Faust [part 1]. Translated Into English in the Original Metres · Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
MEPHISTOPHELES
I’m mostly used, ’tis true, to go incognito, But on a gala-day one may his orders show. The Garter does not deck my suit, But honored and at home is here the cloven foot. Perceiv’st thou yonder snail? It cometh, slow and steady; So delicately its feelers pry, That it hath scented me already: I cannot here disguise me, if I try. But come! we’ll go from this fire to a newer: I am the go-between, and thou the wooer. (_To some, who are sitting around dying embers_:) Old gentlemen, why at the outskirts? Enter! I’d praise you if I found you snugly in the centre, With youth and revel round you like a zone: You each, at home, are quite enough alone. Say, who would put his trust in nations, Howe’er for them one may have worked and planned? For with the people, as with women, Youth always has the upper hand. They’re now too far from what is just and sage. I praise the old ones, not unduly: When we were all-in-all, then, truly, _Then_ was the real golden age. We also were not stupid, either, And what we should not, often did; But now all things have from their bases slid, Just as we meant to hold them fast together. Who, now, a work of moderate sense will read? Such works are held as antiquate and mossy; And as regards the younger folk, indeed, They never yet have been so pert and saucy.
Those two, the old one with the young one sitting, They’ve danced already more than fitting. No rest to-night for young or old! They start another dance: come now, let us take hold! FAUST (_dancing with the young witch_) A lovely dream once came to me; I then beheld an apple-tree, And there two fairest apples shone: They lured me so, I climbed thereon. Apples have been desired by you, Since first in Paradise they grew; And I am moved with joy, to know That such within my garden grow. MEPHISTOPHELES (_dancing with the old one_) A dissolute dream once came to me: Therein I saw a cloven tree, Which had a————————; Yet,——as ’twas, I fancied it. I offer here my best salute Unto the knight with cloven foot! Let him a—————prepare, If him—————————does not scare. Accurséd folk! How dare you venture thus? Had you not, long since, demonstration That ghosts can’t stand on ordinary foundation? And now you even dance, like one of us! THE FAIR ONE (_dancing_) Why does he come, then, to our ball? FAUST (_dancing_) O, everywhere on him you fall! When others dance, he weighs the matter: If he can’t every step bechatter, Then ’tis the same as were the step not made; But if you forwards go, his ire is most displayed. If you would whirl in regular gyration As he does in his dull old mill, He’d show, at any rate, good-will,— Especially if you heard and heeded his hortation.
You still are here? Nay, ’tis a thing unheard! Vanish, at once! We’ve said the enlightening word. The pack of devils by no rules is daunted: We are so wise, and yet is Tegel haunted. To clear the folly out, how have I swept and stirred! Twill ne’er be clean: why, ’tis a thing unheard! Then cease to bore us at our ball! I tell you, spirits, to your face, I give to spirit-despotism no place; My spirit cannot practise it at all. (_The dance continues_) Naught will succeed, I see, amid such revels; Yet something from a tour I always save, And hope, before my last step to the grave, To overcome the poets and the devils. He now will seat him in the nearest puddle; The solace this, whereof he’s most assured: And when upon his rump the leeches hang and fuddle, He’ll be of spirits and of Spirit cured. (_To_ FAUST, _who has left the dance_:) Wherefore forsakest thou the lovely maiden, That in the dance so sweetly sang? Ah! in the midst of it there sprang A red mouse from her mouth—sufficient reason. That’s nothing! One must not so squeamish be; So the mouse was not gray, enough for thee. Who’d think of that in love’s selected season? Then saw I—. What? Mephisto, seest thou there, Alone and far, a girl most pale and fair? She falters on, her way scarce knowing, As if with fettered feet that stay her going. I must confess, it seems to me As if my kindly Margaret were she.
Let the thing be! All thence have evil drawn: It is a magic shape, a lifeless eidolon. Such to encounter is not good: Their blank, set stare benumbs the human blood, And one is almost turned to stone. Medusa’s tale to thee is known. Forsooth, the eyes they are of one whom, dying, No hand with loving pressure closed; That is the breast whereon I once was lying,— The body sweet, beside which I reposed! Tis magic all, thou fool, seduced so easily! Unto each man his love she seems to be. The woe, the rapture, so ensnare me, That from her gaze I cannot tear me! And, strange! around her fairest throat A single scarlet band is gleaming, No broader than a knife-blade seeming! Quite right! The mark I also note. Her head beneath her arm she’ll sometimes carry; Twas Perseus lopped it, her old adversary. Thou crav’st the same illusion still! Come, let us mount this little hill; The Prater shows no livelier stir, And, if they’ve not bewitched my sense, I verily see a theatre. What’s going on? SERVIBILIS ’Twill shortly recommence: A new performance—’tis the last of seven. To give that number is the custom here: ’Twas by a Dilettante written, And Dilettanti in the parts appear. That now I vanish, pardon, I entreat you! As Dilettante I the curtain raise.
MEPHISTOPHELES When I upon the Blocksberg meet you, I find it good: for that’s your proper place. OBERON AND TITANIA’s GOLDEN WEDDING Sons of Mieding, rest to-day! Needless your machinery: Misty vale and mountain gray, That is all the scenery. That the wedding golden be. Must fifty years be rounded: But _the Golden_ give to me, When the strife’s compounded. Spirits, if you’re here, be seen— Show yourselves, delighted! Fairy king and fairy queen, They are newly plighted. Cometh Puck, and, light of limb, Whisks and whirls in measure: Come a hundred after him, To share with him the pleasure. Ariel’s song is heavenly-pure, His tones are sweet and rare ones: Though ugly faces he allure, Yet he allures the fair ones. Spouses, who would fain agree, Learn how we were mated! If your pairs would loving be, First be separated! If her whims the wife control, And the man berate her, Take him to the Northern Pole, And her to the Equator! _Fortissimo_. Snout of fly, mosquito-bill, And kin of all conditions, Frog in grass, and cricket-trill,— These are the musicians! See the bagpipe on our track! ’Tis the soap-blown bubble: Hear the _schnecke-schnicke-schnack_ Through his nostrils double! Spider’s foot and paunch of toad, And little wings—we know ’em! A little creature ’twill not be, But yet, a little poem.
Little step and lofty leap Through honey-dew and fragrance: You’ll never mount the airy steep With all your tripping vagrance. Is’t but masquerading play? See I with precision? Oberon, the beauteous fay, Meets, to-night, my vision! Not a claw, no tail I see! And yet, beyond a cavil, Like “the Gods of Greece,” must he Also be a devil. I only seize, with sketchy air, Some outlines of the tourney; Yet I betimes myself prepare For my Italian journey. My bad luck brings me here, alas! How roars the orgy louder! And of the witches in the mass, But only two wear powder. Powder becomes, like petticoat, A gray and wrinkled noddy; So I sit naked on my goat, And show a strapping body. We’ve too much tact and policy To rate with gibes a scolder; Yet, young and tender though you be, I hope to see you moulder. Fly-snout and mosquito-bill, Don’t swarm so round the Naked! Frog in grass and cricket-trill, Observe the time, and make it! WEATHERCOCK (_towards one side_) Society to one’s desire! Brides only, and the sweetest! And bachelors of youth and fire. And prospects the completest! WEATHERCOCK (_towards the other side_) And if the Earth don’t open now To swallow up each ranter, Why, then will I myself, I vow, Jump into hell instanter!
Us as little insects see! With sharpest nippers flitting, That our Papa Satan we May honor as is fitting. How, in crowds together massed, They are jesting, shameless! They will even say, at last, That their hearts are blameless. Among this witches’ revelry His way one gladly loses; And, truly, it would easier be Than to command the Muses. The proper folks one’s talents laud: Come on, and none shall pass us! The Blocksberg has a summit broad, Like Germany’s Parnassus. Say, who’s the stiff and pompous man? He walks with haughty paces: He snuffles all he snuffle can: “He scents the Jesuits’ traces.” Both clear and muddy streams, for me Are good to fish and sport in: And thus the pious man you see With even devils consorting. Yes, for the pious, I suspect, All instruments are fitting; And on the Blocksberg they erect Full many a place of meeting. A newer chorus now succeeds! I hear the distant drumming. “Don’t be disturbed! ’tis, in the reeds, The bittern’s changeless booming.” How each his legs in nimble trip Lifts up, and makes a clearance! The crooked jump, the heavy skip, Nor care for the appearance. The rabble by such hate are held, To maim and slay delights them: As Orpheus’ lyre the brutes compelled, The bagpipe here unites them.
I’ll not be led by any lure Of doubts or critic-cavils: The Devil must be something, sure,— Or how should there be devils? This once, the fancy wrought in me Is really too despotic: Forsooth, if I am all I see, I must be idiotic! This racking fuss on every hand, It gives me great vexation; And, for the first time, here I stand On insecure foundation. With much delight I see the play, And grant to these their merits, Since from the devils I also may Infer the better spirits. The flame they follow, on and on, And think they’re near the treasure: But _Devil_ rhymes with _Doubt_ alone, So I am here with pleasure. Frog in green, and cricket-trill. Such dilettants!—perdition! Fly-snout and mosquito-bill,— Each one’s a fine musician! _Sans souci_, we call the clan Of merry creatures so, then; Go a-foot no more we can, And on our heads we go, then. Once many a bit we sponged, but now, God help us! that is done with: Our shoes are all danced out, we trow, We’ve but naked soles to run with. From the marshes we appear, Where we originated; Yet in the ranks, at once, we’re here As glittering gallants rated. Darting hither from the sky, In star and fire light shooting, Cross-wise now in grass I lie: Who’ll help me to my footing?
Room! and round about us, room! Trodden are the grasses: Spirits also, spirits come, And they are bulky masses. Enter not so stall-fed quite, Like elephant-calves about one! And the heaviest weight to-night Be Puck, himself, the stout one! If loving Nature at your back, Or Mind, the wings uncloses, Follow up my airy track To the mount of roses! _pianissimo_ Cloud and trailing mist o’erhead Are now illuminated: Air in leaves, and wind in reed, And all is dissipated. In misery! In despair! Long wretchedly astray on the face of the earth, and now imprisoned! That gracious, ill-starred creature shut in a dungeon as a criminal, and given up to fearful torments! To this has it come! to this!—Treacherous, contemptible spirit, and thou hast concealed it from me!—Stand, then,—stand! Roll the devilish eyes wrathfully in thy head! Stand and defy me with thine intolerable presence! Imprisoned! In irretrievable misery! Delivered up to evil spirits, and to condemning, unfeeling Man! And thou hast lulled me, meanwhile, with the most insipid dissipations, hast concealed from me her increasing wretchedness, and suffered her to go helplessly to ruin! [Illustration: _Roll the devilish eyes wrathfully in thy head_] She is not the first.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.