Faust: Part Two

Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von · Faust (tr. Bayard Taylor)

Section 1 of 5

Underlined text was edited by AI to fix errors.

Second Part of the Tragedy

Act I

I

A PLEASANT LANDSCAPE. Twilight.

Faust, ‘bedded on flowery turf, fatigued, restless, endeavouring to sleep. Circle of hovering spirits in motion: graceful diminutive figures.

ARIEL. Chant, accompanied by Aeolian harps.

WHEN the Spring returns serener Raining blossoms over all; When the fields with blessing greener On the earth-born children call; Then the craft of elves propitious Hastes to help where help it can: Be he holy, be he vicious, Pity they the luckless man.

Who round this head in airy circles hover, Yourselves in guise of noble Elves discover! The fierce convulsion of his heart compose; Remove the burning barbs of his remorses, And cleanse his being from the suffered woes! Four pauses makes the Night upon her courses, And now, delay not, let them kindly close! First on the coolest pillow let him slumber, Then sprinkle him with Lethe’s drowsy spray! His limbs no more shall cramps and chills encumber, When sleep has made him strong to meet the day. Perform, ye Elves, your fairest rite: Restore him to the holy Light!

(singly, by two or more, alternately and collectively)

When around the green-girt meadow- Balm the tepid winds exhale, Then in fragrance and in shadow Twilight spreads her misty veil: Whispers peace in accents cheery, Rocks the heart in childhood’s play. And upon these eyelids weary Shuts the golden gates of Day.

Now the Night already darkles. Holy star succeeds to star; Dazzling lights and fainter sparkles Glimmer near and gleam afar: Glimmer here, the lake reflecting, Gleam in cloudless dark aboon; While, the bliss of rest protecting, Reigns in pomp the perfect moon.

Now the Hours are cancelled for thee, Pain and bliss have fled away: Thou art whole: let faith restore thee! Trust the new, the rising Day! Vales grow green, and hills are lifting Through the shadow-rest of morn; And in waves of silver, drifting On to harvest, rolls the corn.

Wouldst thou win desires unbounded, Yonder see the glory burn! Lightly is thy life surrounded — Sleep’s a shell, to break and spurn! When the crowd sways, unbelieving, Shows the daring will that warms! He is crowned with all achieving, Who perceives and then performs.

(A tremendous tumult announces the approach of the Sun.)

Hearken! Hark!—the Hours careering! Sounding loud to spirit-hearing.

See the new-born Day appearing! Rocky portals jarring shatter, Phoebus’ wheels in rolling clatter, With a crash the Light draws near!

Pealing rays and trumpet-blazes,- Eye is blinded, ear amazes: The Unheard can no one hear! Slip within each blossom-bell, Deeper, deeper, there to dwell,— In the rocks, beneath the leaf! If it strikes you, you are deaf.

Life’s pulses now with fresher force awaken

To greet the mild ethereal twilight o’er me;

This night, thou, Earth! hast also stood unshaken,

And now thou breathest new-refreshed before me,

And now beginnest, all thy gladness granting,

A vigorous resolution to restore me.

To seek that highest life for which I’m panting. —

The world unfolded lies in twilight glimmer,

A thousand voices in the grove are chanting;

Vale in, vale out, the misty streaks grow dimmer;

The deeps with heavenly light are penetrated;

The boughs, refreshed, lift up their leafy shimmer

From gulfs of air where sleepily they waited;

Colour on colour from the background cleareth,

Where flower and leaf with trembling pearls are freighted;

And all around a Paradise appeareth.

Look up!—The mountain summits, grand, supernal, Herald, e’en now, the solemn hour that neareth; They earliest enjoy the light eternal That later sinks, till here below we find it. Now to the Alpine meadows, sloping vernal, A newer beam descends ere we divined it, And step by step unto the base hath bounded: The sun comes forth! Alas, already blinded, I turn away, with eyesight pierced and wounded!

Tis thus, when, unto yearning hope’s endeavour,

Its highest wish on sweet attainment grounded,

The portals of fulfilment widely sever:

But if there burst from those eternal spaces

A flood of flame, we stand confounded ever;

For Life’s pure torch we sought the shining traces,

And seas of fire—and what a fire!—surprise us.

Is’t Love? Is’t Hate? that burningly embraces,

And that with pain and joy alternate tries us?

So that, our glances once more earthward throwing,

We seek in youthful drapery to disguise us.

Behind me, therefore, let the sun be glowing!

The cataract, between the crags deep-riven,

I thus behold with rapture ever-growing.

From plunge to plunge in thousand streams ’tis given,

And yet a thousand, to the valleys shaded,

While foam and spray in air are whirled and driven.

Yet how superb, across the tumult braided,

The painted rainbow’s changeful life is bending.

Now clearly drawn, dissolving now and faded,

And evermore the showers of dew descending!

Of human striving there’s no symbol fuller:

Consider, and ’tis easy comprehending —

Life is not light, but the refracted colour.

II

The Emperor’s Castle

Hall of the Throne

Council of State awaiting the Emperor.

Trumpets.

Enter Court Retainers of all kinds, splendidly dressed. The Emperor advances to the throne: Astrologer on his right hand.

I GREET you. Well-beloved and Trusty, Assembled here from far and wide! I see the Wise Man at my side; But where ’s the Fool, his rival lusty?

Squire

Behind thy mantle’s flowing swell Suddenly on the stairs he fell: They bore away the weight of fat; If dead, or drunk? none knoweth that.

Second Squire

As quick as thought, through all the pother Him to replace there came another, Adorned and prinked with wondrous art. Yet so grotesque that all men start.

The guards their halberds crosswise hold To bar him—them he thrusts apart: Lo! here he comes, the Fool so bold!

MEPHISTOPHELES (kneeling before the throne). What’s cursed and welcomely expected? What is desired, yet always chased? What evermore with care protected? What is accused, condemned, disgraced? To whom dar’st thou not give a hearing? Whose name hears each man willingly? What is’t, before thy throne appearing? What keeps itself away from thee?

Spare us thy words! the time is pressing; This is no place for riddle-guessing: These gentlemen such things explain. Solve it thyself !—to hear I’m fain. My old Fool went, I fear, an endless distance; Take thou his place, come here and lend assistance! (Mephistopheles goes up and stations himself on the Emperor’s left hand.)

Murmurs of the Crowd

Another fool—for worries new!

Whence came he ?—how did he get through? The old one fell—he’s walked his path.— He was a barrel—this, a lath!

So now, my Well-beloved and Loyal,

Be welcome all, from near and far!

You meet beneath a fortunate star;

Welfare and luck are now the aspects royal.

But tell me why, in days so fair,

When we’ve withdrawn ourselves from care,

And beards of beauty masquerading wear,—

When gay delights for us are waiting.

Why should we plague ourselves, deliberating?

Yet, since the task you think we cannot shun,

Tis settled then, so be it done!

Chancellor

The highest virtue, like a halo-zone Circles the Emperor’s head; and he alone

Is worthy validly to exercise it.

’Tis Justice!—all men love and prize it, None can forego, but all require and want it: The people look to him, that he should grant it But, ah! what help can human wit impart. Or readiness of hand, or kindly heart, When lies the State, as if in fever fretting. And brooded Evil evil is begetting? Who looks abroad from off this height supreme Throughout the realm, ’tis like a weary dream. Where one deformity another mouldeth. Where lawlessness itself by law upholdeth. And ’tis an age of Error that unfoldeth!

One plunders flocks, a woman one,

Cup, cross, and candlestick from altar,

And then to boast it does not palter,

Of limb or life nowise undone.

To Court behold the plaintiffs urging,

Where puffs the judge on cushions warm,

And swells, meanwhile, with fury surging,

Rebellion’s fast-increasing storm!

His easy way through crime is broken

Who his accomplices selects;

And “Guilty!” hears one only spoken

Where Innocence itself protects.

They all pull down what they should care for,—

Destroy their weal, in self-despite;

How can the sense develop, therefore,

Which, only, leads us to the Right?

At last, the man of good intent

To flatterer and briber bendeth;

The judge, debarred from punishment.

Mates with the felon, ere he endeth.

I’ve painted black, but denser screen

I’d rather draw before the scene.

Here measures cannot be evaded; When all offend, and none are aided, His Majesty a victim stands.

In these wild days, how discords thicken! Each strikes and in return is stricken, And they are deaf to all commands. The burgher in his fortifications,

The knight upon his rocky nest,

Have sworn to worry out our patience

And keep their strength with stubborn crest.

The mercenaries, no whit better,

Impatiently demand their pay.

And, if we were not still their debtor,

They’d start forthwith and march away.

Let one forbid what all would practise

And in a hornet’s nest he stands:

The realm which they should guard, the fact is,

’Tis devastated by their hands.

They give the rein to wild disorder,

And half the world is wasted now;

There still are kings beyond our border,

But none thinks it concerns him anyhow.

Treasurer

Trust allies, and we soon shall rue us!

The subsidies they promised to us —

Like water in leaky pipes—don’t come.

Then, Sire, in all thy states extended

To whom hath now the rule descended?

Where’er one goes, a new lord is at home,

And hopes to live in independence;

He takes his course and we look on:

Such rights we’ve given to our attendants

That all our right to anything is gone.

On parties, too, whate’er the name be.

Our trust, to-day, is far from great;

Though loud their praise or fierce their blame be

Indifferent is their love and hate.

The Ghibellines and Guelfs from labour

Are resting—both laid on the shelf.

Who, therefore, now will help his neighbour?

Each has enough, to help himself.

The gate of gold no more unlatches,

And each one gathers, digs, and scratches,

While our strong-box is void indeed.

What evil I, as well, am having!

Were always trying to be saving,

And ever greater is our need:

Thus daily grows this task of mine.

The cooks have all they want at present, —

Wild-boar and deer, and hare and pheasant.

Duck, peacock, turkey, goose, and chicken:

These, paid in kind, are certain picking.

And do not seriously decline;

Yet, after all, we’re short of wine.

Where casks on casks were once our cellars filling,

Rare vintages of flavours finely thrilling.

The noble lords’ eternal swilling

Has drained them off, till not a drop appears.

The City Council, too, must tap their liquor;

They drink from mug, and jug, and beaker,

Till no one longer sees or hears.

’Tis I must pay for all the dances;

The Jew will have me, past all chances;

His notes of hand and his advances

Will soon eat up the coming years.

Before they’re fat the swine are taken;

Pawned is the pillow, ere one waken,

The bread is eaten ere the board it sees.

The Emperor

(after some reflection, to Mephistopheles).

Say, Fool, canst thou not add a want to these?

I? Not at all! I see the circling splendour — Thyself, and thine! Should one his trust surrender, Where Majesty thus unopposed commands, Where ready power the hostile force disbands, Where loyal wills, through understanding strong, And mixed activities, around thee throng? What powers for evil could one see combining, — For darkness, where such brilliant stars are shining?

He is a scamp—who comprehends. — He lies his way—until it ends. — I know it now—what’s in his mind. — What then?—A project lurks behind!

Where, in this world, doth not some lack appear?

Here this, there that,—but money’s lacking here. True, from the floor you can’t at once collect it. But, deepliest hidden, wisdom may detect it. In veins of mountains,^ under building-bases, Coined and uncoined, there’s gold in many places:

And ask you who shall bring it to the light?

A man endowed with Mind’s and Nature’s might.

Chancellor

Nature and Mind—to Christians we don’t speak so.

Thence to burn Atheists we seek so,

For such discourses very dangerous be.

Nature is Sin, and Mind is Devil:

Doubt they beget in shameless revel,

Their hybrid in deformity.

Not so with us!—Two only races

Have in the Empire kept their places,

And prop the throne with worthy weight.

The Saints and Knights are they: together

They breast each spell of thunder-weather,

And take for pay the Church and State.

The vulgar minds that breed confusion

Are met with an opposing hand:

They’re wizards!—heretics! Delusion

Through them will ruin town and land.

And these will you, with brazen juggle,

Within this high assembly smuggle?

For hearts corrupt you scheme and struggle;

The Fool’s near kin are all the band.

By that, I know the learned lord you are! What you don’t touch, is lying leagues afar; What you don’t grasp, is wholly lost to you; What you don’t reckon, think you, can’t be true; What you don’t weigh, it has no weight, alas! What you don’t coin, you’re sure it will not pass.

Therewith to help our needs you naught determine. What wilt thou, here, with such a Lenten sermon? I’m tired of the eternal If and How: Money we want: good, then, procure it now!

I’ll furnish what you wish, and more: ’tis true, A light task, but light things are hard to do. The gold’s on hand,—yet, skilfully to win it. That is the art: who knows how to begin it? Consider only, in those days of blood When o’er the Empire poured a human flood,

How many men, such deadly terror steeled them, Took their best goods, and here and there concealed them! ’Twas so beneath the mighty Roman sway. And ever so repeated, till our day. All that was buried in the earth, to save it: The Emperor owns the earth, and he should have it.

Treasurer

Now, for a Fool, his words are rather bright: That is indeed the old Imperial right.

Chancellor

Satan has laid his golden snares, to try us;

Such things as these are neither right nor pious.

Let him but bring his gifts to Court, and share them, And if things were a little wrong, I’d bear them!

The Fool is shrewd, to promise each his needs; Whence it may come the soldier never heeds.

And should you think, perchance, I overreach you, Here’s the Astrologer—ask him to teach you! The spheres of Hour and House are in his ken: What are the heavenly aspects?—tell us, then!

Two rogues are they,—in league they’ve grown, Dreamer and Fool—so near the throne! The song is old—and flatly sung. — The Fool he prompts—the Wise Man’s tongue!

(speaks: Mephistopheles prompts).

The Sun himself is gold of purest ray;

The herald. Mercury, serves for love and pay;

Dame Venus has bewitched you all, for she.

Early and late, looks on you lovingly;

Chaste Luna has her whims, no two alike;

Mars threatens you, although he may not strike,

And Jupiter is still the splendid star.

Saturn is great, though seeming small and far:

As metal, him we don’t much venerate, Of value slight, though heavy in his weight. Now, when of Sol and Luna union’s had, — Silver with gold,—then is the world made glad: All else, with them, is easy to attain, — Palaces, gardens, cheeks of rosy stain; And these procures this highly learned man, Who that can do which none of us e’er can.

Two meanings in his words I find, And yet they don’t convince my mind.

Why tell us that ?—stuff stale and flat! ’Tis quackery!—’tis chemistry! I’ve heard the strain—and hoped in vain,— And though it come—’tis all a hum.

They stand around, amazed, unknowing;

They do not trust the treasure-spell;

One dreams of mandrake, nightly growing.

The other of the dog of Hell.

Why, then, should one suspect bewitching,

And why the other jest and prate.

When in their feet, they, too, shall feel the itching,

When they shall walk with tottering gait?

All feel the secret operation

Of Nature’s ever-ruling might.

And from the bases of Creation

A living track winds up to light.

In every limb when something twitches

In any place uncanny, old, —

Decide at once, and dig for riches!

There lies the fiddler, there the gold!

It hangs like lead my feet about, — I’ve cramp i’ the arm—but that is gout.—

I’ve tickling in the greater toe. — Down all my back it pains me so. — From signs like these ’tis very clear The richest treasure-ground is here.

Haste, then! Thou’lt not again make off! Test now thy frothy, lying graces. And show at once the golden places! My sword and sceptre I will doff, Mine own imperial hands I’ll lend thee, If thou liest not, therein befriend thee. But, if thou liest, to Hell will send thee!

I’d find, in any case, the pathway there!—

Yet I cannot enough declare

What, ownerless, waits everywhere.

The farmer, following his share.

Turns out a gold-crock with the mould:

He seeks saltpetre where the clay-walls stand,

And findeth rolls of goldenest gold,

With joyful fright, in his impoverished hand.

What vaults there are to be exploded,

Along what shafts and mines corroded,

The gold-diviner’s steps are goaded,

Until the Under-world is nigh!

In cellars vast he sees the precious

Cups, beakers, vases, plates, and dishes,

Row after row, resplendent lie:

Rich goblets, cut from rubies, stand there,

And, would he use them, lo! at hand there

Is ancient juice of strength divine.

Yet, trust to him who’s knowledge gotten.

The wood o’ the staves has long been rotten,

A cask of tartar holds the wine.

Not only gold and gems are hiding.

But of proud wines the heart abiding,

In terror and in night profound:

Herein assiduously explore the wise;

It is a farce, by day to recognise,

But mysteries are with darkness circled round.

See thou to them! What profits the Obscure?

Whate’er has value comes to daylight, sure.

At dead of night who can the rogue betray?

Then all the cows are black, the cats are gray.

If pots are down there, full of heavy gold.

Drive on thy plough and turn them from the mould!

Take hoe and spade thyself, I pray thee,— Thou shalt be great through peasant-toil! A herd of golden calves, to pay thee. Will loose their bodies from the soil. And then at once canst thou, with rapture, Gems for thyself and for thy mistress capture: Their tints and sparkles heighten the degree Of Beauty as of Majesty.

EMPEROR. Then quick! at once! how long will it require?

ASTROLOGER (prompted by Mephistopheles). Sire, moderate such urgence of desire! Let first the gay, the motley pastime end! Not to the goal doth such distraction tend.

First self-command must quiet and assure us; The upper things the lower will procure us. Who seeks for Good, must first be good; Who seeks for joy, must moderate his blood; Who wine desires, let him the ripe grapes tread; Who miracles, by stronger faith be led!

Let us the time in merriment efface! And, to our wish, Ash-Wednesday comes apace. Meanwhile, we’ll surely celebrate withal More jovially the maddening Carnival.

[Trumpets. Exeunt. MEPHISTOPHELES.

How closely linked are Luck and Merit, Doth never to these fools occur: Had they the Philosopher’s Stone, I swear it, The Stone would lack the Philosopher!

III

Spacious Hall. With Adjoining Apartments

Arranged and Decorated for the Carnival Masquerade,

THINK not, as in our German bounds, your chance is Of Death’s or Fools’ or Devils’ dances; Here cheerful revels you await. Our Ruler, on his Roman expedition, Hath for his profit, your fruition, Crossed o’er the Alpine high partition, And won himself a gayer State. He to the holy slipper bowed him And first the right of power besought; Then, as he went to get the Crown allowed him, For us the Fool’s-cap he has also brought. Now are we all new-born, to wear it: Each tactful and experienced man. Drawn cosily o’er head and ears, doth beai it; A fool he seems, yet he must share it, And be, thereby, as sober as he can. They crowding come, I see already. Close coupling, or withdrawn unsteady,— The choruses, like youth from school. Come in or out, bring on your ranks! Before or after—’tis the rule — With all its hundred thousand pranks, The World is one enormous Fool!

GARDEN-GIRLS. (Song, accompanied with mandolines^ Tliat we win your praises tender We are decked in festal gear; At the German Court of splendour, Girls of Florence, we appear.

On our locks of chestnut glosses Wear we many a flowery bell;

Silken threads and silken flosses

Here must play their parts, as well.

Our desert, not over-rated, Seems to us assured and clear,

For by art we’ve fabricated Flowers that blossom all the year.

Every sort of coloured snipping Won its own symmetric right: Though your wit on each be tripping, In the whole you take delight.

We are fair to see and blooming, Garden-girls, and gay of heart; For the natural way of woman Is so near akin to art.

HERALD,

Let us see the wealth of blossoms

Basket-crowning heads that bear them. Garlanding your arms and bosoms! Each select, and lightly wear them. Haste! and bosky arbours dressing, Let a garden here enring us! Worthy they of closer pressing, Hucksters and the wares they bring us.

Garden Girls

Now in cheerful places chaffer. But no marketing be ours! Briefly, clearly, let each laugher Know the meaning of his flowers.

OLIVE BRANCH, WITH FRUIT,

Flowery sprays I do not covet; Strife I shun, or branch above it, Foe of conflict I remain. Yet am I the marrow of nations, Pledge of happy consummations, Sign of peace on every plain. Be, to-day, my lucky fate Worthy head to decorate!

WREATH OF EARS (golden).

You to crown, the gifts of Ceres Here their kindly grace have sent Unto Use what chiefly dear is Be your fairest ornament!

Fancy Wreath

Gayest blossoms, like to mallows,— From the moss a marvel grew! Fashion calls to light, and hallows, That which Nature never knew.

Fancy Nosegay

What our name is, Theophrastus Would not dare to say: contrast us! Yet we hope to please you purely, If not all, yet many, surely, — Such as fain we’d have possess us, Braiding us in shining tresses, Or, a fairer fate deciding, On the heart find rest abiding.

Challenge

Motley fancies blossom may For the fashion of the day, Whimsical and strangely moulded. Such as Nature ne’er unfolded: Bells of gold and stems of green In the plenteous locks be seen!— Yet we

Rosebuds

lie concealed behind; Lucky, who shall freshly find! When the summer-time returneth, And the rosebud, bursting, burneth. Who such blisses would surrender? Promise sweet, and yielding tender, They, in Flora’s realm, control Swiftly eyes and sense and soul.

(Under green, leafy arcades, the Garden-girt.s adorn and gracefully exhibit their wares.)

Gardeners

(Songf accompanied with theorbos.)

Blossoms there, that sprout in quiet, Round your heads their charms are weaving; But the fruits are not deceiving, One may try the mellow diet.

Sunburnt faces tempt with glowing Cherries, peaches, plums, your vision: Buy! for vain the eye’s decision To the tongue’s and palate’s showing.

Ripest fruit from sunniest closes Eat, with taste and pleasure smitten! Poems one may write on roses, But the apple must be bitten!

Then permit that we be mated With your youth, so flowery-fair: Thus is also decorated. Neighbour-like, our riper ware.

Under wreaths of flowery tether, As the leafy arbours suit.

All may then be found together. Buds and leaves, and flower and fruit!

(With alternating songs, accompanied with mandolines and theorbos, both Choruses continue to set forth their wares upon steps rising aloft, and to offer them to the spectators.)

Mother and Daughter.

MOTHER,

Maiden, when thou cam’st to light, Tiny caps I wrought thee; Body tender, soft, and white. Lovely face I brought thee. As a bride I thought thee, led To the richest, wooed and wed, As a wife I thought thee.

Ah! already many a year,

Profitless, is over:

None of all the wooers here

Now around thee hover;

Though with one wast wont to dance,

Gav’st another nudge and glance, —

Hast not found thy lover!

I to feast and revel thee Vainly took, to match one: Pawns, and hindmost man of three, Would not help thee snatch one. Ev’ry fool now wears his cap:

Sweetheart, open thou thy lap! Still, perchance, mayst catch one!

(Other maiden playmates, young and beautiful, join the garden-girls: the sound of familiar gossip is heard. Fishers and bird-catchers, with nets, fishing-rods, limed twigs, and other implements, appear, and disperse themselves among the maidens. Reciprocal attempts to -win, to catch, to escape, and to hold fast, give opportunity for the most agreeable dialogues.)

Wood-cutters

(enter, boisterously and boorishly).

Room! make a clearing! Room in your revel! The trees we level That tumble cracking: Where we’re appearing Look out for whacking. Our praise adjudging, Make clear this fable! Save Coarse were drudging; Within your borders, Would Fine be able, To build their orders, Howe’er they fretted? Be taught in season. For you’d be freezing Had we not sweated!

Pulcinelli

(uncouth, almost idiotic).

You, Fools, are trooping, Since birth so stooping; The wise ones we are, From burdens freer. Our caps, though sleazy, And jackets breezy To wear are easy: It gives us pleasure To go with leisure, With slippery shuffles Through market-scuffles, To gape at the pother, Croak at each other! Through crowded places You always trace us.

Eel-like gliding, Skipping and hiding, Storming together: Moreover, whether You praise—reprove us, It doesn’t move us.

PARASITES (fawningly-lustjul). Ye woodland bandsmen. And they, your clansmen, The charcoal-burners, To you we turn us: For all such plodding, Affirmative nodding, Tortuous phrases. Blowing both ways—is Warming or chilling. Just as you’re feeling: What profit from it? There might fall fire. Enormous, dire, From heaven’s summit, Were there not billets

And coal in waggons, To boil your skillets And warm your flagons. It roasts and frizzles; It boils and sizzles! The taster and picker, The platter-licker. He sniffs the roasting. Suspects the fishes. And clears, with boasting, His patron’s dishes.

DRUNKEN MAN (unconsciously). Naught, to-day, bring melancholy! Since I feel so frank and free: Fresh delight and songs so jolly. And I brought them both with me! Thus I’m drinking, drinking, drinking! Clink your glasses, clinking, clinking! You behind there, join the rout! Clink them stout, and then it’s out!

Though my wife assailed me loudly.

Rumpled me through thin and thick;

And, howe’er I swaggered proudly,

Called me” masquerading stick: "

Yet I’m drinking, drinking, drinking!

Clink your glasses! clinking, clinking!

Masking sticks, another bout!

When you’ve clinked them, drink them out!

Say not mine a silly boast is!

I am here in clover laid:

Trusts the host not, trusts the hostess, —

She refusing, trusts the maid.

Still I’m drinking, drinking, drinking!

Come, ye others, clinking, clinking!

Each to each! keep up the rout!

We, I’m thinking, drink them out.

How and where my fun I’m spying, Let me have it as I planned! Let me lie where I am lying, For I cannot longer stand.

Every chum be drinking, drinking! Toast afresh, with clinking, clinking! Bravely keep your seats, and shout! Under the table lies drunk out.

[The Herald announces various Poets—Poets of Nature, Courtly and Knightly Minstrels, Sentimentalists as well as Enthusiasts. In the crowd of competitors of all kinds, no one allows another to commence his declamation. One slips past with a few words. ^

Satirist

Know ye what myself, the Poet, Would the most rejoice and cheer? If I dared to sing, and utter. That which no one wants to hear.

[The Night and Churchyard Poets excuse themselves, because they have just become engaged in a most interesting conversation with a newly-arisen vampire, and therefrom a new school of poetry may possibly be developed. The Herald is obliged to accept their excuses, and meanwhile calls forth the Grecian Mythology, which, even in modern masks, loses neither its character nor its power to charm.]

The Graces.

Life we bless with graces living, So be graceful in your giving!

Hegemone

Graceful be in your receival; Wish attained is sweet retrieval.

Euphrosyne

And in days serene and spacious. In your thanks be chiefly gracious.

The Parcae.

Atropos

I, the eldest, to the spinning Have received the invitation; When the thread of Life’s beginning? There is need of meditation.

Finest flax I winnow featly That your thread be softly given; Draw it through my fingers neatly, Make it thin, and smooth, and even.

If too wanton your endeavour, Grasping here of joy each token, Think, the thread won’t stretch for ever! Have a care I it might be broken.

Clotho

Know that, given to me for wearing, Lately were the shears supplied; Since men were not by the bearing Of our eldest edified.

Useless webs she long untangled. Dragging them to air and light; Dreams of fortune, hope-bespangled, Clipped and buried out of sight.

Also I, in ignorance idle.

Made mistakes in younger years.

But to-day, myself to bridle.

In their shcatii I stick the shears.

Thus restrained in proper measure Favour I this cheerful place: You these hours of liberal pleasure Use at will, and run your race!

Lachesis

In my hands, the only skilful, Was the ordered twisting placed” Active are my ways, not wilful, Erring not through over-haste.

Threads are coming, threads are reeling; In its course I each restrain: None, from off the circle wheeling, Fails to fit within the skein.

If I once regardless gadded, For the world my hopes were vain: Hours are counted, years are added. And the weaver takes the chain.

HERALD,

You would not recognise who now appear.

Though ne’er so learned you were in ancient writing

To look at them, in evil so delighting.

You’d call them worthy guests, and welcome here.

They are The Furies, no one will believe us, — Fair, well-proportioned, friendly, young in j’ears: But make acquaintance, and straightway appears How snake-like are such doves to wound, deceive us.

Though they are spiteful, yet on this occasion, When every fool exults in all his blame. They also do not crave angelic fame, But own themselves the torments of the nation.

Alecto

What good of that, For you will trust us still! — Each of us young and fair, a wheedling kitten. Hath one of you a girl with whom he’s smitten. We’ll rub and softly stroke his ears, until

’Tis safe to tell him, spite of all his loathing. That she has also this and the other flame, — A blockhead he, or humpbacked, squint and lame,

And if betrothed to him, she’s good-for-nothing!

We’re skilled, as well, the bride to vex and sever: Why scarce a week ago, her very lover Contemptuous things to her was saying of her! Though they make up, there’s something rankles ever.

That’s a mere jest! For, let them once be married,

I go to work, and can, in every case.

The fairest bliss by wilful whims displace.

Man has his various moods, the hours are varied,

And, holding the Desired that once did charm him, Each for the More-desired, a yearning fool. Leaves the best fortune, use has rendered cool: He flies the sun, and seeks the frost to warm him.

Of ills for all I understand the brewing, And here Asmodi as my follower lead. To scatter mischief at the proper need. And send the human race, in pairs, to ruin.

Tisiphone

Steel and poison I, not malice, Mix and sharpen for the traitor: Lov’st thou others, soon or later, Ruin pours for thee the chalice.

Through the moment’s sweet libation See the gall and wormwood stealing! Here no bargaining, no dealing! Like the act and retaliation.

No one babble of forgiving! To the rocks I cry: Revenge! is Echo’s answer: he who changes Shall be missed among the living.

Do me the favour, now, to stand aside,

For that which comes is not to you allied.

You see a mountain pressing through the throng,

The flanks with brilliant housings grandly hung,

A head with tusks, a snaky trunk below, —

A mystery, yet I the key will show.

A delicate woman sits upon his neck.

And with a wand persuades him to her beck;

The other, throned aloft, superb to see.

Stands in a glory, dazzling, blinding me.

Beside him walk two dames in chains; one fearful And sore depressed, the other glad and cheerful. One longs for freedom and one feels she’s free: Let each declare us who she be!

Fear

Smoky torches, lamps are gleaming Through the festals wildering train; Ah! amid these faces scheming I am fastened by my chain.

Off, ridiculously merry! I mistrust your grinning spite: Each relentless adversary Presses nearer in the night,

Friend would here as foe waylay me, But I know the masking shapes; Yonder’s one that wished to slay me,— Now, discovered, he escapes. From the world I fain would wander Through whatever gate I find; But perdition threatens yonder,

And the horror holds my mind.

Hope

Good my sisters, I salute you! Though to-day already suit you, Masquerading thus demurely, Yet I know your purpose surely To reveal yourself to-morrow. And if we, by torches lighted, Fail to feel a special pleasure, Yet in days of cheerful leisure. At our will, delight we’ll borrow, Or alone or disunited Free through fairest pastures ranging, Rest and action interchanging. And in life no cares that fetter Naught forego, but strive for better. Welcome guests are all around us, Let us mingle with the rest! Surely, what is best hath found us, Or we’ll somewhere find the best.

Prudence

Two of human foes, the greatest. Fear and Hope, I bind the faster.

Thus to save you at the latest: Clear the way for me, their master.

I conduct the live colossus, Turret-crowned with weighty masses; And unweariedly he crosses, Step by step, the steepest passes.

But aloft the goddess planted, With her broad and ready pinions. Turns to spy where gain is granted Everywhere in Man’s dominions.

Round her all is bright and glorious: Splendour streams on all her courses: Victory is she—the victorious Goddess of all active forces.

Zoilo-thersites

Ho! ho! I’ve hit the time of day.

You’re all together bad, I say!

But what appeared my goal to me

Is she up there, Dame Victory.

She, with her snowy wings spread out,

Thinks she’s an eagle, past a doubt;

And, wheresoever she may stir.

That land and folk belong to her!

But when a famous thing is done

I straightway put my harness on,

To lift the low, the high upset,

The bent to straighten, bend the straight, —

That, only, gives my heart a glow,

And on this earth I’ll have it so.

Then take, thou beggar-cur, the blow, This magic baton’s stroke of skill! — So, twist and wriggle at thy will! See how the double dwarfish ape Rolls to a hideous ball in shape! — A marvel! ’Tis an egg we view; It puffs itself and cracks in two: A pair of twins come forth to-day, The Adder and the Bat are they. Forth in the dust one winds and creeps, One darkly round the ceiling sweeps. They haste to join in company: The third therein I would not be!

Come! the dance is yonder gay. — No! I would I were away. — Feel’st thou how the phantom rate

Flits about us in this place? — Something whizzes past my hair.— Round my feet I saw it fare. — None of us are injured, though. — But we all are frightened so. — Wholly spoiled is now the fun. — Which the vermin wanted done. —

Since, as Herald, I am aiding

At your merry masquerading,

At the gate I’m watching, fearful

Lest within your revels cheerful

Something slips of evil savour;

And I neither shrink nor waver.

Yet, I fear, the airy spectres

Enter, baffling all detectors,

And from goblins that deceive you

I’m unable to relieve you.

First, the dwarf became suspicious;

Now a mightier pageant issues

Yonder, and it is my duty

To explain those forms of beauty:

But the thing I comprehend not.

How can I its meaning mention?

Help me to its comprehension!

Through the crowd you see it wend not?

Lo! a four-horse chariot wondrous,

Hither drawn, the tumult sunders;

Yet the crowd seems not to share in ’t —

Nowhere is a crush apparent.

Coloured lights, in distance dimmer,

Motley stars around it shimmer;

Magic lantern-like they glimmer.

On it storms, as to assault.

Clear the way! I shudder!

Halt! Steeds, restrain the eager pinion, Own the bridle’s old dominion, Check yourselves, as I desire you, Sweep away, when I inspire you! —

Honour we these festal spaces! See, the fast increasing faces, Circles, full of admiration! Herald, come! and in thy fashion, Ere we take from here our glories, Name us, and describe and show us! For we’re naught but allegories.. Therefore ’tis thy place to know us.

No, thy name from me is hidden, — Could describe thee, were I bidden.

Try it!

Granted, at the start, Young and beautiful thou art, — A half-grown boy; and yet the woman -nature Would rather see thee in completed stature. To me thou seem’st a future fickle wooer. Changing the old betrayed love for a newer.

Go on! So far, ’tis very fine:

Make the enigma’s gay solution thine!

Black lightning of the eyes, the dark locks glowing,

Yet bright with jewelled anadem,

And light thy robe as flower on stem,

From shoulder unto buskin flowing

With tinsel-braid and purple hem!

One for a maiden might surmise thee,

Yet, good or ill, as it might be,

The maids, e’en now, would take and prize thee:

They’d teach thee soon thy ABC.

And he, who like a splendid vision, Sits proudly on the chariot’s throne?

He seems a king of mien Elysian; Blest those, who may liis favour own!

No more has he to earn or capture; His glance detects where aught’s amiss, And to bestow his perfect rapture Is more than ownership and bliss.

Thou darest not at this point desist * Describe him fully, I insist!

But undescribed is Dignity.

The healthy, full-moon face I see,

The ample mouth, the cheeks that fresher

Shine out beneath his turban’s pressure,

Rich comfort in the robe he’s wearing,—

What shall I say of such a bearing?

He seems, as ruler, known to me.

Plutus, the God of Wealth, is he. He hither comes in proud attire; Much doth the Emperor him desire.

Of thee the What and How declare to me!

I am Profusion, I am Poesy.

The Poet I, whose perfect crown is sent

When he his own best goods hath freely spent.

Yet, rich in mine unmeasured pelf,

Like Plutus I esteem myself:

I prank and cheer his festal show,

And whatsoe’er he lacks bestow.

Fresh charm to thee thy brag imparts, But let us now behold thine arts!

Just see me fillip with my fingers! What brilliance round the chariot lingers. And there a string of pearls appear!

(continuing to fillip and snap his fingers in all directions.)

Take golden spangles for neck and ears, Combs, and diadems free of flaw, And jewelled rings as ne’er ye saw! I also scatter flamelets bright. Awaiting where they may ignite.

HERALD,

How strives the crowd with eager longing,

Almost upon the giver thronging!

As in a dream he snaps the toys;

All catch and snatch with crush and noise.

But now new tricks have I detected:

What each has zealously collected

His trouble doth but poorly pay;

The gifts take wings and fly away.

The pearls are loosened from their band

And beetles crawl within his hand;

He shakes them off, and then instead,

Poor dolt, they hum around his head!

The others find their solid things

Are butterflies with gaudy wings.

How much the scamp to promise seems.

And only gives what golden gleams!

Masks to announce, I grant, thou’rt worthy;

But ’neath the shell of Being to bestir thee

Is not a herald’s courtly task:

A sharper sight for that we ask.

Yet every quarrel I evade;

To thee, my Chief, be speech and question made!

(Turning to Plutus.)

Didst thou not unto me confide

The tempest of the steeds I guide?

Canst thou not on my guidance reckon?

Am I not there, where thou dost beckon

And have I not, on pinions boldest,

Conquered for thee the palm thou boldest?

When in thy battles I have aided,

I ever have been fortunate;

Thy brow when laurels decorate,

Have I not them with hand and fancy braided?

If there be need that I bear witness now, I’m glad to say: soul of my soul art thou!

Thine acts are always to my mind,

And thou the richer art, I find.

Thy service to reward, I hold

The green bough higher than my crowns of gold

To all a true word spoken be:

Dear Son, I much delight in thee.

BOY CHARIOTEER (to the Crowd).

The greatest gifts my hand flings out. See! I have scattered round about. On divers heads there glows the tongue Of flame which I upon them flung, — Leaps back and forth among the shapes, On this remains, from that escapes, But very seldom upward streams In transient flush of mellow beams; And unto many, ere they mark, It is extinct and leaves them dark,

Chatter of Women

Upon the chariot that man

Is certainly a charlatan:

There, perched behind, the clown is seen,

From thirst and hunger grown so lean

As one ne’er saw him; if you’d pinch.

He hasn’t flesh to feel and flinch.

The Starveling

Disgusting women, off! I know

That when I come, you’d have me go.

When woman fed her own hearth-flame,

Then Avaritia was my name;

Then throve the household fresh and green,

For naught went out and much came in.

To chest and press I gave good heed.

And that you’d call a vice, indeed!

But since in later years, the fact is.

Economy the wife won’t practise,

And, like the host of spendthrift scholars.

Has more desires than she has dollars.

The husband much discomfort brooks,

For there are debts where’er he looks.

She spends what spoil she may recover

Upon her body, or her lover;

In luxury eats, and to excess

Drinks with the flirts that round her press;

For me that raises money’s price:

Male is my gender, Avarice!

Leader of the Women

With dragons, mean may be the dragon; It’s all, at best, but lying stuff! He comes, the men to spur and egg on, And now they’re troublesome enough.

Crowd of Women

The scarecrow! Knock him from the waggon!

What means the fag, to threaten here?

As if his ugly face we’d fear!

Of wood and pasteboard is each dragon:

Come on—his words shall cost him dear!

Now, by my wand! Be still—let none stir! Yet for my help there’s scarcely need; See how each grim and grisly monster, Clearing the space around with speed, Unfolds his fourfold wings of dread! The dragons shake themselves in anger. With flaming throats, and scaly clangour; The place is clear, the crowd has fled.

(Plutus descends from the chariot.)

How kingly comes he from above! He beckons, and the dragons move; Then from the chariot bring the chest With gold, and Avarice thereon. See, at his feet the load they rest! A marvel ’tis, how it was done.

PLUTUS (to the Charioteer).

Now thou hast left the onerous burden here, Thou’rt wholly free: away to thine own sphere! Here it is not! Confused and wild, to-day, Distorted pictures press around our way. Where clear thy gaze in sweet serenity, Owning thyself, confiding but in thee. Thither, where Good and Beauty are unfurled, To Solitude!—and there create thy world!

Thus, as an envoy, am I worthy of thee; Thus, as my next of kindred, do I love thee. Where tliou art, is abundance; where I go Each sees a splendid profit round him grow. In inconsistent life each often wavers, Whether to seek from thee, or me, the favours. Thy followers may be indolent, ’tis true; Who follows me, has always work to do. My deeds are never secret and concealed; I only breathe, and I’m at once revealed. Farewell, then! Thou the bliss hast granted me; But whisper low, and I return to thee!

[Exit, as he came.

’Tis time, now, to unchain the precious metals!

The padlocks with the herald’s wand I smite:

The chest is opened: look! from iron kettles

It pours like golden blood before your sight.

It boils, and threatens to devour, as fuel.

Melting them, crown and ring and chain and jewel!

Alternate Cries of the Crowd

See here, and there! they boil and swim;

The chest is filling to the brim! — Vessels of gold are burning there, And minted rolls are turning there, And ducats jingle as they jump! — O, how my heart begins to thump! — All my desire I see, and more. Thejf’re rolling now along the floor. — ’Tis offered you: don’t be a dunce, Stoop only, and be rich at once! — Then, quick as lightning we, the rest, Will take possession of the chest.

What ails ye, fools? What mean ye all? ’Tis but a joke of Carnival. To-night be your desires controlled; Think you we’d give you goods and gold? Why, in this game there come to view Too many counters even, for you. A pleasant cheat, ye dolts! forsooth You take at once for naked truth.

What’s truth to you? Illusion bare Surrounds and rules you everywhere. Thou Plutus-mask, Chief unrevealed, Drive thou this people from the field!

PLUTUS. Thy wand thereto is fit and free; Lend it a little while to me! I dip it in the fiery brew, — Look out, ye maskers! all of you. It shines, and snaps, and sparkles throws; The burning wand already glows. Who crowdeth on, too near to me,

Is burned and scorched relentlessly.

And now my circuit I’ll commence.

Cries and Crowding

Woe’s me! We’re lost—there’s no defence!

Let each one fly, if fly he can! —

Back! clear the way, you hindmost man! —

It sparkles fiercely in mine eyes. —

The burning wand upon me lies. —

We all are lost, we all are lost! —

Back, back! ye maskers, jammed and tossed!—

Back, senseless crowd, away from there! —

O, had I wings, I’d take the air.

Now is the circle crowded back.

And none, I think, scorched very black.

The throng retires,

Scared by the fires.

As guaranty for ordered law,

A ring invisible I draw.

A noble work is thine, to-night: I thank thy wisdom and thy might.

Preserve thy patience, noble friend, For many tumults yet impend.

Avarice

Thus, if one pleases, pleasantly May one survey this circle stately;

For, ever foremost, crowd the women greatly,

If aught to stare at, or to taste, there be.

Not yet entirely rusty are my senses!

A woman fair is always fair to me •

And since, to-day, it makes me no expenses,

We’ll go a courting confidently.

But in a place so populate

All words to every ear don’t penetrate;

So, wisely I attempt, and hope success.

Myself by pantomime distinctly to express.

Hand, foot, and gesture will not quite suffice

So I employ a jocular device.

Like clay will I the gold manipulate;

One may transform it into any state.

What will the lean fool do? Has he, So dry a starveling, humour? See, He kneads the gold as it were dough! Beneath his hands ’tis soft; yet, though He roll and squeeze it, for his pains Disfigured still the stuff remains. He turns to the women there, and they All scream, and try to get away, With gestures of disgust and loathing, The ready rascal steps at nothing. I fear he takes delight to see He has offended decency. I dare not silently endure it: Give me my wand, that I may cure it!

The danger from without he does not see: Let him alone; his Fool’s-hour fast is waning. There’ll be no space for his mad pranks remaining; Mighty is Law, mightier Necessity.

Tumult and Song

The savage hosts, with shout and hail, From mountain-height and forest-vale Come, irresistibly as Fate: Their mighty Pan they celebrate.

They know, forsooth, what none can guess, And in the empty circle press.

I know you well, and your illustrious Pan! Boldly together you’ve performed your plan. Full well I know what every one does not, And clear for you, as duty bids, the spot. Be Fortune still her favour lending! The strangest things may here be bred: They know not whitherward they’re wending, Because they have not looked ahead.

Savage Song

Furbished people, tinsel-stuff!

They’re coming rude, they’re coming rough;

In mighty leap, in wildest race,

Coarse and strong they take their place.

Fauns

Fauns, pair on pair,

Come dancing down,

With oaken crown

On crispy hair;

The fine and pointed ear is seen,

Leaf-like, the clustering curls between:

A stubby nose, face broad and flat,

The women don’t object to that;

For when his paw holds forth the Faun,

The fairest to the dance is drawn.

See now, behind, the Satyr skip, With foot of goat, lean leg and hip, — Lean and sinewy must they be: For, chamois-like, on mountains he Loveth to stand or scamper free. Then, strong in freedom of the skies. Child, wife, and man doth he despise,

Who, deep in the valley’s smoke and steam That they live also, snugly dream; While, pure and undisturbed, alone The upper world is all his own.

Gnomes

The little crowd comes tripping there • They don’t associate pair by pair. In mossy garb, with lantern bright, They move commingling, brisk and light,

Each working on his separate ground,

Like firefly-emmets swarming round;

And press and gather here and there,

Always industrious everywhere.

With the “Good People” kin we own;

As surgeons of the rocks we’re known.

Cupping the mountains, bleeding them

From fullest veins, depleting them

Of store of metals, which we pile,

And merrily greet: “Good cheer!” the while.

Well-meant the words, believe us, then!

We are the friends of all good men.

Yet we the stores of gold unseal

That men may pander, pimp, and steal;

Nor iron shall fail his haughty hand

Who universal murder planned:

And who these three Commandments breaks

But little heed o’ the others takes.

For that we’re not responsible:

We’re patient—be you, too, as well!

The wild men of the woods they’re named, And in the Hartz are known and famed; In naked nature’s ancient might They come, each one a giant wight, With fir-tree trunk in brawny hand, Around the loins a puffy band. The merest apron of leaf and bough: — The Pope hath no such guards, I trow.

Nymphs in Chorus

(They surround the great Pan.)

He comes! We scan

The world’s great All,

Whose part doth fall

To mighty Pan.

Ye gayest ones, advance to him,

Your maddest measures dance to liim!

Since serious and kind is he,

He wills that we should joyous be.

Under the blue, o’er-vaulting roof,

Ever he seemeth slumber-proof;

Yet murmurs of the brooks he knows,

And soft airs lull him to repose.

At midday sleeping, o’er his brow The leaf is moveless on the bough: Of healthy buds the balsam there Pervades the still, suspended air: The nymph no longer dares to leap, And where she stands, she falls asleep. But when, all unexpected, he Maketh his voice heard terribly. Like rattling thunder, roar of wave, Then each one seeks himself to save; The serried ranks disperse in fright, The hero trembles in the fight. Then honour to whom the honour is due, And hail to him who led us to you!

Deputation of Gnomes

(to the great Pan).

When the rich possession, shining

Through the rocks in thread and vein, To the skilful wand’s divining Shows its labyrinthine chain,

We in vaults and caverns spacious, Troglodytes, contented bide; While in purest daylight, gracious, Thou the treasures dost divide.

Now we see, wilt thou believe us, Here a wondrous fountain run, Promising with ease to give us What was hardly to be won.

Lo! It waits for thy attaining: Then be moved to break the spell! All the wealth which thou art gaining Profits all the world as well.

PLUTUS (to the Herald).

We, in the highest sense, must be collected, And let what may come, come, though unexpected. Thy courage has not yet been counted short: The fearful thing we now shall see will try it; The world and History will both deny it, So write it faithfully in thy report!

(Grasping the wand which Plutus holds in his hand.)

The dwarfs conduct the great Pan nigher,

Yet gently, to the fount of fire.

It bubbles from the throat profound,

Then sinks, retreating, to the ground,

And dark the open crater shows;

And then again it boils and glows.

Great Pan in cheerful mood stands by,

Rejoiced the wondrous things to spy,

And right and left the foam-pearls fly.

How can he in the cheat confide?

He bends and stoops, to look inside.—

But now, behold! his beard falls in:

Whose is that smoothly-shaven chin?

His hand conceals it from our sight.

What follows is a luckless plight;

The beard, on fire, flies back to smite

His wreath and head and breast with flame:

To pain is turned the merry game.

They haste to quench the fire, but none

The swiftly-kindling flames can shun,

That flash and dart on other heads

Till wide the conflagration spreads:

Wrapped in the element, in turn

The masking groups take fire and burn.

But hark! what news is bruited here

From mouth to mouth, from ear to ear?

O evermore ill-fated night.

That brings to us such woe and blight!

To-morrow will proclaim to all

What no one wishes to befall.

For everywhere the cry I hear:

“The Emperor suffers pain severe!”

O were the proclamation wrong!

The Emperor burns and all his throng.

Accurst be they who him misled.

With resinous twigs on breast and head.

To rave and bellow hither so,

To general, fatal overthrow.

O Youth! O Youth! wilt never thou

Limit thy draught of joy, in season ?—

O Majesty, wilt never thou,

Omnipotent, direct with reason?

The mimic woods enkindled are;

The pointed tongues lick upward far

To where the rafters interlace: A fiery doom hangs o’er the place. Our cup of misery overflows, For who shall save us no one knows. The ash-heap of a night shall hide To-morrow, this imperial pride.

Terror is enough created; Now be help inaugurated! Smite, thou hallowed wand, and make Earth beneath thee peal and quake! Thou, the spacious breadth of air, Cooling vapours breathe and bear! Hither speed, around us growing, Misty films and belts o’erflowing, And the fiery tumult tame! Trickle, whisper, clouds, be crisper, Roll in masses, softly drenching. Mantling everywhere, and quenching! Ye, the moist, the broadly brightening. Change to harmless summer lightning All this empty sport of flame! — When by spirits we’re molested, Then be Magic manifested.

IV

Pleasure-garden

The Morning Sun

The Emperor, his Court, Gentlemen and Ladies: Faust, Mephi- STOPHELES, becomingly, according to the mode, not showily dressed: both kneel.

EMPEROR (beckoning him to rise).

I wish more exhibitions of the same. A sudden stood I in a glowing sphere; It almost seemed as if I Pluto were.

There lay, like night, with little fires besprent,

A rocky bottom. Out of many a vent.

Whirling, a thousand savage flames ascended,

Till in a single vault their streamers blended.

The tongues even to the highest dome were shot,

That ever was, and ever then was not.

Through the far space of spiral shafts of flame

The long processions of the people came;

Crowding, till all the circle was o’errun,

They did me homage, as they’ve ever done.

Some from my Court I knew: to speak with candour,

A Prince I seemed o’er many a salamander.

That art thou. Sire! Because each element Fully accepts thy Majesty’s intent Obedient Fire is tested now by thee: Where wildest heaving, leap into the Sea, And scarce the pearly floor thy foot shall tread, A grand rotunda rises o’er thy head: Thou seest the green, translucent billows swelling, With purple edge, for thy delightful dwelling. Round thee, the central point. Walk thou at will, The liquid palaces go with thee still! The very walls rejoice in life, disporting In arrowy flight, in chasing and consorting: Sea-marvels crowd around the glory new and fair, Shoot from all sides, yet none can enter there.

There gorgeous dragons, golden-armoured, float; There gapes the shark, thou laughest in his throat. However much this Court thy pride may please, Yet hast thou never seen such throngs as these. Nor from the loveliest shalt thou long be parted; The curious Nereids come, the wild, shy-hearted. To thy bright dwelling in the endless waters, — Timid and sly as fish the youngest daughters, The elder cunning: Thetis hears the news And will, at once, her second Peleus choose. The seat, then, on Olympus high and free —

The spaces of the air I leave to thee: One all too early must ascend that throne.

And Earth, high Prince! already is thine own.

What fortune brought thee here, for our delights, Directly from the One and Thousand Nights? If thou like Scheherazade art rich in stories, My favour shall insure thee higher glories. Be ready always, when your world of day, As often haps, disgusts me every way!

LORD HIGH STEWARD (enters hastily). Highness Serene, I never dared expect To trumpet forth a fortune so select As this, supremely blessing me. Which announce with joy to thee: Reckoning on reckoning’s balanced squarely; The usurer’s claws are blunted rarely; I’m from my hellish worry free: Things can’t in Heaven more cheerful be.

GENERAL-IN-CHIEF (follows hastily).

Arrears of pay are settled duly, The army is enlisted newly; The trooper’s blood is all alive. The landlords and the wenches thrive.

How breathe your breasts in broader spaces! How cheerful are your furrowed faces! How ye advance with nimble speed!

TREASURER (appearing). Ask these, ’tis they have done the deed!

It is the Chancellor’s place the matter to present.

CHANCELLOR (who comes forward slowly). In my old days I’m blest, and most content. So hear and see the fortune-freighted leaf Which has transformed to happiness our grief.

(He reads.) “To all to whom this cometh, be it known: A thousand crowns in worth this note doth own. It to secure, as certain pledge, shall stand All buried treasure in the Emperor’s land: And ’tis decreed, perfecting thus the scheme, The treasure, soon as raised, shall this redeem.”

A most enormous cheat—a crime, I fear! Who forged the Emperor’s sign-manual here? Has there not been a punishment condign?

Treasurer

Remember! Thou the note didst undersign;

Last night, indeed. Thou stood’st as mighty Pan, And thus the Chancellor’s speech, before thee, ran:

" Grant to thyself the festal pleasure, then The People’s good—a few strokes of the pen! " These didst thou give: they were, ere night retreated, By skilful conjurers thousandfold repeated; And, that a like advantage all might claim. We stamped at once the series with thy name: Tens, Thirties, Fifties, Hundreds, are prepared. Thou canst not think how well the folk have fared. Behold thy town, half-dead once, and decaying, How all, alive, enjoying life, are straying! Although thy name long since the world made glad, Such currency as now it never had. No longer needs the alphabet thy nation, For in this sign each findeth his salvation.

And with my people does it pass for gold?

For pay in court and camp, the notes they hold?

Then I must yield, although the thing’s amazing.

’Twas scattered everywhere, like wild-fire blazing,

As currency, and none its course may stop.

A crowd surrounds each money-changer’s shop,

And every note is there accepted duly

For gold and silver’s worth—with discount, truly.

Thence is it spread to landlords, butchers, bakers:

One-half the people feast as pleasure-takers;

In raiment new the others proudly go. —

The tradesmen cut their cloth, the tailors sew.

The crowd “The Emperor’s health!” in cellars wishes,

Midst cooking, roasting, rattling of the dishes.

If one along the lonely terrace stray.

He sees the lady, in superb array,

With brilliant peacock-fan before one eye;

A note she looks for, as she simpers by, And readier than by wit or eloquence Before Love’s favour falls the last defence. One is not plagued his purse or sack to carry; Such notes one lightly in his bosom bears, Or them with fond epistles neatly pairs: The priest devoutly in his breviary Bears his: the soldier would more freely trip, And lightens thus the girdle round his hip. Your Majesty will pardon, if my carriage Seems as it might the lofty work disparage.

The overplus of wealth, in torpor bound,

Which in thy lands lies buried in the ground.

Is all unused; nor boldest thought can measure

The narrowest boundaries of such a treasure.

Imagination, in its highest flight,

Exerts itself, but cannot grasp it quite;

Yet minds, that dare explore the secrets soundless,

In boundless things possess a faith that’s boundless.

Such paper, stead of gold and jewelry. So handy is—one knows one’s property: One has no need of bargains or exchanges,

But drinks of love or wine, as fancy ranges. If one needs coin, the brokers ready stand, And if it fail, one digs awhile the land. Goblet and chain one then at auction sells. And paper, liquidated thus, compels The shame of doubters and their scornful wit. The people wish naught else; they’re used to it: From this time forth, your borders, far and wide, With jewels, gold, and paper are supplied.

You’ve given our empire this prosperity; The pay, then, equal to the service be! The soil intrusted to your keeping, shall you The best custodians be, to guard its value. You know the hoards, well-kept, of all the fond, And when men dig, ’tis you must give command. Unite then now, ye masters of our treasure, This, your new dignity, to wear with pleasure, And bring the Upper World, erewhile asunder, In happiest conjunction with the Under!

Treasurer

No further strife shall shake our joint position; I like to have as partner the magician.

(Exit, with Faust.)

Man after man, the Court will I endow:

Let each confess for what he’ll spend, and how!

PAGE (receiving), I’ll lead a jolly life, enjoy good cheer.

A SECOND (the same). I’ll buy at once some trinkets for my dear.

CHAMBERLAIN (accepting). Wines twice as good shall down my throat go trickling.

A SECOND (the same). I feel the dice within my pockets tickling.

KNIGHT BANNERET (reflectively). My lands and castle shall be free of debt.

ANOTHER (the same). I’ll add to other wealth the wealth I get.

I hoped the gifts to bolder deeds would reckon • But he who knows you, knows whereon to reckon. I see that, spite of all this treasure-burst. You stay exactly as you were at first.

FOOL (approaching). You scatter favours: grant me also some!

Thou’rt come to life? ’Twould go at once for rum.

The magic leaves! I don’t quite comprehend.

That I believe; for them thou’lt badly spend.

There otliers drop: I don’t know what to do.

Just pick them up! they fall to thy share, too.

Five thousand crowns are mine? How unexpected?

Two-legged wine-skin, art thou resurrected?

Much kick I’ve had, but like this never yet.

Thou’rt so rejoiced, it puts thee in a sweat.

But look at this, is’t money’s-worth, indeed?

’Twill bring thee what thy throat and belly need,

And cattle can I buy, and house and land?

Of course! just make an offer once, off-hand!

Castle and wood, and chase, and fishing?

All! I’d like upon Your Worship then to call.

To-night as landed owner I shall sit.

[Exit.

MEPHISTOPHELES (solus). Who now will doubt that this our Fool has wit?

V

A GLOOMY GALLERY. Faust. Mephistopheles.

Mephistopheles

WHAT wilt thou with me in this gloomy gallery? Is there not still enough of sport There, in the crowded, motley Court, — Not chance for tricks, and fun, and raillery?

Don’t tell me that!—In our old days the fun of it

Didst thou wear out, and I’ll have none of it.

Thy wandering here and there is planned

Just to evade what I demand.

But I’m tormented something to obtain;

The Marshal drives me, and the Chamberlain,

The Emperor orders, he will instantly

Helen and Paris here before him see, —

The model forms of Man and Woman, wearing,

Distinctly shown, their ancient shape and bearing.

Now to the work! I dare not break my word.

So thoughtlessly to promise was absurd.

Thou hast not, comrade, well reflected What comes of having used thy powers: We’ve made him rich; ’tis now expected That we amuse his idle hours.

Thou deem’st the thing is quickly fixed:

Here before steeper ways we’re standing;

With strangest spheres wouldst thou be mixed,

And, sinful, addest new debts to the old, —

Think’st Helen will respond to thy commanding

As freely as the paper-ghosts of gold!

With witches’-riches and with spectre-pictures.

And changeling-dwarfs, I ’11 give no cause for strictures;

But Devil’s-darlings, though you may not scold ’em,

You cannot quite as heroines behold ’em.

The old hand-organ still I hear thee play! From thence one always gets uncertain sense, The father, thou, of all impediments: For every means thou askest added pay. A little muttering, and the thing takes place; Ere one can turn, beside us here her shade is.

I’ve no concern with the old heathen race; They house within their special Hades. Yet there ’s a way.

Speak, nor delay thy history!

Unwilling, I reveal a loftier mystery. —

In solitude are throned the Goddesses,

No Space around them, Place and Time still less;

Only to speak of them embarrasses.

They are The Mothers!

FAUST (terrified).

Mothers!

MEPHISTOPHELES,

Hast thou dread?

The Mothers! Mothers!—a strange word is said.

It is so. Goddesses, unknown to ye,

The Mortals,—named by us unwillingly.

Delve in the deepest depths must thou, to reach them

’Tis thine own fault that we for help beseech them.

Where is the way?

No way!—To the Unreachable, Ne’er to be trodden! A way to the Unbeseechable, Never to be besought! Art thou prepared? There are no locks, no latches to be lifted; Through endless solitudes shalt thou be drifted, Hast thou through solitudes and deserts fared?

I think ’twere best to spare such speeches; They smell too strongly of the witches, Of cheats that long ago ensnared. Have I not known all earthly vanities? Learned the inane, and taught inanities? When as I felt I spake, with sense as guide, The contradiction doubly shrill replied; Enforced by odious tricks, have I not fled To solitudes and wildernesses dread. And that I might not live alone, unheeded, Myself at last unto the Devil deeded!

And hadst thou swum to farthest verge of ocean, And there the boundless space beheld, Still hadst thou seen wave after wave in motion. Even though impending doom thy fear compelled. Thou hadst seen something,—in the beryl dim Of peace-lulled seas the sportive dolphins swim; Hadst seen the flying clouds, sun, moon, and star; Naught shalt thou see in endless Void afar, — Not hear thy footstep fall, nor meet A stable spot to rest thy feet.

Thou speak’st, as of all mystagogues the chief, Whoe’er brought faithful neophytes to grief; Only reversed:—I to the Void am sent. That Art and Power therein I may augment: To use me like a cat is thy desire. To scratch for thee the chestnuts from the fire. Come on, then! we’ll explore, whate’er befall! In this, thy Nothing, may I find my All!

I’ll praise thee, ere we separate: I see Thou knowest the Devil thoroughly. Here, take this key!

That little thing?

MEPHISTOPHELES. Take hold of it, not undervaluing!

FAUST. It glows, it shines,—increases in my Hand!

How much ’tis worth, thou soon shalt understand. The Key will scent the true place from all others: Follow it down!—’twill lead thee to the Mothers.

FAUST (shuddering).

The Mothers! Like a blow it strikes me still! What is the word, to hear which makes me chill?

Art thou so weak, disturbed by each new word? Wilt only hear what thou’st already heard? To wondrous things art thou so used already, Let naught, howe’er it sound, make thee unsteady!

Nathless in torpor lies no good for me; The chill of dread is Man’s best quality. Though from the feeling oft the world may fend us. Deeply we feel, once smitten, the Tremendous.

Descend, then! I could also say: Ascend! ’Twere all the same. Escape from the Created To shapeless forms in liberated spaces! Enjoy what long ere this was dissipated! There whirls the press, like clouds on clouds unfolding; Then with stretched arm swing high the key thou ’rt holding!

FAUST (Inspired).

Good! grasping firmly, fresher strength I win: My breast expands, let the great work begin!

At last a blazing tripod tells thee this. That there the utterly deepest bottom is. Its light to thee will then the Mothers show, Some in their seats, the others stand or go. At their own will: Formation, Transformation, The Eternal Mind’s eternal recreation, Forms of all creatures,—there are floating free. They’ll see thee not; for only wraiths they see.

So pluck up heart,—the danger then is great,— Go to the tripod ere thou hesitate, And touch it with the key!

(Faust, with the key, assumes a decidedly commanding attitude. Mephistopheles, observing him)

So, that is right! It will adhere, and follow thee to light. Composedly mounting, by thy luck upborne, Before they notice it, shalt thou return. When thou the tripod hither hast conveyed, Then call the hero, heroine, from the shade, — The first that ever such a deed perfected: ’Tis done, and thou thereto hast been selected. For instantly, by magic process warmed. To gods the incense-mist shall be transformed.

FAUST. What further now?

MEPHISTOPHELES,

Downward thy being strain! Stamp and descend, stamping thou’lt rise again.

(Faust stamps, and sinks out of sight.)

If only, by the key, he something learn! I’m curious to see if he return.

VI

BRILLIANTLY LIGHTED HALLS. Emperor and Princes. The Court in movement.

CHAMBERLAIN (to MEPHISTOPHELES).

THE spirit-scene you’ve promised, still you owe us; Our Lord’s impatient; come, the phantasm show us!

Just now His Gracious Self did question me: Delay not, nor offend His Majesty!

My comrade’s gone to set the work in motion;

How to begin, he has the proper notion.

In secret he the charms must cull,

Must labour with a fervour tragic:

Who would that treasure lift, the Beautiful,

Requires the highest Art, the sage’s Magic.

What arts you need, is all the same to me; The Emperor wills that you should ready be.

A BLONDE (to MEPHISTOPHELES).

One word, Sir! Here you see a visage fair, —

In sorry summer I another wear!

There sprout a hundred brown and reddish freckles,

And vex my lily skin with ugly speckles.

A cure!

’Tis pity! Shining fair, yet smitten,—- Spotted, when May comes, like a panther-kitten! Take frog-spawn, tongues of toads, which cohobate. Under the full moon deftly distillate. And, when it wanes, apply the mixture: Next spring, the spots will be no more a fixture.

A Brunette

To sponge upon you, what a crowd’s advancing! I beg a remedy: a frozen foot Annoys me much, in walking as in dancing; And awkwardly I manage to salute.

MEPHISTOPHELES. A gentle kick permit, then, from my foot!

THE BRUNETTE. Well,—that might happen, when the two are lovers.

My kick a more important meaning covers: Similia similibus, when one is sick. The foot cures foot, each limb its hurt can palliate; Come near! Take heed! and, pray you, don’t retaliate!

THE BRUNETTE (screaming).

Oh! oh! it stings! That was a fearful kick. Like hoof of horse.

But it has cured you, quick. To dance whene’er you please, you now are able; To press your lover’s foot, beneath the table.

LADY (pressing forwards).

Make room for me! Too great is my affliction,

My tortures worse than those described in fiction:

His bliss, till yesterday, was in my glances,

But now he turns his back, and spins with her romances!

The matter’s grave, but listen unto me!

Draw near to him with gentle, soft advances!

Then take this coal and mark him stealthily

On mantle, shoulder, sleeve,—though ne’er so slight.

Yet penitent at once his heart will be.

The coal thereafter you must straightway swallow,

And let no sip of wine or water follow:

He’ll sigh before your door this very night.

THE LADY. It is not poison, sure?

MEPHISTOPHELES (offended).

Respect, where it is due! To get such coals, you’d travel many a mile: They’re from the embers of a funeral pile. The fires whereof we once more hotly blew.

Page

I love, yet still am counted adolescent.

MEPHISTOPHELES (aside).

I know not whom to listen to, at present. (To the Page.)

Let not the younger girls thy fancies fetter; Those well in years know how to prize thee better. — (Others crowd around him.)

Already others? ’Tis a trial, sooth!

I’ll help myself, at last, with naked truth —

The worst device!—so great my misery.

O Mothers! Mothers! let but Faust go free!

(Gazing around him.)

The lights are burning dimly in the hall, The Court is moving onward, one and all:

I see them march, according to degrees. Through long arcades and distant galleries. Now they assemble in the ample space

Of the Knights’ Hall; yet hardly all find place. The breadth of walls is hung with arras rich, And armour gleams from every nook and niche. Here, I should think, there needs no magic word: The ghosts will come, and of their own accord.

VII

HALL OF THE KNIGHTS, DIMLY LIGHTED. (The Emperor and Court have entered.)

MINE ancient office, to proclaim the action. Is by the spirits’ secret influence thwarted: One tries in vain; such wildering distraction Can’t be explained, or reasonably reported. The chairs are ranged, the seats are ready all: The Emperor sits, fronting the lofty wall, Where on the tapestry the battles he Of the great era may with comfort see. Here now are all—Prince, Court, and their belonging, Benches on benches in the background thronging; And lovers, too, in these dim hours enchanted. Beside their loved ones lovingly are planted. And now, since all have found convenient places, We’re ready: let the spirits show their faces!

(Trumpets.) ASTROLOGER.

Begin the Drama! ’Tis the Sire’s command: Ye walls, be severed straightway, and expand!

Naught hinders; magic answers our desire: The arras flies, as shrivelled up by fire; The walls are split, unfolded: in the gloom A theatre appears to be created: By mystic light are we illuminated, And I ascend to the proscenium.

MEPHISTOPHELES (rising to vieiv in the prompter’s box). I hope to win, as prompter, general glory; For prompting is the Devil’s oratory.

(To the Astrologer.)

Thou know’st the tune and time the stars that lead; Thou wilt my whispers like a master heed.

By power miraculous, we here behold

A massive temple of the days of old.

Like Atlas, who erewhile the heavens upbore,

The serried columns stand, an ample store:

Well may they for the weight of stone suffice,

Since two might bear a mighty edifice.

Architect

That the antique? As fine it can’t be rated; I’d sooner style it awkward, over-weighted. Coarse is called noble, and unwieldy, grand: Give me the slender shafts that soar, expand! To lift the mind, a pointed arch may boast; Such architecture edifies us most.

Receive with reverence the star-granted hours; Let magic words bind Reason’s restless powers, But in return unbind, to circle free, The wings of splendid, daring Phantasy! What you have boldly wished, see now achieved Impossible ’tis—therefore to be believed.

(Faust rises to view on the other side of the proscenium.)

In priestly surplice, crowned, a marvellous man, He now fulfils what he in faith began. With him, a tripod from the gulf comes up: I scent the incense-odours from the cup. He arms himself, the work to consecrate, And henceforth it can be but fortunate.

FAUST (sublimely).

Ye Mothers, in your name, who set your throne

In boundless Space, eternally alone.

And yet companioned! All the forms of Being,

In movement, lifeless, ye are round you seeing.

Whate’er once was, there burns and brightens free

In splendour—for ’twould fain eternal be;

And ye allot it, with all-potent might,

To Day’s pavilions and the vaults of Night.

Life seizes some, along his gracious course;

Others arrest the bold Magician’s force;

And he, bestowing as his faith inspires.

Displays the Marvellous, that each desires.

The glowing key has scarcely touched the cup.

And lo! through all the space, a mist rolls up:

It creeps about, and like a cloudy train.

Spreads, rounding, narrowing, parting, closed again.

And now, behold a spirit-masterpiece!

Music is born from every wandering fleece.

The tones of air, I know not how they flow;

Where’er they move all things melodious grow.

The pillared shaft, the triglyph even rings:

I think, indeed, the whole bright temple sings.

The vapours settle; as the light film clears,

A beauteous youth, with rhythmic step, appears.

Here ends my task; his name I need not tell:

Who doth not know the gentle Paris well?

O, what a youthful bloom and strength I see!

A Second

Fresh as a peach, and full of juice, is he!

A THIRD. The finely drawn, the sweetly swelling lip!

A FOURTH. From such a cup, no doubt, you’d like to sip?

A Fifth

He’s handsome, if a little unrefined.

A Sixth

He might be somewhat gracefuller, to my mind.

The shepherd I detect; I find him wearing No traces of the Prince, or courtly bearing.

O, yes! half-naked is the youth not bad; But let us see him first in armour clad!

LADY,

He seats himself, with such a gentle grace!

KNIGHT,

You’d find his lap, perchance, a pleasant place?

ANOTHER,

He lifts his arm so lightly o’er his head,

Tis not allowed: how thoroughly ill-bred!

LADY,

You lords find fault with all things evermore.

To stretch and yawn before the Emperor!

He only acts: he thinks he’s quite alone.

Even the play should be politely shown.

Now sleep falls on the graceful youth so sweetly.

Now will he snore: ’tis natural, completely!

Young Lady

Mixed with the incense-steam, what odour precious Steals to my bosom, and my heart refreshes?

Older Lady

Forsooth, it penetrates and warms the feeling! It comes from him.

Oldest Lady

His flower of youth, unsealing, It is: Youth’s fine ambrosia, ripe, unfading, The atmosphere around his form pervading.

(Helena comes fomvard.)

So, that is she? My sleep she would not waste: She’s pretty, truly, but she’s not my taste.

ASTROLOGER,

There’s nothing more for me to do, I trow; As man of honour, I confess it now. The Beauty comes, and had I tongues of fire, — So many songs did Beauty e’er inspire, — Who sees her, of his wits is dispossessed. And who possessed her was too highly blessed.

Have I still eyes? Deep in my being springs

The fount of Beauty, in a torrent pouring!

A heavenly gain my path of terror brings.

The world was void, and shut to my exploring, —

And, since my priesthood, how hath it been graced!

Enduring ’tis, desirable, firm-based.

And let my breath of being blow to waste,

If I for thee unlearn my sacred duty!

The form, that long erewhile my fancy captured,

That from the magic mirror so enraptured,

Was but a frothy phantom of such beauty!

’Tis Thou, to whom the stir of all my forces,

The essence of my passion’s courses, —

Love, fancy, worship, madness,—here I render!

MEPHISTOPHELES [from the box). Be calm!—you lose your role, to be so tender!

Older Lady

Tall and well-formed! Too small the head, alone.

YOUNGER LADY. Just see her foot! A heavier ne’er was shown.

Diplomatist

Princesses of her style I’ve often seen: From head to foot she’s beautiful, I ween.

She near the sleeper steals, so soft and sly.

How ugly, near that youthful purity!

Poet

Her beauty’s light is on him like a dawn.

Lady

Endymion and Luna—as they’re drawn!

Poet

Quite right! The yielding goddess seems to sink, And o’er him bend, his balmy breath to drink. Enviable fate—a kiss!—the cup is full!

Duenna

Before all people!—that is more than cool.

A fearful favour to the boy!

Be still! Suffer the shade to do whate’er it will!

She slips away, light-footed: he awakes.

Just as I thought! Another look she takes.

He stares: what haps, to him a marv’el is.

But none to her, what she before her sees!

She turns around to him with dignity.

I see, she means to put him through his paces:

All men, in such a case, act stupidly.

Then, too, he thinks that first he’s won her graces.

Knight

Majestically fine!—She pleases me.

The courtesan! How very vulgar she!

Page

Just where he is, is where I’d like to be!

Who would not fain be caught in such sweet meshes?

Through many a hand hath passed that jewel precious; The gilding, too, is for the most part gone.

Another

She has been worthless from her tenth year on.

Knight

Each takes the best that chance for him obtains; I’d be contented with these fair remains.

A Learned Man

I freely own, though I distinctly see, ’Tis doubtful if the genuine one she be. The Present leads us to exaggeration, And I hold fast the written, old relation. I read that, truly, ere her bloom was blighted, The Trojan gray-beards greatly she delighted. And here, methinks, it tallies perfectly: I am not young, yet she delighteth me.

No more a boy! A bold, heroic form, He clasps her, who can scarce resist the storm. With arm grown strong he lifts her high and free: Means he to bear her off?

Rash fool, let be! Thou dar’st? Thou hear’st not? Hold !—I’ll be obeyed.

The spectral drama thou thyself hast made!

A word more! After all we’ve seen to-day, I call the piece: The Rape of Helena.

What! Rape? Am I for nothing here? To stead me,

Is not this key still shining in my hand?

Through realms of terror, wastes, and waves it led me,

Through solitudes, to where I firmly stand.

Here foothold is! Realities here centre!

The strife with spirits here the mind may venture,

And on its grand, its double lordship enter!

How far she was, and nearer, how divine!

I’ll rescue her, and make her doubly mine.

Ye Mothers! Mothers! crown this wild endeavour!

Who knows her once must hold her, and for ever!

What art thou doing, Faust? O, look at him! He seizes her: the form is growing dim. He turns the key against the youth, and, lo! It touches him—Woe’s me! Away now! Woe on woe!

(Explosion. Faust lies upon the earth. The Spirits dissolve in vapour.)

(taking Faust upon his shoulders).

You have it now! One’s self with fools to hamper, At last even on the Devil puts a damper.

Darkness. Tumult,