Faust: A Tragedy
We are so wise, and yet a man's own house is haunted.
How long have I not swept the cobwebs of delusion,
And still the world remains in the same wild confusion!
The Young Witch.
Be quiet then, and seek some other place!
Proctophantasmist.
I tell you, Spirits, in your face,
This intellectual thrall I cannot bear it;
I love to have a free unshackled spirit. [_The dance goes on._]
To-day I see that all my strength is spent in vain;
I've had a tour, at least, to compensate my evils,
And hope, before I come to Blocksberg back again,
To crush, with one good stroke, the poets and the devils.
Mephistopheles.
He will now go, and, bare of breeches,
Sit in a pool with solemn patience;
And, when his buttocks are well sucked by leeches,
Be cured of ghosts and ghostly inspirations.
[_To_ /Faust/, _who has just left the dance._]
Why do you let the lovely damsel go,
That in the dance with sweet song pleased you so?
Faust.
Alas! while she so passing sweet was singing,
I saw a red mouse from her mouth outspringing.
Mephistopheles.
Pooh! on the Brocken that's a thing of course;
Let not such trifles mar your sweet discourse.
Go, join the crew, and dance away;
Enough, the red mouse was not gray.
Faust.
Then saw I--
Mephistopheles.
What?
Faust.
Mephisto, see'st thou there
A pale yet lovely girl, in lonely distance fare?
From place to place she moveth slow;
With shackled feet she seems to go;
I must confess, she has a cast
Of Margaret, when I saw her last.
Mephistopheles.
Let that alone! it brings thee certain harm;
It is bewitched, a bloodless, breathless form,
For men to look upon it is not good.
Its fixèd gaze hath power to freeze the blood,
And petrify thee stark and stiff.
Of course I need not ask you if
You've heard of the Medusa's head.
Faust.
In truth I see the eyes of one that's dead,
On which no closing hand of love was laid.
That is my Margaret's kindly breast,
That the sweet body I caressed.
Mephistopheles.
There lies the witchcraft o't, thou fool!
A phantom takes thy wit to school:
She is the love of every lover's brain.
Faust.
What ecstasy! and yet what pain!
I cannot leave it for my life.
How strangely this most lovely neck
A single streak of red doth deck,
No broader than the back o' a knife!
Mephistopheles.
Quite right! I see it, just as well as you.
Sometimes her head beneath her elbow too
She wears; for Perseus cut it off, you know.
What! will you still a-dreaming go?
Come, let us mount the hillock--there
We shall have noble sport, believe me;
For, unless mine eyes deceive me,
They have got up a theatre.
What make you here?
A Servant.
You are just come in time.
'Tis a new piece, the last of all the seven,
For such the number that with us is given.
A dilettante 'twas that wrote the rhyme,
And dilettanti are the actors too.
Excuse me, sirs,--no disrespect to you,
If I seem curt: I am the dilettante
To draw the curtain; and our time is scanty.
Mephistopheles.
Just so; I only wish you were so clever
To know your home;
Then from the Blocksberg you would never
Have lust to roam!
Scene II.
_Intermezzo._[*n15]
Walpurgis-Night's Dream;
or
Oberon and Titania's Golden Hightide.
Director of the Theatre.
We players here may take our ease;
For all we need for scenery
Is mount and mead, and trees, and seas
Of Nature's leafy greenery.
Herald.
The golden high-tide is it then,
When fifty years pass over;
But doubly golden is it when
All brawls and strifes they cover.
Oberon.
Ye spirits, who obey my law,
Are to this feast invited,
When Oberon and Titania
In love are reunited.
Puck.
Puck comes in first, and turns athwart,
His merry circles wheeling;
And hundreds more behind him dart,
Loud shouts of laughter pealing.
Ariel.
I fill the air with thrilling song
Of virtue quite enchanting;
Though ugly imps I lure along,
The fair are never wanting!
Oberon.
When man and wife begin to strive,
Just give them length of tether!
They will learn in peace to live,
When not too much together.
Titania.
When pouts the wife, and frets the man,
This cure is best in Nature,
Him to the Arctic circle ban,
And her to the Equator.
Orchestra. [_Tutti. Fortissimo_]
Snout of fly, and nose of gnat,
Lead on the band before us!
Frog and cricket, cat and bat,
Join merry in the chorus!
Solo.
A soap-bell for a doodle-sack,[*3]
The merry waters troubling!
Hear the snecke-snicke-snack,
From its snub-nose bubbling!
Embryo-Spirit.
Legs of spider, paunch of toad,
And wings, if you would know it;
Nor fish, nor fowl, but on the road
Perhaps to be a poet!
A Pair of Dancers.
With many a nimble pace and spring,
Through honey-dew and vapour,
Trips o'er the ground the little thing,
But higher cannot caper.
Inquisitive Traveller.
Do I see a real thing,
Or is it all delusion?
Oberon, the fairy king,
Amid this wild confusion.
Orthodox.
Though neither tail nor claws are his,
'Tis true beyond all cavil,
As devils were the gods of Greece,
He too must be a devil.
Northern Artist.
'Tis but a sketch, I must admit;
But what I can't unravel
To-night, I'll know, with larger wit,
From my Italian travel.
Purist.
Alas! that I should see it too!
Here we a riot rare have!
Of all the crew, there are but two
That powder on their hair have.
Young Witch.
Powder and petticoat for grey
And wrinkled hags are fitting;
But I my lusty limbs display,
Upon a he-goat sitting.
Matron.
To speak with such a shameless pack
We have nor will nor leisure;
Soon may your flesh rot on your back,
And we look on with pleasure!
Leader of the Orchestra.
Snout of fly, and nose of gnat,
Sting not the naked beauty!
Frog and cricket, cat and bat,
Attend ye to your duty!
Weathercock. [_to the one side_]
A goodly company! as sure
As I stand on the steeple;
With brides and bridegrooms swarms the moor,
The hopefulest of people!
Weathercock. [_to the other side_]
And opes not suddenly the ground,
To swallow one and all up,
Then, with a jerk, I'll veer me round,
And straight to hell I'll gallop.
Xenien.
We insects keep them all in awe,
With sharpest scissors shear we!
Old Nick, our worthy Squire Papa,
Here to salute appear we.
Hennings.
See! how in merry circles they
Sit gossiping together;
The graceless crew have hearts, they say,
As good as any other.
Musagetes.
This witch and wizard crew to lead,
My willing fancy chooses;
More hopeful field is here indeed,
Than when I lead the Muses.
Ci-devant Genius of the Age.
The Brocken has a good broad back,
Like the High-Dutch Parnassus;
The Jury here no man can pack,
Or with proud silence pass us.
Inquisitive Traveller.
Say, who is he so stiff that goes,
That stately-stalking stranger?
He snuffs for Jesuits with sharp nose,
And cries--the Church in danger!
Crane.
In muddy waters do I fish
As well as where it clear is,
And only for such cause as this
The pious man too here is.
Worldling.
Yes! though the saints declare that sin
And Blocksberg are identical,
Yet here, amid this demon din,
They'll set up their conventicle.
Dancer.
A sound of drums! a sound of men!
That wafted on the wind came!--
The weary bitterns in the fen
Are booming--never mind 'em!
Dancing-Master.
Lo! how they kick, and how they jump!
How well each figure shown is!
Springs the crooked, hops the plump!
Each thinks him an Adonis!
A Good Fellow.
A sorry lot! What muffled ire
Their swelling breasts inflames here!
The beasts were tamed by Orpheus' lyre,
And them the bagpipe tames here!
Professor of Systematic Theology.
I let no one bamboozle me
With doubts and critic cavils;
The devil sure must something be,
Else whence so many devils?
Idealist.
Imagination travels free
Without or rein or rule here;
If I am all that now I see,
Myself must be a fool here.
Realist.
That on the Brocken ghosts appear
Now scarce admits disputing;
Amid this hurly burly here
I've fairly lost my footing.
Supernaturalist.
Into this swarming hellish brood
I come, without intrusion;
From evil spirits to the good,
It is a just conclusion.
Sceptic.
They chase the flame that flits about,
And deem them near their treasure;
Best rhymes with doubt this demon-rout,
And I look on with pleasure.
Leader of the Orchestra.
Snout of fly, and nose of gnat,
Ye stupid Dilettanti!
Frog and cricket, cat and bat,
Keep better time, why can't ye?
Clever Spirits.
_Sans-souci_ is hight the crew
On limber limbs that ply it;
When on our feet it will not do,
Then on our heads we try it.
Awkward Spirits.
With once or twice a lucky throw
We tramped the road together;
But now we flounder on, and show
Our toes outside the leather!
Ignes Fatui.
Though born but with the sultry ray
This morn, in the morass all,
Yet now, amid the gallants gay,
We shine here and surpass all.
Falung Star.
Last night I shot from starry sky
And fell upon my nose here;
Will no one come where flat I lie,
And plant me on my toes here?
Stout Spirits.
Make way, make way! and brush the dew
Right bravely from the lawn here;
Spirits we are, but Spirits too
Can show both pith and brawn here!
Puck.
Why tramp ye so majestical
As cub of river-horse is?
The plumpest spirit of you all
Stout Puck himself of course is.
Ariel.
If loving Nature's bounteous care
Hath fitted you with pinions,
Then cleave with me the yielding air
To rosy bright dominions.
Orchestra.
The mist draws off, and overhead
All clear and bright the air is,
And with the rustling breeze are fled
The devils and the fairies!
/end of the interlude./
Scene III.
_A cloudy day. The Fields._
/Faust/ _and_ /Mephistopheles/.
Faust.
In misery! in despair! Wandering in hopeless wretchedness over the
wide earth, and at last made prisoner! Shut up like a malefactor in a
dungeon, victim of the most horrible woes--poor miserable girl! Must
it then come to this? Thou treacherous and worthless Spirit! this
hast thou concealed from me!--Stand thou there! stand!--Roll round
thy fiendish eyes, infuriate in thy head! Stand and confront me with
thy insupportable presence. A prisoner! in irredeemable misery! given
over to evil Spirits, and to the condemning voice of the unfeeling
world! and me, meanwhile, thou cradlest to sleep amid a host of the
most vapid dissipations, concealing from my knowledge her aggravated
woes!--while she--she is left in hopeless wretchedness to die!
Mephistopheles.
She's not the first.
Faust.
Dog! abominable monster!--Change him, O thou infinite Spirit! change
the reptile back again into his original form--the poodle that ran
before me in the twilight, now cowering at the feet of the harmless
wanderer, now springing on his shoulders!--Change him again into his
favorite shape, that he may crouch on his belly in the sand before
me, and I may tramp him underneath my feet, the reprobate!--Not the