Faust: a Tragedy [part 1], Translated from the German of Goethe

MARGERY'S ROOM.

  MARGERY [at the spinning-wheel alone].
      My heart is heavy,
    My peace is o'er;
    I never—ah! never—
    Shall find it more.
      While him I crave,
    Each place is the grave,
    The world is all
    Turned into gall.
      My wretched brain
    Has lost its wits,
    My wretched sense
    Is all in bits.
      My heart is heavy,
    My peace is o'er;
    I never—ah! never—
    Shall find it more.
      Him only to greet, I
    The street look down,
    Him only to meet, I
    Roam through town.
      His lofty step,
    His noble height,
    His smile of sweetness,
    His eye of might,
      His words of magic,
    Breathing bliss,
    His hand's warm pressure
    And ah! his kiss.
      My heart is heavy,
    My peace is o'er,
    I never—ah! never—
    Shall find it more.
      My bosom yearns
    To behold him again.
    Ah, could I find him
    That best of men!
    I'd tell him then
    How I did miss him,
    And kiss him
    As much as I could,
    Die on his kisses
    I surely should!

MARTHA'S GARDEN.

MARGARET. FAUST.

Margaret. Promise me, Henry.

Faust. What I can.

Margaret. How is it now with thy religion, say? I know thou art a dear good man, But fear thy thoughts do not run much that way.

Faust. Leave that, my child! Enough, thou hast my heart; For those I love with life I'd freely part; I would not harm a soul, nor of its faith bereave it.

Margaret. That's wrong, there's one true faith—one must believe it?

Faust. Must one?

Margaret. Ah, could I influence thee, dearest! The holy sacraments thou scarce reverest.

Faust. I honor them.

Margaret. But yet without desire. Of mass and confession both thou'st long begun to tire. Believest thou in God?

Faust. My. darling, who engages
To say, I do believe in God?
The question put to priests or sages:
Their answer seems as if it sought
To mock the asker.

Margaret. Then believ'st thou not?

Faust. Sweet face, do not misunderstand my thought!
Who dares express him?
And who confess him,
Saying, I do believe?
A man's heart bearing,
What man has the daring
To say: I acknowledge him not?
The All-enfolder,
The All-upholder,
Enfolds, upholds He not
Thee, me, Himself?
Upsprings not Heaven's blue arch high o'er thee?
Underneath thee does not earth stand fast?
See'st thou not, nightly climbing,
Tenderly glancing eternal stars?
Am I not gazing eye to eye on thee?
Through brain and bosom
Throngs not all life to thee,
Weaving in everlasting mystery
Obscurely, clearly, on all sides of thee?
Fill with it, to its utmost stretch, thy breast,
And in the consciousness when thou art wholly blest,
Then call it what thou wilt,
Joy! Heart! Love! God!
I have no name to give it!
All comes at last to feeling;
Name is but sound and smoke,
Beclouding Heaven's warm glow.

Margaret. That is all fine and good, I know; And just as the priest has often spoke, Only with somewhat different phrases.

Faust. All hearts, too, in all places,
Wherever Heaven pours down the day's broad blessing,
Each in its way the truth is confessing;
And why not I in mine, too?

Margaret. Well, all have a way that they incline to, But still there is something wrong with thee; Thou hast no Christianity.

Faust. Dear child!

Margaret. It long has troubled me That thou shouldst keep such company.

Faust. How so?

Margaret. The man whom thou for crony hast,
Is one whom I with all my soul detest.
Nothing in all my life has ever
Stirred up in my heart such a deep disfavor
As the ugly face that man has got.

Faust. Sweet plaything; fear him not!

Margaret. His presence stirs my blood, I own.
I can love almost all men I've ever known;
But much as thy presence with pleasure thrills me,
That man with a secret horror fills me.
And then for a knave I've suspected him long!
God pardon me, if I do him wrong!

Faust. To make up a world such odd sticks are needed.

Margaret. Shouldn't like to live in the house where he did!
Whenever I see him coming in,
He always wears such a mocking grin.
Half cold, half grim;
One sees, that naught has interest for him;
'Tis writ on his brow and can't be mistaken,
No soul in him can love awaken.
I feel in thy arms so happy, so free,
I yield myself up so blissfully,
He comes, and all in me is closed and frozen now.

Faust. Ah, thou mistrustful angel, thou!

Margaret. This weighs on me so sore,
That when we meet, and he is by me,
I feel, as if I loved thee now no more.
Nor could I ever pray, if he were nigh me,
That eats the very heart in me;
Henry, it must be so with thee.

Faust. 'Tis an antipathy of thine!

Margaret. Farewell!

Faust. Ah, can I ne'er recline One little hour upon thy bosom, pressing My heart to thine and all my soul confessing?

Margaret. Ah, if my chamber were alone,
This night the bolt should give thee free admission;
But mother wakes at every tone,
And if she had the least suspicion,
Heavens! I should die upon the spot!

Faust. Thou angel, need of that there's not.
Here is a flask! Three drops alone
Mix with her drink, and nature
Into a deep and pleasant sleep is thrown.

Margaret. Refuse thee, what can I, poor creature? I hope, of course, it will not harm her!

Faust. Would I advise it then, my charmer?

Margaret. Best man, when thou dost look at me, I know not what, moves me to do thy will; I have already done so much for thee, Scarce any thing seems left me to fulfil. [Exit.]

Enter_ MEPHISTOPHELES.

Mephtftopheles. The monkey! is she gone?

Faust. Hast played the spy again?

Mephistopheles. I overheard it all quite fully.
The Doctor has been well catechized then?
Hope it will sit well on him truly.
The maidens won't rest till they know if the men
Believe as good old custom bids them do.
They think: if there he yields, he'll follow our will too.

Faust. Monster, thou wilt not, canst not see,
How this true soul that loves so dearly,
Yet hugs, at every cost,
The faith which she
Counts Heaven itself, is horror-struck sincerely
To think of giving up her dearest man for lost.

Mephistopheles. Thou supersensual, sensual wooer, A girl by the nose is leading thee.

Faust. Abortion vile of fire and sewer!

Mephistopheles. In physiognomy, too, her skill is masterly.
When I am near she feels she knows not how,
My little mask some secret meaning shows;
She thinks, I'm certainly a genius, now,
Perhaps the very devil—who knows?
To-night then?—

Faust. Well, what's that to you?

Mephistopheles. I find my pleasure in it, too!

AT THE WELL.

MARGERY and LIZZY with Pitchers.

Lizzy. Hast heard no news of Barbara to-day?

Margery. No, not a word. I've not been out much lately.

Lizzy. It came to me through Sybill very straightly. She's made a fool of herself at last, they say. That comes of taking airs!

Margery. What meanst thou?

Lizzy. Pah! She daily eats and drinks for two now.

Margery. Ah!

Lizzy. It serves the jade right for being so callow.
How long she's been hanging upon the fellow!
Such a promenading!
To fair and dance parading!
Everywhere as first she must shine,
He was treating her always with tarts and wine;
She began to think herself something fine,
And let her vanity so degrade her
That she even accepted the presents he made her.
There was hugging and smacking, and so it went on—
And lo! and behold! the flower is gone!

Margery. Poor thing!

Lizzy. Canst any pity for her feel!
When such as we spun at the wheel,
Our mothers kept us in-doors after dark;
While she stood cozy with her spark,
Or sate on the door-bench, or sauntered round,
And never an hour too long they found.
But now her pride may let itself down,
To do penance at church in the sinner's gown!

Margery. He'll certainly take her for his wife.

Lizzy. He'd be a fool! A spruce young blade Has room enough to ply his trade. Besides, he's gone.

Margery. Now, that's not fair!

Lizzy. If she gets him, her lot'll be hard to bear. The boys will tear up her wreath, and what's more, We'll strew chopped straw before her door.

[Exit.]

Margery [going home]. Time was when I, too, instead of bewailing,
Could boldly jeer at a poor girl's failing!
When my scorn could scarcely find expression
At hearing of another's transgression!
How black it seemed! though black as could be,
It never was black enough for me.
I blessed my soul, and felt so high,
And now, myself, in sin I lie!
Yet—all that led me to it, sure,
O God! it was so dear, so pure!

DONJON.[27]

[In a niche a devotional image of the Mater Dolorosa, before it pots of flowers.]

MARGERY [puts fresh flowers into the pots].
    Ah, hear me,
    Draw kindly near me,
    Mother of sorrows, heal my woe!

    Sword-pierced, and stricken
    With pangs that sicken,
    Thou seest thy son's last life-blood flow!

    Thy look—thy sighing—-
    To God are crying,
    Charged with a son's and mother's woe!

    Sad mother!
    What other
    Knows the pangs that eat me to the bone?
    What within my poor heart burneth,
    How it trembleth, how it yearneth,
    Thou canst feel and thou alone!

    Go where I will, I never
    Find peace or hope—forever
    Woe, woe and misery!

    Alone, when all are sleeping,
    I'm weeping, weeping, weeping,
    My heart is crushed in me.

    The pots before my window,
    In the early morning-hours,
    Alas, my tears bedewed them,
    As I plucked for thee these flowers,

    When the bright sun good morrow
    In at my window said,
    Already, in my anguish,
    I sate there in my bed.

    From shame and death redeem me, oh!
    Draw near me,
    And, pitying, hear me,
    Mother of sorrows, heal my woe!

NIGHT.

Street before MARGERY'S Door.

VALENTINE [soldier, MARGERY'S brother].

When at the mess I used to sit,
Where many a one will show his wit,
And heard my comrades one and all
The flower of the sex extol,
Drowning their praise with bumpers high,
Leaning upon my elbows, I
Would hear the braggadocios through,
And then, when it came my turn, too,
Would stroke my beard and, smiling, say,
A brimming bumper in my hand:
All very decent in their way!
But is there one, in all the land,
With my sweet Margy to compare,
A candle to hold to my sister fair?
Bravo! Kling! Klang! it echoed round!
One party cried: 'tis truth he speaks,
She is the jewel of the sex!
And the braggarts all in silence were bound.
And now!—one could pull out his hair with vexation,
And run up the walls for mortification!—
Every two-legged creature that goes in breeches
Can mock me with sneers and stinging speeches!
And I like a guilty debtor sitting,
For fear of each casual word am sweating!
And though I could smash them in my ire,
I dare not call a soul of them liar.

What's that comes yonder, sneaking along?
There are two of them there, if I see not wrong.
Is't he, I'll give him a dose that'll cure him,
He'll not leave the spot alive, I assure him!

FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES.

Faust. How from yon window of the sacristy
The ever-burning lamp sends up its glimmer,
And round the edge grows ever dimmer,
Till in the gloom its flickerings die!
So in my bosom all is nightlike.

Mephistopheles. A starving tom-cat I feel quite like,
That o'er the fire ladders crawls
Then softly creeps, ground the walls.
My aim's quite virtuous ne'ertheless,
A bit of thievish lust, a bit of wantonness.
I feel it all my members haunting—
The glorious Walpurgis night.
One day—then comes the feast enchanting
That shall all pinings well requite.

Faust. Meanwhile can that the casket be, I wonder, I see behind rise glittering yonder.[28]

Mephistopheles. Yes, and thou soon shalt have the pleasure
Of lifting out the precious treasure.
I lately 'neath the lid did squint,
Has piles of lion-dollars[29] in't.

Faust. But not a jewel? Not a ring? To deck my mistress not a trinket?

Mephistopheles. I caught a glimpse of some such thing, Sort of pearl bracelet I should think it.

Faust. That's well! I always like to bear Some present when I visit my fair.

Mephistopheles. You should not murmur if your fate is,
To have a bit of pleasure gratis.
Now, as the stars fill heaven with their bright throng,
List a fine piece, artistic purely:
I sing her here a moral song,
To make a fool of her more surely.
            [Sings to the guitar.][30]
    What dost thou here,
    Katrina dear,
    At daybreak drear,
    Before thy lover's chamber?
    Give o'er, give o'er!
    The maid his door
    Lets in, no more
    Goes out a maid—remember!

    Take heed! take heed!
    Once done, the deed
    Ye'll rue with speed—
    And then—good night—poor thing—a!
    Though ne'er so fair
    His speech, beware,
    Until you bear
    His ring upon your finger.

Valentine [comes forward].
Whom lur'ft thou here? what prey dost scent?
Rat-catching[81] offspring of perdition!
To hell goes first the instrument!
To hell then follows the musician!

Mephistopheles. He 's broken the guitar! to music, then, good-bye, now.

Valentine. A game of cracking skulls we'll try now!

Mephistopbeles [to Faust]. Never you flinch, Sir Doctor! Brisk!
Mind every word I say—-be wary!
Stand close by me, out with your whisk!
Thrust home upon the churl! I'll parry.

Valentine. Then parry that!

Mephistopheles. Be sure. Why not?

Valentine. And that!

Mephistopheles. With ease!

Valentine. The devil's aid he's got! But what is this? My hand's already lame.

Mephistopheles [to Faust]. Thrust home!

Valentine [falls]. O woe!

Mephistopheles. Now is the lubber tame!
But come! We must be off. I hear a clatter;
And cries of murder, too, that fast increase.
I'm an old hand to manage the police,
But then the penal court's another matter.

Martha. Come out! Come out!

Margery [at the window]. Bring on a light!

Martha [as above]. They swear and scuffle, scream and fight.

People. There's one, has got's death-blow!

Martha [coming out]. Where are the murderers, have they flown?

Margery [coming out]. Who's lying here?

People. Thy mother's son.

Margery. Almighty God! What woe!

Valentine. I'm dying! that is quickly said,
And even quicklier done.
Women! Why howl, as if half-dead?
Come, hear me, every one!
      [All gather round him.]
My Margery, look! Young art thou still,
But managest thy matters ill,
Hast not learned out yet quite.
I say in confidence—think it o'er:
Thou art just once for all a whore;
Why, be one, then, outright.

Margery. My brother! God! What words to me!

Valentine. In this game let our Lord God be!
That which is done, alas! is done.
And every thing its course will run.
With one you secretly begin,
Presently more of them come in,
And when a dozen share in thee,
Thou art the whole town's property.

When shame is born to this world of sorrow,
The birth is carefully hid from sight,
And the mysterious veil of night
To cover her head they borrow;
Yes, they would gladly stifle the wearer;
But as she grows and holds herself high,
She walks uncovered in day's broad eye,
Though she has not become a whit fairer.
The uglier her face to sight,
The more she courts the noonday light.

Already I the time can see
When all good souls shall shrink from thee,
Thou prostitute, when thou go'st by them,
As if a tainted corpse were nigh them.
Thy heart within thy breast shall quake then,
When they look thee in the face.
Shalt wear no gold chain more on thy neck then!
Shalt stand no more in the holy place!
No pleasure in point-lace collars take then,
Nor for the dance thy person deck then!
But into some dark corner gliding,
'Mong beggars and cripples wilt be hiding;
And even should God thy sin forgive,
Wilt be curs'd on earth while thou shalt live!

Martha. Your soul to the mercy of God surrender! Will you add to your load the sin of slander?

Valentine. Could I get at thy dried-up frame,
Vile bawd, so lost to all sense of shame!
Then might I hope, e'en this side Heaven,
Richly to find my sins forgiven.

Margery. My brother! This is hell to me!

Valentine. I tell thee, let these weak tears be! When thy last hold of honor broke, Thou gav'st my heart the heaviest stroke. I'm going home now through the grave To God, a soldier and a brave. [Dies.]

CATHEDRAL.

Service, Organ, and Singing.

[MARGERY amidst a crowd of people. EVIL SPIRIT behind MARGERY.]

Evil Spirit. How different was it with thee, Margy,
When, innocent and artless,
Thou cam'st here to the altar,
From the well-thumbed little prayer-book,
Petitions lisping,
Half full of child's play,
Half full of Heaven!
Margy!
Where are thy thoughts?
What crime is buried
Deep within thy heart?
Prayest thou haply for thy mother, who
Slept over into long, long pain, on thy account?
Whose blood upon thy threshold lies?
—And stirs there not, already
Beneath thy heart a life
Tormenting itself and thee
With bodings of its coming hour?

Margery. Woe! Woe!
Could I rid me of the thoughts,
Still through my brain backward and forward flitting,
Against my will!

Chorus. Dies irae, dies illa Solvet saeclum in favillâ.

[Organ plays.]

Evil Spirit. Wrath smites thee!
Hark! the trumpet sounds!
The graves are trembling!
And thy heart,
Made o'er again
For fiery torments,
Waking from its ashes
Starts up!

Margery. Would I were hence!
I feel as if the organ's peal
My breath were stifling,
The choral chant
My heart were melting.

Chorus. Judex ergo cum sedebit, Quidquid latet apparebit. Nil inultum remanebit.

Margery. How cramped it feels!
The walls and pillars
Imprison me!
And the arches
Crush me!—Air!

Evil Spirit. What! hide thee! sin and shame
Will not be hidden!
Air? Light?
Woe's thee!

Chorus. Quid sum miser tunc dicturus? Quem patronum rogaturus? Cum vix justus sit securus.

Evil Spirit. They turn their faces,
The glorified, from thee.
To take thy hand, the pure ones
Shudder with horror.
Woe!

Chorus. Quid sum miser tunc dicturus?

Margery. Neighbor! your phial!— [She swoons.]

WALPURGIS NIGHT.[32]

Harz Mountains.

District of Schirke and Elend.

FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES.

Mephistopheles. Wouldst thou not like a broomstick, now, to ride on?
At this rate we are, still, a long way off;
I'd rather have a good tough goat, by half,
Than the best legs a man e'er set his pride on.

Faust. So long as I've a pair of good fresh legs to stride on,
Enough for me this knotty staff.
What use of shortening the way!
Following the valley's labyrinthine winding,
Then up this rock a pathway finding,
From which the spring leaps down in bubbling play,
That is what spices such a walk, I say!
Spring through the birch-tree's veins is flowing,
The very pine is feeling it;
Should not its influence set our limbs a-glowing?

Mephistopheles. I do not feel it, not a bit!
My wintry blood runs very slowly;
I wish my path were filled with frost and snow.
The moon's imperfect disk, how melancholy
It rises there with red, belated glow,
And shines so badly, turn where'er one can turn,
At every step he hits a rock or tree!
With leave I'll beg a Jack-o'lantern!
I see one yonder burning merrily.
Heigh, there! my friend! May I thy aid desire?
Why waste at such a rate thy fire?
Come, light us up yon path, good fellow, pray!

Jack-o'lantern. Out of respect, I hope I shall be able To rein a nature quite unstable; We usually take a zigzag way.

Mephistopheles. Heigh! heigh! He thinks man's crooked course to travel. Go straight ahead, or, by the devil, I'll blow your flickering life out with a puff.

Jack-o'lantern. You're master of the house, that's plain enough,
So I'll comply with your desire.
But see! The mountain's magic-mad to-night,
And if your guide's to be a Jack-o'lantern's light,
Strict rectitude you'll scarce require.

FAUST, MEPHISTOPHELES, JACK-O'LANTERN, in alternate song.

    Spheres of magic, dream, and vision,
    Now, it seems, are opening o'er us.
    For thy credit, use precision!
    Let the way be plain before us
    Through the lengthening desert regions.

    See how trees on trees, in legions,
    Hurrying by us, change their places,
    And the bowing crags make faces,
    And the rocks, long noses showing,
    Hear them snoring, hear them blowing![33]

    Down through stones, through mosses flowing,
    See the brook and brooklet springing.
    Hear I rustling? hear I singing?
    Love-plaints, sweet and melancholy,
    Voices of those days so holy?
    All our loving, longing, yearning?
    Echo, like a strain returning
    From the olden times, is ringing.

    Uhu! Schuhu! Tu-whit! Tu-whit!
    Are the jay, and owl, and pewit
    All awake and loudly calling?
    What goes through the bushes yonder?
    Can it be the Salamander—
    Belly thick and legs a-sprawling?
    Roots and fibres, snake-like, crawling,
    Out from rocky, sandy places,
    Wheresoe'er we turn our faces,
    Stretch enormous fingers round us,
    Here to catch us, there confound us;
    Thick, black knars to life are starting,
    Polypusses'-feelers darting
    At the traveller. Field-mice, swarming,
    Thousand-colored armies forming,
    Scamper on through moss and heather!
    And the glow-worms, in the darkling,
    With their crowded escort sparkling,
    Would confound us altogether.

    But to guess I'm vainly trying—
    Are we stopping? are we hieing?
    Round and round us all seems flying,
    Rocks and trees, that make grimaces,
    And the mist-lights of the places
    Ever swelling, multiplying.

Mephistopheles. Here's my coat-tail—tightly thumb it!
We have reached a middle summit,
Whence one stares to see how shines
Mammon in the mountain-mines.

Faust. How strangely through the dim recesses
A dreary dawning seems to glow!
And even down the deep abysses
Its melancholy quiverings throw!
Here smoke is boiling, mist exhaling;
Here from a vapory veil it gleams,
Then, a fine thread of light, goes trailing,
Then gushes up in fiery streams.
The valley, here, you see it follow,
One mighty flood, with hundred rills,
And here, pent up in some deep hollow,
It breaks on all sides down the hills.
Here, spark-showers, darting up before us,
Like golden sand-clouds rise and fall.
But yonder see how blazes o'er us,
All up and down, the rocky wall!

Mephistopheles. Has not Sir Mammon gloriously lighted
His palace for this festive night?
Count thyself lucky for the sight:
I catch e'en now a glimpse of noisy guests invited.

Faust. How the mad tempest[34] sweeps the air! On cheek and neck the wind-gusts how they flout me.

Mephistopheles. Must seize the rock's old ribs and hold on stoutly!
Else will they hurl thee down the dark abysses there.
A mist-rain thickens the gloom.
Hark, how the forests crash and boom!
Out fly the owls in dread and wonder;
Splitting their columns asunder,
Hear it, the evergreen palaces shaking!
Boughs are twisting and breaking!
Of stems what a grinding and moaning!
Of roots what a creaking and groaning!
In frightful confusion, headlong tumbling,
They fall, with a sound of thunder rumbling,
And, through the wreck-piled ravines and abysses,
The tempest howls and hisses.
Hearst thou voices high up o'er us?
Close around us—far before us?
Through the mountain, all along,
Swells a torrent of magic song.

Witches [in chorus]. The witches go to the Brocken's top,
    The stubble is yellow, and green the crop.
    They gather there at the well-known call,
    Sir Urian[85] sits at the head of all.
    Then on we go o'er stone and stock:
    The witch, she—and—the buck.

Voice. Old Baubo comes along, I vow! She rides upon a farrow-sow.

Chorus. Then honor to whom honor's due!
    Ma'am Baubo ahead! and lead the crew!
    A good fat sow, and ma'am on her back,
    Then follow the witches all in a pack.

Voice. Which way didst thou come?

Voice. By the Ilsenstein! Peeped into an owl's nest, mother of mine! What a pair of eyes!

Voice. To hell with your flurry! Why ride in such hurry!

Voice. The hag be confounded! My skin flie has wounded!

Witches [chorus]. The way is broad, the way is long,
    What means this noisy, crazy throng?
    The broom it scratches, the fork it flicks,
    The child is stifled, the mother breaks.

Wizards [semi-chorus]. Like housed-up snails we're creeping on,
The women all ahead are gone.
When to the Bad One's house we go,
She gains a thousand steps, you know.

The other half. We take it not precisely so;
What she in thousand steps can go,
Make all the haste she ever can,
'Tis done in just one leap by man.

Voice [above]. Come on, come on, from Felsensee!

Voices [from below]. We'd gladly join your airy way. For wash and clean us as much as we will, We always prove unfruitful still.

Both chorusses. The wind is hushed, the star shoots by,
    The moon she hides her sickly eye.
    The whirling, whizzing magic-choir
    Darts forth ten thousand sparks of fire.

Voice [from below]. Ho, there! whoa, there!

Voice [from above]. Who calls from the rocky cleft below there?

Voice [below]. Take me too! take me too!
Three hundred years I've climbed to you,
Seeking in vain my mates to come at,
For I can never reach the summit.

Both chorusses. Can ride the besom, the stick can ride,
    Can stride the pitchfork, the goat can stride;
    Who neither will ride to-night, nor can,
    Must be forever a ruined man.

Half-witch [below]. I hobble on—I'm out of wind—
And still they leave me far behind!
To find peace here in vain I come,
I get no more than I left at home.

Chorus of witches. The witch's salve can never fail,
    A rag will answer for a sail,
    Any trough will do for a ship, that's tight;
    He'll never fly who flies not to-night.

Both chorusses. And when the highest peak we round,
    Then lightly graze along the ground,
    And cover the heath, where eye can see,
    With the flower of witch-errantry.
           [They alight.]

Mephistopheles. What squeezing and pushing, what rustling and hustling!
What hissing and twirling, what chattering and bustling!
How it shines and sparkles and burns and stinks!
A true witch-element, methinks!
Keep close! or we are parted in two winks.
Where art thou?

Faust [in the distance]. Here!

Mephistopheles. What! carried off already?
Then I must use my house-right.—Steady!
Room! Squire Voland[36] comes. Sweet people, Clear the ground!
Here, Doctor, grasp my arm! and, at a single bound;
Let us escape, while yet 'tis easy;
E'en for the like of me they're far too crazy.
See! yonder, something shines with quite peculiar glare,
And draws me to those bushes mazy.
Come! come! and let us slip in there.

Faust. All-contradicting sprite! To follow thee I'm fated.
But I must say, thy plan was very bright!
We seek the Brocken here, on the Walpurgis night,
Then hold ourselves, when here, completely isolated!

Mephistopheles. What motley flames light up the heather! A merry club is met together, In a small group one's not alone.

Faust. I'd rather be up there, I own!
See! curling smoke and flames right blue!
To see the Evil One they travel;
There many a riddle to unravel.

Mephistopheles. And tie up many another, too.
Let the great world there rave and riot,
We here will house ourselves in quiet.
The saying has been long well known:
In the great world one makes a small one of his own.
I see young witches there quite naked all,
And old ones who, more prudent, cover.
For my sake some flight things look over;
The fun is great, the trouble small.
I hear them tuning instruments! Curs'd jangle!
Well! one must learn with such things not to wrangle.
Come on! Come on! For so it needs must be,
Thou shalt at once be introduced by me.
And I new thanks from thee be earning.
That is no scanty space; what sayst thou, friend?
Just take a look! thou scarce canst see the end.
There, in a row, a hundred fires are burning;
They dance, chat, cook, drink, love; where can be found
Any thing better, now, the wide world round?

Faust. Wilt thou, as things are now in this condition, Present thyself for devil, or magician?

Mephistopheles. I've been much used, indeed, to going incognito;

But then, on gala-day, one will his order show.
No garter makes my rank appear,
But then the cloven foot stands high in honor here.
Seest thou the snail? Look there! where she comes creeping yonder!
Had she already smelt the rat,
I should not very greatly wonder.
Disguise is useless now, depend on that.
Come, then! we will from fire to fire wander,
Thou shalt the wooer be and I the pander.
         [To a party who sit round expiring embers.]
Old gentlemen, you scarce can hear the fiddle!
You'd gain more praise from me, ensconced there in the middle,
'Mongst that young rousing, tousing set.
One can, at home, enough retirement get.

General. Trust not the people's fickle favor!
However much thou mayst for them have done.
Nations, as well as women, ever,
Worship the rising, not the setting sun.

Minister. From the right path we've drifted far away,
The good old past my heart engages;
Those were the real golden ages,
When such as we held all the sway.

Parvenu. We were no simpletons, I trow,
And often did the thing we should not;
But all is turning topsy-turvy now,
And if we tried to stem the wave, we could not.

Author. Who on the whole will read a work today,
Of moderate sense, with any pleasure?
And as regards the dear young people, they
Pert and precocious are beyond all measure.

Mephistopheles [who all at once appears very old].
The race is ripened for the judgment day:
So I, for the last time, climb the witch-mountain, thinking,
And, as my cask runs thick, I say,
The world, too, on its lees is sinking.

Witch-broker. Good gentlemen, don't hurry by!
The opportunity's a rare one!
My stock is an uncommon fair one,
Please give it an attentive eye.
There's nothing in my shop, whatever,
But on the earth its mate is found;
That has not proved itself right clever
To deal mankind some fatal wound.
No dagger here, but blood has some time stained it;
No cup, that has not held some hot and poisonous juice,
And stung to death the throat that drained it;
No trinket, but did once a maid seduce;
No sword, but hath some tie of sacred honor riven,
Or haply from behind through foeman's neck been driven.

Mephistopheles. You're quite behind the times, I tell you, Aunty!
By-gones be by-gones! done is done!
Get us up something new and jaunty!
For new things now the people run.

Faust. To keep my wits I must endeavor! Call this a fair! I swear, I never—!

Mephistopheles. Upward the billowy mass is moving; You're shoved along and think, meanwhile, you're shoving.

Faust. What woman's that?

Mephistopheles. Mark her attentively. That's Lilith.[37]

Faust. Who?

Mephistopbeles. Adam's first wife is she.
Beware of her one charm, those lovely tresses,
In which she shines preeminently fair.
When those soft meshes once a young man snare,
How hard 'twill be to escape he little guesses.

Faust. There sit an old one and a young together; They've skipped it well along the heather!

Mephistopheles. No rest from that till night is through. Another dance is up; come on! let us fall to.

Faust [dancing with the young one]. A lovely dream once came to me;
In it I saw an apple-tree;
Two beauteous apples beckoned there,
I climbed to pluck the fruit so fair.

The Fair one. Apples you greatly seem to prize,
And did so even in Paradise.
I feel myself delighted much
That in my garden I have such.

Mephistopheles [with the old hag]. A dismal dream once came to me;
In it I saw a cloven tree,
It had a ——— but still,
I looked on it with right good-will.

The Hog. With best respect I here salute
The noble knight of the cloven foot!
Let him hold a ——— near,
If a ——— he does not fear.

Proctophantasmist.[38] What's this ye undertake? Confounded crew!
Have we not giv'n you demonstration?
No spirit stands on legs in all creation,
And here you dance just as we mortals do!

The Fair one [dancing]. What does that fellow at our ball?

Faust [dancing]. Eh! he must have a hand in all.
What others dance that he appraises.
Unless each step he criticizes,
The step as good as no step he will call.
But when we move ahead, that plagues him more than all.
If in a circle you would still keep turning,
As he himself in his old mill goes round,
He would be sure to call that sound!
And most so, if you went by his superior learning.

Proctophantasmist. What, and you still are here! Unheard off obstinates!
Begone! We've cleared it up! You shallow pates!
The devilish pack from rules deliverance boasts.
We've grown so wise, and Tegel[39] still sees ghosts.
How long I've toiled to sweep these cobwebs from the brain,
And yet—unheard of folly! all in vain.

The Fair one. And yet on us the stupid bore still tries it!

Proctophantasmist. I tell you spirits, to the face,
I give to spirit-tyranny no place,
My spirit cannot exercise it.
             [They dance on.]
I can't succeed to-day, I know it;
Still, there's the journey, which I like to make,
And hope, before the final step I take,
To rid the world of devil and of poet.

Mephistopheles. You'll see him shortly sit into a puddle, In that way his heart is reassured; When on his rump the leeches well shall fuddle, Of spirits and of spirit he'll be cured. [To FAUST, who has left the dance.] Why let the lovely girl slip through thy fingers, Who to thy dance so sweetly sang?

Faust. Ah, right amidst her singing, sprang A wee red mouse from her mouth and made me cower.

Mephistopheles. That's nothing wrong! You're in a dainty way; Enough, the mouse at least wan't gray. Who minds such thing in happy amorous hour?

Faust. Then saw I—

Mephistopheles. What?

Faust. Mephisto, seest thou not
Yon pale, fair child afar, who stands so sad and lonely,
And moves so slowly from the spot,
Her feet seem locked, and she drags them only.
I must confess, she seems to me
To look like my own good Margery.

Mephistopheles. Leave that alone! The sight no health can bring. it is a magic shape, an idol, no live thing. To meet it never can be good! Its haggard look congeals a mortal's blood, And almost turns him into stone; The story of Medusa thou hast known.

Faust. Yes, 'tis a dead one's eyes that stare upon me,
Eyes that no loving hand e'er closed;
That is the angel form of her who won me,
Tis the dear breast on which I once reposed.

Mephistopheles. 'Tis sorcery all, thou fool, misled by passion's dreams! For she to every one his own love seems.

Faust. What bliss! what woe! Methinks I never
My sight from that sweet form can sever.
Seeft thou, not thicker than a knife-blade's back,
A small red ribbon, fitting sweetly
The lovely neck it clasps so neatly?

Mephistopheles. I see the streak around her neck.
Her head beneath her arm, you'll next behold her;
Perseus has lopped it from her shoulder,—
But let thy crazy passion rest!
Come, climb with me yon hillock's breast,
Was e'er the Prater[40] merrier then?
And if no sorcerer's charm is o'er me,
That is a theatre before me.
What's doing there?

Servibilis. They'll straight begin again.
A bran-new piece, the very last of seven;
To have so much, the fashion here thinks fit.
By Dilettantes it is given;
'Twas by a Dilettante writ.
Excuse me, sirs, I go to greet you;
I am the curtain-raising Dilettant.

Mephistopheles. When I upon the Blocksberg meet you, That I approve; for there's your place, I grant.

WALPURGIS-NIGHT'S DREAM, OR OBERON AND TITANIA'S GOLDEN NUPTIALS.

Intermezzo.

Theatre manager. Here, for once, we rest, to-day,
Heirs of Mieding's[41] glory.
All the scenery we display—
Damp vale and mountain hoary!

Herald. To make the wedding a golden one,
Must fifty years expire;
But when once the strife is done,
I prize the gold the higher.

Oberon. Spirits, if my good ye mean,
Now let all wrongs be righted;
For to-day your king and queen
Are once again united.

Puck. Once let Puck coming whirling round,
And set his foot to whisking,
Hundreds with him throng the ground,
Frolicking and frisking.

Ariel. Ariel awakes the song
With many a heavenly measure;
Fools not few he draws along,
But fair ones hear with pleasure.

Oberon. Spouses who your feuds would smother,
Take from us a moral!
Two who wish to love each other,
Need only first to quarrel.

Titania. If she pouts and he looks grim,
Take them both together,
To the north pole carry him,
And off with her to t'other.

Orchestra Tutti.

Fortissimo. Fly-snouts and gnats'-noses, these,
And kin in all conditions,
Grass-hid crickets, frogs in trees,
We take for our musicians!

Solo. See, the Bagpipe comes! fall back!
Soap-bubble's name he owneth.
How the Schnecke-schnicke-schnack
Through his snub-nose droneth!
Spirit that is just shaping itself. Spider-foot, toad's-belly, too,
Give the child, and winglet!
'Tis no animalcule, true,
But a poetic thinglet.

A pair of lovers. Little step and lofty bound
Through honey-dew and flowers;
Well thou trippest o'er the ground,
But soarst not o'er the bowers.

Curious traveller. This must be masquerade!
How odd!
My very eyes believe I?
Oberon, the beauteous God
Here, to-night perceive I!

Orthodox. Neither claws, nor tail I see!
And yet, without a cavil,
Just as "the Gods of Greece"[42] were, he
Must also be a devil.

Northern artist. What here I catch is, to be sure,
But sketchy recreation;
And yet for my Italian tour
'Tis timely preparation.

Purist. Bad luck has brought me here, I see!
The rioting grows louder.
And of the whole witch company,
There are but two, wear powder.

Young witch. Powder becomes, like petticoat,
Your little, gray old woman:
Naked I sit upon my goat,
And show the untrimmed human.

Matron. To stand here jawing[43] with you, we
Too much good-breeding cherish;
But young and tender though you be,
I hope you'll rot and perish.

Leader of the music. Fly-snouts and gnat-noses, please,
Swarm not so round the naked!
Grass-hid crickets, frogs in trees,
Keep time and don't forsake it!

Weathercock [towards one side]. Find better company, who can!
Here, brides attended duly!
There, bachelors, ranged man by man,
Most hopeful people truly!

Weathercock [towards the other side].
And if the ground don't open straight,
The crazy crew to swallow,
You'll see me, at a furious rate,
Jump down to hell's black hollow.

_Xenia[_44] We are here as insects, ah!
Small, sharp nippers wielding,
Satan, as our cher papa,
Worthy honor yielding.

Hennings. See how naïvely, there, the throng
Among themselves are jesting,
You'll hear them, I've no doubt, ere long,
Their good kind hearts protesting.

Musagetes. Apollo in this witches' group
Himself right gladly loses;
For truly I could lead this troop
Much easier than the muses.

Ci-devant genius of the age. Right company will raise man up.
Come, grasp my skirt, Lord bless us!
The Blocksberg has a good broad top,
Like Germany's Parnassus.

Curious traveller. Tell me who is that stiff man?
With what stiff step he travels!
He noses out whate'er he can.
"He scents the Jesuit devils."

Crane. In clear, and muddy water, too,
The long-billed gentleman fishes;
Our pious gentlemen we view
Fingering in devils' dishes.

Child of this world. Yes, with the pious ones, 'tis clear,
"All's grist that comes to their mill;"
They build their tabernacles here,
On Blocksberg, as on Carmel.

Dancer. Hark! a new choir salutes my ear!
I hear a distant drumming.
"Be not disturbed! 'mong reeds you hear
The one-toned bitterns bumming."

Dancing-master. How each his legs kicks up and flings,
Pulls foot as best he's able!
The clumsy hops, the crooked springs,
'Tis quite disreputable!

Fiddler. The scurvy pack, they hate, 'tis clear,
Like cats and dogs, each other.
Like Orpheus' lute, the bagpipe here
Binds beast to beast as brother.

Dogmatist. You'll not scream down my reason, though,
By criticism's cavils.
The devil's something, that I know,
Else how could there be devils?

Idealist. Ah, phantasy, for once thy sway
Is guilty of high treason.
If all I see is I, to-day,
'Tis plain I've lost my reason.

Realist. To me, of all life's woes and plagues,
Substance is most provoking,
For the first time I feel my legs
Beneath me almost rocking.

Supernaturalist. I'm overjoyed at being here,
And even among these rude ones;
For if bad spirits are, 'tis clear,
There also must be good ones.

Skeptic. Where'er they spy the flame they roam,
And think rich stores to rifle,
Here such as I are quite at home,
For Zweifel rhymes with Teufel.[45]

Leader of the music. Grass-hid cricket, frogs in trees,
You cursed dilettanti!
Fly-snouts and gnats'-noses, peace!
Musicians you, right jaunty!

The Clever ones. Sans-souci we call this band
Of merry ones that skip it;
Unable on our feet to stand,
Upon our heads we trip it.

The Bunglers. Time was, we caught our tit-bits, too,
God help us now! that's done with!
We've danced our leathers entirely through,
And have only bare soles to run with.

Jack-o'lanterns. From the dirty bog we come,
Whence we've just arisen:
Soon in the dance here, quite at home,
As gay young sparks we'll glisten.

Shooting star. Trailing from the sky I shot,
Not a star there missed me:
Crooked up in this grassy spot,
Who to my legs will assist me?

The solid men. Room there! room there! clear the ground!
Grass-blades well may fall so;
Spirits are we, but 'tis found
They have plump limbs also.

Puck. Heavy men! do not, I say,
Like elephants' calves go stumping:
Let the plumpest one to-day
Be Puck, the ever-jumping.

Ariel. If the spirit gave, indeed,
If nature gave you, pinions,
Follow up my airy lead
To the rose-dominions!

Orchestra [pianissimo]. Gauzy mist and fleecy cloud
Sun and wind have banished.
Foliage rustles, reeds pipe loud,
All the show has vanished.

DREARY DAY.[46]

Field.

FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES.

Faust. In wretchedness! In despair! Long hunted up and down the earth, a miserable fugitive, and caught at last! Locked up as a malefactor in prison, to converse with horrible torments—the sweet, unhappy creature! Even to this pass! even to this!—Treacherous, worthless spirit, and this thou hast hidden from me!—Stand up here—stand up! Roll thy devilish eyes round grimly in thy head! Stand and defy me with thy intolerable presence! Imprisoned! In irretrievable misery! Given over to evil spirits and to the judgment of unfeeling humanity, and me meanwhile thou lullest in insipid dissipations, concealest from me her growing anguish, and leavest her without help to perish!

Mephistopheles. She is not the first!

Faust. Dog! abominable monster! Change him, thou Infinite Spirit! change the worm back into his canine form, as he was often pleased in the night to trot before me, to roll before the feet of the harmless wanderer, and, when he fell, to hang on his shoulders. Change him again into his favorite shape, that he may crawl before me on his belly in the sand, and that I may tread him under foot, the reprobate!—Not the first! Misery! Misery! inconceivable by any human soul! that more than one creature ever sank into the depth of this wretchedness, that the first in its writhing death-agony did not atone for the guilt of all the rest before the eyes of the eternally Forgiving! My very marrow and life are consumed by the misery of this single one; thou grinnest away composedly at the fate of thousands!

Mephistopheles. Here we are again at our wits' ends already, where the thread of sense, with you mortals, snaps short. Why make a partnership with us, if thou canst not carry it through? Wilt fly, and art not proof against dizziness? Did we thrust ourselves on thee, or thou on us?

Faust. Gnash not so thy greedy teeth against me! It disgusts me!—Great and glorious spirit, thou that deignedst to appear to me, who knowest my heart and soul, why yoke me to this shame-fellow, who feeds on mischief and feasts on ruin?

Mephistopheles. Hast thou done?

Faust. Rescue her! O woe be unto thee! The most horrible curse on thee for thousands of years!

Mephistopheles. I cannot loose the bonds of the avenger, nor open his bolts.—Rescue her!—Who was it that plunged her into ruin? I or thou? [FAUST looks wildly round.] Grasp'st thou after the thunder? Well that it was not given to you miserable mortals! To crush an innocent respondent, that is a sort of tyrant's-way of getting room to breathe in embarrassment.

Faust. Lead me to her! She shall be free!

Mephistopheles. And the danger which thou incurrest? Know that the guilt of blood at thy hand still lies upon the town. Over the place of the slain, avenging spirits hover and lurk for the returning murderer.

Faust. That, too, from thee? Murder and death of a world upon thee, monster! Lead me thither, I say, and free her!

Mephistopheles. I will lead thee, and hear what I can do! Have I all power in heaven and on earth? I will becloud the turnkey's senses; possess thyself of the keys, and bear her out with human hand. I will watch! The magic horses shall be ready, and I will bear you away. So much I can do.

Faust. Up and away!

NIGHT. OPEN FIELD.

FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES. Scudding along on black horses.

Faust. What's doing, off there, round the gallows-tree?[47]

Mephistopheles. Know not what they are doing and brewing.

Faust. Up they go—down they go—wheel about, reel about.

Mephistopheles. A witches'-crew.

Faust. They're strewing and vowing.

Mephistopheles. Pass on! Pass on!

PRISON.

      FAUST [with a bunch of keys and a lamp, before an iron door]
A long unwonted chill comes o'er me,
I feel the whole great load of human woe.
Within this clammy wall that frowns before me
Lies one whom blinded love, not guilt, brought low!
Thou lingerest, in hope to grow bolder!
Thou fearest again to behold her!
On! Thy shrinking slowly hastens the blow!
             [He grasps the key. Singing from within.]
My mother, the harlot,
That strung me up!
My father, the varlet,
That ate me up!
My sister small,
She gathered up all
The bones that day,
And in a cool place did lay;
Then I woke, a sweet bird, at a magic call;
Fly away, fly away!

Faust [unlocking]. She little dreams, her lover is so near, The clanking chains, the rustling straw can hear; [He enters.]

Margaret [burying herself in the bed]. Woe! woe! They come. O death of bitterness!

Faust [softly]. Hush! hush! I come to free thee; thou art dreaming.

Margaret [prostrating herself before him]. Art thou a man, then feel for my distress.

Faust. Thou'lt wake the guards with thy loud screaming!
       [He seizes the chains to tin lock them.]

Margaret [on her knees]. Headsman, who's given thee this right
O'er me, this power!
Thou com'st for me at dead of night;
In pity spare me, one short hour!
Wilt't not be time when Matin bell has rung?
            [She stands up.]
Ah, I am yet so young, so young!
And death pursuing!
Fair was I too, and that was my undoing.
My love was near, far is he now!
Tom is the wreath, the scattered flowers lie low.
Take not such violent hold of me!
Spare me! what harm have I done to thee?
Let me not in vain implore thee.
Thou ne'er till now sawft her who lies before thee!

Faust. O sorrow worse than death is o'er me!

Margaret. Now I am wholly in thy power.
But first I'd nurse my child—do not prevent me.
I hugged it through the black night hour;
They took it from me to torment me,
And now they say I killed the pretty flower.
I shall never be happy again, I know.
They sing vile songs at me! 'Tis bad in them to do it!
There's an old tale that ends just so,
Who gave that meaning to it?

Faust [prostrates himself]. A lover at thy feet is bending, Thy bonds of misery would be rending.

Margaret [flings herself beside him].
O let us kneel, the saints for aid invoking!
See! 'neath the threshold smoking,
Fire-breathing,
Hell is seething!
There prowling,
And grim under cover,
Satan is howling!

Faust [aloud]. Margery! Margery!

Margaret [listening]. That was the voice of my lover! [She springs up. The chains fall off.]

Where is he? Where? He calls. I hear him.
I'm free! Who hinders? I will be near him.
I'll fly to his neck! I'll hold him!
To my bosom I'll enfold him!
He stood on the threshold—called Margery plainly!
Hell's howling and clattering to drown it sought vainly,—
Through the devilish, grim scoffs, that might turn one to stone,
I caught the sweet, loving, enrapturing tone.

Faust. 'Tis I!

Margaret. 'Tis thou! O say it once again.
            [Clasping again.]
'Tis he! 'tis he! Where now is all my pain?
And where the dungeon's anguish? Joy-giver!
'Tis thou! And come to deliver!
I am delivered!
Again before me lies the street,
Where for the first time thou and I did meet.
And the garden-bower,
Where we spent that evening hour.

Faust [trying to draw her away]. Come! Come with me!

Margaret. O tarry! I tarry so gladly where thou tarriest. [Caressing him.]

Faust. Hurry! Unless thou hurriest, Bitterly we both must rue it.

Margaret. Kiss me! Canst no more do it?
So short an absence, love, as this,
And forgot how to kiss?
What saddens me so as I hang about thy neck?
When once, in thy words, thy looks, such a heaven of blisses
Came o'er me, I thought my heart would break,
And it seemed as if thou wouldst smother me with kisses.
Kiss thou me!
Else I kiss thee!
             [She embraces him.]
Woe! woe! thy lips are cold,
Stone-dumb.
Where's thy love left?
Oh! I'm bereft!
Who robbed me?
            [She turns from him]

Faust. O come!
Take courage, my darling! Let us go;
I clasp-thee with unutterable glow;
But follow me! For this alone I plead!

Margaret [turning to him]. Is it, then, thou? And is it thou indeed?

Faust. 'Tis I! Come, follow me!

Margaret. Thou break'st my chain,
And tak'st me to thy breast again!
How comes it, then, that thou art not afraid of me?
And dost thou know, my friend, who 'tis thou settest free?

Faust. Come! come! The night is on the wane.

Margaret. Woe! woe! My mother I've slain!
Have drowned the babe of mine!
Was it not sent to be mine and thine?
Thine, too—'tis thou! Scarce true doth it seem.
Give me thy hand! 'Tis not a dream!
Thy blessed hand!—But ah! there's dampness here!
Go, wipe it off! I fear
There's blood thereon.
Ah God! what hast thou done!
Put up thy sword again;
I pray thee, do!

Faust. The past is past—there leave it then, Thou kill'st me too!

Margaret. No, thou must longer tarry!
I'll tell thee how each thou shalt bury;
The places of sorrow
Make ready to-morrow;
Must give the best place to my mother,
The very next to my brother,
Me a little aside,
But make not the space too wide!
And on my right breast let the little one lie.
No one else will be sleeping by me.
Once, to feel thy heart beat nigh me,
Oh, 'twas a precious, a tender joy!
But I shall have it no more—no, never;
I seem to be forcing myself on thee ever,
And thou repelling me freezingly;
And 'tis thou, the same good soul, I see.

Faust. If thou feelest 'tis I, then come with me

Margaret. Out yonder?

Faust. Into the open air.

Margaret. If the grave is there, If death is lurking; then come! From here to the endless resting-place, And not another pace—Thou go'st e'en now? O, Henry, might I too.

Faust. Thou canst! 'Tis but to will! The door stands open.

Margaret. I dare not go; for me there's no more hoping. What use to fly? They lie in wait for me. So wretched the lot to go round begging, With an evil conscience thy spirit plaguing! So wretched the lot, an exile roaming—And then on my heels they are ever coming!

Faust. I shall be with thee.

Margaret. Make haste! make haste!
No time to waste!
Save thy poor child!
Quick! follow the edge
Of the rushing rill,
Over the bridge
And by the mill,
Then into the woods beyond
On the left where lies the plank
Over the pond.
Seize hold of it quick!
To rise 'tis trying,
It struggles still!
Rescue! rescue!

Faust. Bethink thyself, pray! A single step and thou art free!

Margaret. Would we were by the mountain. See!
There sits my mother on a stone,
The sight on my brain is preying!
There sits my mother on a stone,
And her head is constantly swaying;
She beckons not, nods not, her head falls o'er,
So long she's been sleeping, she'll wake no more.
She slept that we might take pleasure.
O that was bliss without measure!

Faust. Since neither reason nor prayer thou hearest; I must venture by force to take thee, dearest.

Margaret. Let go! No violence will I bear! Take not such a murderous hold of me! I once did all I could to gratify thee.

Faust. The day is breaking! Dearest! dearest!

Margaret. Day! Ay, it is day! the last great day breaks in!
My wedding-day it should have been!
Tell no one thou hast been with Margery!
Alas for my garland! The hour's advancing!
Retreat is in vain!
We meet again,
But not at the dancing.
The multitude presses, no word is spoke.
Square, streets, all places—
sea of faces—
The bell is tolling, the staff is broke.
How they seize me and bind me!
They hurry me off to the bloody block.[48]
The blade that quivers behind me,
Quivers at every neck with convulsive shock;
Dumb lies the world as the grave!