
What others dance 'tis his to prize;
Each step he cannot criticise
Had as well not been made. But in the dance
It grieves him most when we advance.
If we would wheel still round and round in a ring,
As he is fond to do in his old mill,
He would not take it half so ill;
Especially if you take care to bring
Your praiseful offering to his master skill.
Proctophantasmist.
What! still there, phantoms? this is past endurance!
In this enlightened age you have the assurance
To show your face and play your tricks undaunted;