Faust [part 1]. Translated Into English in the Original Metres · Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
MEPHISTOPHELES
Just think, the pocket of a priest should get The trinkets left for Margaret! The mother saw them, and, instanter, A secret dread began to haunt her. Keen scent has she for tainted air; She snuffs within her book of prayer, And smells each article, to see If sacred or profane it be; So here she guessed, from every gem, That not much blessing came with them. “My child,” she said, “ill-gotten good Ensnares the soul, consumes the blood. Before the Mother of God we’ll lay it; With heavenly manna she’ll repay it!” But Margaret thought, with sour grimace, “A gift-horse is not out of place, And, truly! godless cannot be The one who brought such things to me.” A parson came, by the mother bidden: He saw, at once, where the game was hidden, And viewed it with a favor stealthy. He spake: “That is the proper view,— Who overcometh, winneth too. The Holy Church has a stomach healthy: Hath eaten many a land as forfeit, And never yet complained of surfeit: The Church alone, beyond all question, Has for ill-gotten goods the right digestion.” A general practice is the same, Which Jew and King may also claim. Then bagged the spangles, chains, and rings, As if but toadstools were the things, And thanked no less, and thanked no more Than if a sack of nuts he bore,— Promised them fullest heavenly pay, And deeply edified were they.
And Margaret? Sits unrestful still, And knows not what she should, or will; Thinks on the jewels, day and night, But more on him who gave her such delight. The darling’s sorrow gives me pain. Get thou a set for her again! The first was not a great display. O yes, the gentleman finds it all child’s-play! Fix and arrange it to my will; And on her neighbor try thy skill! Don’t be a Devil stiff as paste, But get fresh jewels to her taste! Yes, gracious Sir, in all obedience! [_Exit_ FAUST. Such an enamored fool in air would blow Sun, moon, and all the starry legions, To give his sweetheart a diverting show. [_Exit_. MARTHA (_solus_) God forgive my husband, yet he Hasn’t done his duty by me! Off in the world he went straightway,— Left me lie in the straw where I lay. And, truly, I did naught to fret him: God knows I loved, and can’t forget him! (_She weeps_.) Perhaps he’s even dead! Ah, woe!— Had I a certificate to show! MARGARET (_comes_) Dame Martha! Margaret! what’s happened thee? I scarce can stand, my knees are trembling! I find a box, the first resembling, Within my press! Of ebony,— And things, all splendid to behold, And richer far than were the old. You mustn’t tell it to your mother! ’Twould go to the priest, as did the other.
Ah, look and see—just look and see! MARTHA (_adorning her_) O, what a blessed luck for thee! But, ah! in the streets I dare not bear them, Nor in the church be seen to wear them. Yet thou canst often this way wander, And secretly the jewels don, Walk up and down an hour, before the mirror yonder,— We’ll have our private joy thereon. And then a chance will come, a holiday, When, piece by piece, can one the things abroad display, A chain at first, then other ornament: Thy mother will not see, and stories we’ll invent. Whoever could have brought me things so precious? That something’s wrong, I feel suspicious. (_A knock_) Good Heaven! My mother can that have been? MARTHA (_peeping through the blind_) ’Tis some strange gentleman.—Come in! (MEPHISTOPHELES _enters_.) That I so boldly introduce me, I beg you, ladies, to excuse me. (_Steps back reverently, on seeing_ MARGARET.) For Martha Schwerdtlein I’d inquire! I’m she: what does the gentleman desire? MEPHISTOPHELES (_aside to her_) It is enough that you are she: You’ve a visitor of high degree. Pardon the freedom I have ta’en,— Will after noon return again. MARTHA (_aloud_) Of all things in the world! Just hear— He takes thee for a lady, dear! I am a creature young and poor: The gentleman’s too kind, I’m sure. The jewels don’t belong to me.
Ah, not alone the jewelry! The look, the manner, both betray— Rejoiced am I that I may stay! What is your business? I would fain— I would I had a more cheerful strain! Take not unkindly its repeating: Your husband’s dead, and sends a greeting. Is dead? Alas, that heart so true! My husband dead! Let me die, too! Ah, dearest dame, let not your courage fail! Hear me relate the mournful tale! Therefore I’d never love, believe me! A loss like this to death would grieve me. Joy follows woe, woe after joy comes flying. Relate his life’s sad close to me! In Padua buried, he is lying Beside the good Saint Antony, Within a grave well consecrated, For cool, eternal rest created. He gave you, further, no commission? Yes, one of weight, with many sighs: Three hundred masses buy, to save him from perdition! My hands are empty, otherwise. What! Not a pocket-piece? no jewelry? What every journeyman within his wallet spares, And as a token with him bears, And rather starves or begs, than loses? Madam, it is a grief to me; Yet, on my word, his cash was put to proper uses. Besides, his penitence was very sore, And he lamented his ill fortune all the more. Alack, that men are so unfortunate! Surely for his soul’s sake full many a prayer I’ll proffer.
You well deserve a speedy marriage-offer: You are so kind, compassionate. O, no! As yet, it would not do. If not a husband, then a beau for you! It is the greatest heavenly blessing, To have a dear thing for one’s caressing. The country’s custom is not so. Custom, or not! It happens, though. Continue, pray! I stood beside his bed of dying. ’Twas something better than manure,— Half-rotten straw: and yet, he died a Christian, sure, And found that heavier scores to his account were lying. He cried: “I find my conduct wholly hateful! To leave my wife, my trade, in manner so ungrateful! Ah, the remembrance makes me die! Would of my wrong to her I might be shriven!” MARTHA (_weeping_) The dear, good man! Long since was he forgiven. “Yet she, God knows! was more to blame than I.” He lied! What! On the brink of death he slandered? In the last throes his senses wandered, If I such things but half can judge. He said: “I had no time for play, for gaping freedom: First children, and then work for bread to feed ’em,— For bread, in the widest sense, to drudge, And could not even eat my share in peace and quiet!” Had he all love, all faith forgotten in his riot? My work and worry, day and night?
Not so: the memory of it touched him quite. Said he: “When I from Malta went away My prayers for wife and little ones were zealous, And such a luck from Heaven befell us, We made a Turkish merchantman our prey, That to the Soldan bore a mighty treasure. Then I received, as was most fit, Since bravery was paid in fullest measure, My well-apportioned share of it.” Say, how? Say, where? If buried, did he own it? Who knows, now, whither the four winds have blown it? A fair young damsel took him in her care, As he in Naples wandered round, unfriended; And she much love, much faith to him did bear, So that he felt it till his days were ended. The villain! From his children thieving! Even all the misery on him cast Could not prevent his shameful way of living! But see! He’s dead therefrom, at last. Were I in _your_ place, do not doubt me, I’d mourn him decently a year, And for another keep, meanwhile, my eyes about me. Ah, God! another one so dear As was my first, this world will hardly give me. There never was a sweeter fool than mine, Only he loved to roam and leave me, And foreign wenches and foreign wine, And the damned throw of dice, indeed.
Well, well! That might have done, however, If he had only been as clever, And treated _your_ slips with as little heed. I swear, with this condition, too, I would, myself, change rings with you. The gentleman is pleased to jest. I’ll cut away, betimes, from here: She’d take the Devil at his word, I fear. (_To_ MARGARET) How fares the heart within your breast? What means the gentleman? MEPHISTOPHELES (_aside_) Sweet innocent, thou art! (_Aloud_.) Ladies, farewell! Farewell! A moment, ere we part! I’d like to have a legal witness, Where, how, and when he died, to certify his fitness. Irregular ways I’ve always hated; I want his death in the weekly paper stated. Yes, my good dame, a pair of witnesses Always the truth establishes. I have a friend of high condition, Who’ll also add his deposition. I’ll bring him here. Good Sir, pray do! And this young lady will be present, too? A gallant youth! has travelled far: Ladies with him delighted are. Before him I should blush, ashamed. Before no king that could be named! Behind the house, in my garden, then, This eve we’ll expect the gentlemen. How is it? under way? and soon complete? Ah, bravo! Do I find you burning? Well, Margaret soon will still your yearning: At Neighbor Martha’s you’ll this evening meet. A fitter woman ne’er was made To ply the pimp and gypsy trade!
Tis well. Yet something is required from us. One service pays the other thus. We’ve but to make a deposition valid That now her husband’s limbs, outstretched and pallid, At Padua rest, in consecrated soil. Most wise! And first, of course, we’ll make the journey thither? _Sancta simplicitas_! no need of such a toil; Depose, with knowledge or without it, either! If you’ve naught better, then, I’ll tear your pretty plan! Now, there you are! O holy man! Is it the first time in your life you’re driven To bear false witness in a case? Of God, the world and all that in it has a place, Of Man, and all that moves the being of his race, Have you not terms and definitions given With brazen forehead, daring breast? And, if you’ll probe the thing profoundly, Knew you so much—and you’ll confess it roundly!— As here of Schwerdtlein’s death and place of rest? Thou art, and thou remain’st, a sophist, liar. Yes, knew I not more deeply thy desire. For wilt thou not, no lover fairer, Poor Margaret flatter, and ensnare her, And all thy soul’s devotion swear her? And from my heart. ’Tis very fine! Thine endless love, thy faith assuring, The one almighty force enduring,— Will that, too, prompt this heart of thine? Hold! hold! It will!—If such my flame, And for the sense and power intense I seek, and cannot find, a name; Then range with all my senses through creation, Craving the speech of inspiration, And call this ardor, so supernal, Endless, eternal and eternal,— Is that a devilish lying game?
And yet I’m right! Mark this, I beg of thee! And spare my lungs henceforth: whoever Intends to have the right, if but his tongue be clever, Will have it, certainly. But come: the further talking brings disgust, For thou art right, especially since I must. (MARGARET _on_ FAUST’S _arm_. MARTHA _and_ MEPHISTOPHELES _walking up and down_.) I feel, the gentleman allows for me, Demeans himself, and shames me by it; A traveller is so used to be Kindly content with any diet. I know too well that my poor gossip can Ne’er entertain such an experienced man. A look from thee, a word, more entertains Than all the lore of wisest brains. (_He kisses her hand_.) Don’t incommode yourself! How could you ever kiss it! It is so ugly, rough to see! What work I do,—how hard and steady is it! Mother is much too close with me. [_They pass_. And you, Sir, travel always, do you not? Alas, that trade and duty us so harry! With what a pang one leaves so many a spot, And dares not even now and then to tarry! In young, wild years it suits your ways, This round and round the world in freedom sweeping; But then come on the evil days, And so, as bachelor, into his grave a-creeping, None ever found a thing to praise.
I dread to see how such a fate advances. Then, worthy Sir, improve betimes your chances! [_They pass_. Yes, out of sight is out of mind! Your courtesy an easy grace is; But you have friends in other places, And sensibler than I, you’ll find. Trust me, dear heart! what men call sensible Is oft mere vanity and narrowness. How so? Ah, that simplicity and innocence ne’er know Themselves, their holy value, and their spell! That meekness, lowliness, the highest graces Which Nature portions out so lovingly— So you but think a moment’s space on me, All times I’ll have to think on you, all places! No doubt you’re much alone?
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.