 Scenes five and six of Faust. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Faust, part one, by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, translated by Bayard Taylor. Scene five, Auerbachseller in Leitzig, Carousel of Jolly Companions. There's no one laughing, no one drinking. I'll teach you how to grin, I'm thinking. Today you're like wet straw, so tame, and usually you're all aflame. Now that's your fault. From you we nothing see, no beastliness and no stupidity. Pause a glass of wine over Brander's head. Here's both together. Twice a swine. You wanted them. I've given you mine. Turn out who quarrels out the door, with open throats in chorus, drink and roar. Ah, hola, ho! Woe's me, the faithful bellow. Brink hot and quick. He split my ears, that fellow. When the vault echoes to the song one first receives, the bass is deep and strong. Well said, and out with him that takes the least offence. A-ta-la-la-da! A-ta-ra-la-ra. The throats are tuned. Commence! The dear old holy Roman realm, how does it hold together? A nasty song. Fire a political song. A most offensive song. Thank God, each morning, therefore, that you have not the Roman realm to care for. At least I hold it so much gain for me, that I nor Chancellor nor Kaiser be. Yet also we must have a ruling head, I hope, and so we'll choose ourselves a pope. You know the quality that can decide the choice, and elevate the man. Soar up, soar up, day, night, and gale, Ten thousand times my sweetheart hail. No, greet my sweetheart, not, I'll tell you, I'll resent it. My sweetheart, greet and kiss, I dare you to prevent it. Draw the latch the darkness makes, Draw the latch the lover wakes, Shut the latch the morning breaks. Yes, sing away, sing on, and praise, and brag of her. I'll wait my proper time for laughter. Me by the nose she led, and now she'll lead you after. Her paramour should be an ugly gnome where four roads cross in wanton play to meet her. An old he-goat from Blocksburg coming home, should his good night in lustful gallop bleat her. A fellow made of genuine flesh and blood is for the wench a deal too good. Greet her? Not high. There's less one meeting to smash her windows, be a greeting. Pounding on the table. Attention! Harken now to me. Confess, sirs, I know how to live, and amid persons here have we, and I, as suits their quality, must something fresh for their advantage give. Take heed, tis of the latest cut, my strain, and all strike in at each refrain. There was a rat in a cellar nest too fat and but a maid smoother. He had a porch beneath his vest, like that of Dr. Luther, the cook laid poison conningly, and then as sort of pressed was he, as if he had love in his bosom. He ran around, he ran about, his thirst in puddles, living, he gnawed and scratched the house throughout, but nothing cured his raving. He whirled and jumped with torment mad, and soon enough the poor beast had, as if he had love in his bosom, and as if he had love in his bosom. And driven at last in open day he ran into the kitchen, fell on the hearth and squirming lay in the last convulsion twitching, then laughed the murderess in her glee, ha-ha, he said his last cast said she, as if he had love in his bosom, as if he had love in his bosom. How the dull fools enjoy the matter! To me it is a proper art, hoisin' for such poor rats to scatter. Perhaps you warmly take their part. The bull-paped pot-belly I have noted, misfortune tamed him by degrees, for in the rat by poison bloated his own most natural form he sees. Before all else I bring the heeder, where bone companions meet together, to let thee see how small life runs away. Here for the folk it's day's a holiday, with little wheat and ease to sweet them, they whirly narrow-suckling trails, like kittens playing with their tails. And if no headache prosecute them, so long the host may crowded glee, they merrily and callous leave. The fact is easy to unravel, their ear so odd they've just returned from travel, a single hour they've not been here. You verily hit the truth, leapsing to me is dear. Paris in miniature, how it refines its people. Who are the strangers, should you guess? Let me alone, I'll set them first to drinking, and then, as one a child's tooth draws with cleverness, I'll worm their secret out, I'm thinking. They're of a noble house, that's very clear, haughty and discontented they appear. They're mount-a-banks, upon a rival. Perhaps. Look out, I'll smoke them now. Not if you had them by the neck, I vow. Whatever this people sent to the devil. Fair greeting, gentlemen. Our thanks, we give the same. Murmurs, inspecting Mephistopheles from the side. In one foot is the fellow lame? Is it permitted that we share your laser? In place of cheering drink, which one seeks vainly here, your company shall give us pleasure. A most vestidious person you appear. No doubt was late, when you from Rippec started. And something there with Hans occasioned your delay. We passed without a call to-day. At our last interview, before we parted, much of his cousins did his pick and treating that we should give to itch his kindly greeting. He bows to Frosh, aside. You have it now. He understands. A knave-sharp set. Just wait a while. I'll have him yet. If I am right, we heard the sound of well-trained voices singing chorus. And surely song must hear rebounds superbly from the arches over us. Are you perhaps a virtuoso? Oh, no. My wish is great. My power is only so-so. Give us a song. If you desire, a number. So that it be a brand-new strain. We have just retraced our way from Spain, to lovely land of wine and song and slumber. There was a king once reigning, who had a big black flea. Hear, hear, a flea. Do you rightly take the jest? I call a flea a tidy guest. There was a king once reigning, who had a big black flea. And loved him past explaining, as his own son were he. He calls his man of stitches, the tailor comes straight away. Hear, media the lap of breeches, and media his coat, I say. But mind, allow the tailor no caprisis, enjoying upon him, as his head is dear, to most exactly measure so and shear, so that the breeches have no creases. In silk and velvet gleaming, he now was wholly dressed, had a coat with ribbon streaming, he crossed upon his breast. He had the first of stations, the minister's star and name, and also all his relations, great lords, had coat became. The lords and ladies of honour were plagued awake and in bed, the queen she got them up on her, the maids were bitten and bled, and they did not dare to brush them or scratch them day or night. We cracked them and we crushed them at once whenever they bite. Shouting, we cracked them and we crushed them at once whenever they bite. Bravo, bravo, that was fine. Very flea, may it so befall. Point your fingers and nip them all. Hurrah for freedom, hurrah for wine. I faint a drink with you, my glass to freedom clinking, if it were a better wine than here I see you drinking. Don't let us hear that speech again. Did I not fear the landlord might complain? I will treat these worthy guests with pleasure, to some from out our sailor's treasure. Just treat and let the landlord near reign. And if the wine be good, our praises shall be ample, but do not give too very small a sample. For if it's quality I decide, with a goodly mouthful I must be supplied. Aside. They're from the Rhine, I guessed as much before. Bring me a gimlet here. What shall therewith be done? You've not the casks already at the door. Sonder, within the landlord's box of tools, there's one. Takes the gimlet. To Frosh. Now, give me of your taste some intimation. How do you mean? Have you so many kinds? The choice is free, make up your minds. To Frosh. Aha! You lick your chops from sheer anticipation. Good! If I have the choice, so let the wine be rhinish. Your fatherland can best the sparkling cup replenish. Boring hole in the edge of the table at the place where Frosh sits. Give me a little wax to make the stopper squeak. Ah! I perceive a juggle is trick. To Branda. And you? Champagne shall be my wine, and let it sparkle fresh and fine. Boars! In the meantime one has made the wax stoppers and plugged the holes with them. As foreign one can't always keep quite clear of, for good things oft are not so near. A German can't endure the French to see your hero, yet drinks their wines with hearty cheer. As Mephistopheles approaches his seat. For me, my grant, sour wine is out of place. Fill up my glass with sweetest, will you? Boring. To Kay sell florets once to feel you. No. Look me, sir, straight in the face. I see you have your fun at our expense. Oh, now, with gentlemen of such spritens, that would venture far indeed. Speak out and make your choice with speed, with what a vintage can I serve you. With any, only satisfy our need. After the holes have been bored and plugged, with singular gestures. Graves, the wine stand bears, horns the he could wear. The grapes are juicy, the wines are good, the wooden table gives wine as good. Into the depths of nature appear, only believe there's a miracle here. Now draw the stoppers and drink your fill. As they draw out the stoppers and the wine which has been desired flows into the glass of each. Oh, beautiful, howler, that flows and will. Don't have a care that you nothing spill. They drink repeatedly. Sing. As for five hundred hoaxes, it feels so kind and joy. See, now the race is happy, it is free. To leave them is my inclination. Take notice first, their bestiality will make a brilliant demonstration. Drinks carelessly, the wine spills upon the earth and turns to flame. Help, fire, help, hellfire is sent. Charming away the flame. Be quiet, friendly element. To the revelers. A bit of pocketry was for this time, merely. What mean you? Wait, you'll pay for dearly. You'll know what's to your detriment. Don't try that game a second time upon us. I think we'd better send him packing quietly. What, sir? You dare to make so free and play your hocus-pocus on us? Bestialo doacta. Broomstick, you, you face it out impertinent and heady. Just wait, a shower of blues is ready. Draws a stopper out of the table. Fire flies in his face. I burn, I burn! Tis magic, strike, the nave is outlawed, cut him as you like. They draw their knives and rush upon Mephistopheles, with solemn gestures. False wood and a palm of air, chains, blaze, and scents, and snare, be here and there. They stand amazed and look at each other. Where am I? What a lovely land! Vines, can I trust my eyes? And purple grapes at hand. Here over this green arbor-bending, see what a vine! What grapes depending. He takes Siebel by the nose, the others do the same reciprocally, and raise their knives. As above. Lose error from their eyes the band, and how the devil chests be now enlightened. He disappears with foust, the revelers start and separate. What happened? How? Was that your nose I tightened? To Siebel. And yours, still, I have in hand? It was a blow that went through every limb. Give me a chair. I sink. My senses swim. But what has happened? Tell me now. Where is he? If I catch the scoundrel hiding, he shall not leave alive, I bow. I saw him with these eyes upon a wine-caste riding, out of the cellar door just now, still in my feet the fright like lead is weighing. He turns towards the table. Why, if the fount of wine should still be playing? It was all deceit and lying, false design. And yet it seemed as I were drinking wine. But with the grapes, how was it prey? Shall one believe no miracles, just say. Scene 6 Which is Kitchen Upon a low hearth stands a great cauldron, under which a fire is burning. These figures appear in the vapours which rise from the cauldron. An ape sits beside it, skims it, and watches lest it boil over. The he-ape, with the young one, sits near and warms himself. Ceiling and walls are covered with the most fantastic witch implements. These crazy signs of witch's craft repel me. I shall recover, dost thou tell me, through this insane chaotic play? From an old hag shall I demand assistance? And will her foul mess take away full thirty years from my existence? Woe's me, canst thou not better find? Another baffled hope must be lamented. Has nature, then, and has a noble mind not any potent balsam yet invented? Once more, my friend, thou talkest sensibly. There is, to make the young, a simpler mode than apta. But in another book it is read for thee, and is a most eccentric chapter. Yet will I know it? Good! The matter is revealed without our gold, or magic, or physician. We take thyself to yonder field, dear whore and dig as thy condition. The strained thyself, thy sense and will, within the narrow sphere to flourish. With unmixed food thy body nourish. Leave with the ox as ox, and think it not adept, that thou manures the acre which thou repest. That, trust me, is the best mode left, whereby for eighty years thy ute thou keepest. I am not used to that. I cannot stoop to try it. To take the spade in hand, and ply it, the narrow being suits me not at all. Then to dine eight, thou which must call. Wherefore the hag and her alone? Canst thou thyself not brew the potion? Debtory charming sport I own. I would build a thousand breeches, meanwhile, I have a notion. Not art and science serve alone. Patience must in the walk be shown. Long is the calm brain active in creation. Time only strengthens the fine fermentation, and all belonging thereon too is rare and strange, however you take it. The devil thought the thing it is true, and yet the devil cannot make it. Perceiving the animals. See what a delicate race they be. That is the maid, the man is he. To the animals. It seems the mistress has gone away. Corousing today, often about, by the chimney out. What time take see for dissipating? While we, to warm our paws, are waiting. To foust. How findest thou the tender creatures? Absurder than I ever yet did see. Why just such talk as this for me? Is that which the most attractive features? To the animals. But tell me now, ye cast puppets, why DST the bar is so? We are cooking watery soup for beggars. Ten agreed public you can show. Comes up and fawns on Mephistopheles. O cast thou the dice, make me rich in a trice, let me win in good season. Those are badly controlled, and had I but gold, so had I my reason. How the ape be sure his luck enhances? Could he but try the lottery's chances? In the meantime the young apes have been playing with a large ball which they now roll forward. The world's the ball, doth rise and fall, and roll incessant like a glass doth ring, a hollow thing. How soon wilt spring and drop quiescent? Here bright it gleams, here brighter seems. I live at present, dear son, I say keep thou away. Thy doom is spoken, it is made of clay, and will be broken. What means to see you? Taking it down. Wilt thou the thief, I'd know him and shame him? He runs to the she-ape and lets her look through it. Look through the sieve. Knost thou the thief, and darest not name him? Approaching the fire. And what is this part? The fool knows it not, he knows not the pot, he knows not the kettle. Impartinent beast. Take the brush here, at least, and sit down on the settle. He invites Mephistopheles to sit down. Faust, who during all this time has been standing before a mirror, now approaching and now retreating from it. What do I see? What heavenly form revealed shows through the glass from magic-sphere dominions. O lend me love the swiftest of thy opinions, and bear me to her beauteous field. Ah, if I leave this spot with fond designing, if I attempt to venture near, dim as through gathering mist her charms appear, a woman's form in beauty shining. Can woman then so lovely be? And must I find her body there reclining? Of all the heavens the bright epitome? Can earth with such a thing be mated? Why, surely, if a god first plagues himself six days, then self-contented, Bravo says, must something clever be created. This time, dine-eyes bisha she ate, I'll yet detect thy sweetheart and ensnare her. But a blessed is he who has the lucky fate, some day as bride-room home to bear her. Faust gazes continually in the mirror, Mephistopheles stretching himself out on the settle and playing with the brush continues to speak. So sit I, like the king up on his throne, I hold the scepter here, and like the crown alone. The animals, who up to this time have been making all kinds of fantastic movements together, bring a crown to Mephistopheles with great noise. O be thou so good with sweat and with blood, the crown to be lime. They handle the crown awkwardly, and break it into two pieces with which they spring around. Tis done, let it be, we speak and we see, we hear and we rhyme. Before the mirror. Woe's me, I fear to lose my wits. According to the animals, my own head now is really nigh to sinking. If lucky are his, and everything fits to his thoughts, we're thinking as above. My bosom burns with that sweet vision, let us with speed away from here. In the same attitude. One must at least make this admission. They are poets, genuine and sincere. The cauldron, which the she-ape has up to this time neglected to watch, begins to boil over. There ensues a great flame which blazes out the chimney. The witch comes careering down through the flame with terrible cries. The damned beast, the cursed sow, to leave the cattle and singe the frow, a cursed fear. Perceiving Faust and Mephistopheles. What is that here? Who are you here? What wants you thus? Who sneaks to us? The fire-pane, burn bone and brain. She plunges the skimming ladle into the cauldron and scatters flames towards Faust, Mephistopheles and the animals. The animals whimper. Mephistopheles reversing the brush which he has been holding in his hand and striding among the jars and glasses. In two, in two, there lies the brew, there lies the glass, the joke will pass as time palls as to the singing of thy crew. As the witch starts back full of wrath and horror. Ha! Nostredow me, abomination thou, Nostredow at last thy lord and master. It hinders me from smithing now thee and thy monkeys' pride so it fell disaster. Hast for the scarlet coat no reverence, dost recognize no more the tar-cocks feeder? Have I consilled this countenance? Must tell my name old face of leather. O pardon, sir, the rough salute, yet I perceive no cloven foot, and both your ravens, where are they now? This time I laid the escape to death, for since we two together met, it is verily full many a day now. Culture would smooth the whole world's lakes, also unto the devil's sticks. The days of the old northern phantom now are over, where canst thou haunts and tale and claws discover. And as regards the foot, which I cannot spare in truth, it would only make the people shun me. Therefore I have worn, like many spindly youth, false carbs these many years upon me. Dancing. It is in and sense forsake my brain, since I behold squire Satan here again. O man, from such a name refrain. Why so? What has it done to thee? It has long been written in the book of Febel, yet therefore knoweth which better man we see. The evil one has left, the evil ones are stable. When a baron call me down, then is the matter good. It can really am I, like others in my bearing. Thou hast no doubt about my noble blood. See here is the coat of arms that I am wearing. He makes an indecent gesture, laughs immoderately. Ha ha ha, that's just your way, I know, a rogue you are, and you were always so. To Faust. My friend, take proper heed, I pray, to manage witches. This is just a way. Where in, sirs, can I be views? Give us a goblet of the well-known Jews, but I must beg you of the oldest Brewhage. The years it double-strand to produce. With all my heart, now here's a bottle where from sometimes I wet my throttle, which is also not the slightest stinks, and willingly a glass I'll fill him. Whispering. Yet this man without due preparation drinks, as well thou knowest, within an hour, to will kill him. He is a friend of mine, with whom it will agree, and he deserves thy kitchen's best partition. Come, draw thy circle, speak dine adoration, and fill thy goblet full and free. The witch, with fantastic gestures, draws a circle, and places mysterious articles therein. Meanwhile, the glasses begin to ring, the cauldron to sound, and make a musical accompaniment. Finally, she brings a great book, and stations in the circle the apes, who are obliged to serve as reading-desk, and to hold the torches. She then beckons Faust to approach. To Mephistopheles. Now what shall come of this? The creature's antique, the crazy stuff, the gesture's frantic, all the repulsive cheats, I view, are known to me and hated, too. Oh, nonsense, that is a thing for laughter. Don't be so terribly severe. She juggles you as dark now, that after the beverage may walk the proper cheer. The witch begins to decline with much emphasis from the book. See, thus it's done, make ten of one, and two let be, make even three, and rich thou it be, cast all the four. From five and six, the witch's tricks, make seven and eight, tis finished straight, and nine is one, and ten is none. This is the witch's, once, once, one. She talks like one who raves in fever. D'ou will hear much more before we leave her. It is all the same, the book I can repeat, such time I have squandered over the history, a contradiction does complete, is always, for the wise, no less than fools, a mystery. The art is old and new, for verily all ages have been taught the matter, by three and one and one and three, error instead of truth to scatter. They pray and ditch, and no one interferes, all from the fellowship of fools are shrinking, man usually believes if only words he hears, that also with them goes material thought thinking. The lofty skill of science still, from all men deeply hidden, who takes no thought to him tis brought, tis given unsought, unbidden. What nonsense she declaims before us. My head is nigh to split, I fear. It seems to me as if I hear a hundred thousand fools in chorus. All still excellent, enough of adoration. But he there bring us dipotation, and quickly fill the bica to the brim. This drink will bring my friend no injuries. He is a man of many fold degrees, and many charts are known to him. The witch with many ceremonies pours the drink into a cup, as Faust sets it to his lips a light flame arises. Down with it quickly, drain it off, it will warm thy heart with new desire, art with the devil hand and clue, and will thou be afraid of fire? The witch breaks the circle, Faust steps forth. And now, everway, thou dost not rest. And much good may the liquor do thee. To the witch. Thou wish, on Valpege's night expressed, what boon I have, sell then be given unto thee. Here is a song which, if you sometimes sing, you'll find it a peculiar operation. To Faust. Come, walk at once. A rapid occupation must start the needful perspiration. And through thy frame the liquor spotts and slings. With a noble indolence I'll teach thee, then, to treasure. And soon thou wilt be our, with kinestreals of pleasure, how keep its tears and lips on light and restless wing. One rapid glance within the mirror give me, how beautiful that woman form. No known the paragon of all, believe me, thou soon shall see, alive and whole. Aside. Dowelt find this drink thy blood compeling, each woman beautiful as Helen. Faust, Margaret passing by. Fair lady, let it not offend you that arm and escort I would lend you. I'm neither, lady, neither fair, and home I can go without your care. She releases herself and exit. By heaven the girl is wondrous fair, of all I've seen beyond compare, so sweetly virtuous and pure, and yet a little pert, be sure. The lips so red, the cheeks cleared on, I'll not forget while the world rolls on. How she cast down her timid eyes, deep in my heart imprinted lies, how short and sharp of speech was she, why, it was a real ecstasy. Mephistopheles enters. There, of that girl I'd have possession. Which then? The one who just went by. She there, she's coming from confession of every seen absolve, for I, behind her chair, was listening nigh. So in null synthesis indeed, that to confess, she had known it. I have no power over souls so grim. And yet she's older than fourteen. How now? You are talking like Jack Rake, who for every flower for himself would take. And fancies there are no favours more, nor honours, save for him in store. Yet always doesn't the thing succeed. Most worthy pedagogue, take heed, let not a word of moral law be spoken. I claim I tell thee all my right, and if that image of delight rests not within mine arms to-night, at midnight our compact is broken. But think the chances of the case. I need at least a fortnight's space to find that opportune occasion. Had I but seven hours for all, I should not on the devil call but win her by my own possession. You almost like a Frenchman prepped. Don't take it as a noyce. Why all at once exhaust the joys. Your bliss is by no means so great as if you would use to get control, all sorts of tender rigmarole. And knead and shape hard to your tarte, as in Italian tales it is tart. Without that I have appetite. But now, leave jesting out of sight. I tell you once for all, that speed with this fair goal will not succeed. By storms you cannot capture it being. We must make use of strategy. Get me something the angel keeps. Lead me thither where she sleeps. Get me a kerchief from her breast, a garter that her knee has pressed. That you may see how much I would fail, father, and satisfy your pay. We will no longer lose a minute. I'll find her room today and take you in it. And shall I see possess her? No, until never she must go. And meanwhile thou alone maest glow, with every hope of future pleasure, breeding her atmosphere in fullest misery. Can we go thither? It is too early yet. A gift for her, I bid thee get. Exit. Present, sir, to us. That's good. He is certain to get at her. Full many a pleasure plays I know, and treasures buried long ago. I must, by force, look up the matter. Exit. Scene eight. Evening. A small, neatly kept chamber. Margaret, platting and binding up the braids of her hair. I'd give something, could I but say, who was that gentleman to-day? Surely a gallant man was he, and of a noble family, and much could I in his face behold. And he wouldn't else have been so bold. Exit. Come in, but gently, follow me. Leave me alone, I beg of thee. Prying about. Not every girl gives things so neat. Looking around. Oh, welcome, twilight soft and sweet, that breathes throughout this hallowed shrine. Sweet pain of love, bind thou with fetters fleet the heart that on the dew of hope must pine. How all around a sense impresses of quiet, order and content. This poverty, what bounty blesses! What bliss within this narrow den is pent! He throws himself into a leaven armchair near the bed. Receive me, thou, that in thine open arms departed joy and pain were't want to gather. How off the children with their ruddy charms hung here, around this throne where sat the father, perchance my love, amid the childish band, grateful for gifts the holy Christmas gave her, here meekly kissed the grand sire's withered hand. I feel, O made, thy very soul, of order and content around me whisper, which leads thee with its motherly control, the cloth upon thy board bid smoothly thee unroll, the sand beneath thy feet makes whiter, crisper. O dearest hand, to thee it is given to change this hut into a lower heaven. And here he lifts one of the bed-curtains. What sweetest thrill is in my blood! Here could I spend whole hours delaying, here nature shaped as if in sportive playing the angel blossom from the bud. Here lay the child, with life's warm essence, the tender bosom filled and fair, and here was wrought through holier, purer presence, the form diviner beings wear. And I, what drew me here with power? How deeply am I moved this hour? What seek I? Why so full my heart and sore? Miserable foust, I know thee now no more. Is there a magic vapour here? I came with lust of instant pleasure, and lie dissolved in dreams of love's sweet leisure. Are we the sport of every changeful atmosphere? And if this moment came she in to me, how would I for the fault atonement render, how small the giant lout would be, prone at her feet, relaxed and tender? Be quick, I see her there returning. Go, go, I never will retreat. Here is a cascade not unmeet, which elsewhere I have just been awning. Here set it in the press with haste. I swear it will turn her head to spy it. Some bubbles I therein had placed, that you might win another by it. Go, child is child, and play is play. I know not, should I do it? Ask you pray, yourself perhaps would keep the bubble. Then I suggest it were fair and just to spare the lovely day your last, and spare to me the further trouble. You are not miserly I trust, I rub my hands with expectation tender. He places the casket in the press, and locks it again. Now quick away. The sweet young maiden to betray, so that by wish and will you banned her. And you look as though to the lecture hall you were forced to go, as if stood before you gray and lowed, physics and metaphysics bold. But away. Exiant Margaret with a lamp. It is so close, so sultry here. She opens the window. And yet is not so warm outside. I feel, I know not why such fear would mother came. Where can she bide? My body's chill and shuddering. I'm but a silly fearsome thing. She begins to sing while undressing. There was a king in Thule, was faithful till the grave, For whom his mistress dying, a golden goblet gave. Nor was to him more precious, he trained it at every bout. His eyes with tears ran over, as oft as he drank there out. Then came his time of dying, the towns in his land he told. Nor dals to his heir denying, except the goblet of gold. He sat at the royal banquet with his knights of high degree. In the lofty hall of his father's, in the castle by the sea, There stood the old carouser, and drank the last life-glow, And hurled the hallowed goblet into the tide below. He saw it plunging and filling, and sinking deep in the sea. Then fell his eyelids for ever, and never more dranky. She opens the press in order to arrange her clothes, and perceives the casket of jewels. How comes that lovely casket here to me? I lock the press most certainly. It is truly wonderful. What can within it be? Perhaps it was bought by someone as a pawn, and mother gave a loan thereon. And here there hangs a key to fit. I have a mind to open it. What is that? God in heaven! Went's came such things! Never beheld I ought so fair! Rich ornaments, such as a noble dame on highest holidays might wear. How would the pearl chain suit my hair? Ah! Who may all this splendour own? She adorns herself with the jewellery and steps before the mirror. Well, but the earrings mine alone! One has at once another air. What helps one's beauty? Youthful blood. One may possess them, well and good, but none the more do others care. They praise us half in pity, sure. To gold still tens. On gold depends all. Alas, we poor! Scene nine, promenade. Faust walking thoughtfully up and down. To him, Mephistopheles. By our love ever rejected, by hellfire hot and unsparing. I wish I knew something worse that I might use it for swearing. What ails thee? What is it grips thee, Elf? A face like thine beheld I never. I would myself unto the devil deliver, if I are not a devil myself. Thy head is out of order, sadly. It much becomes thee to be raving madly. Just think! The pocket of a priest should get the trinkets left for Margaret. The mother saw them, and in stenta a secret dread began to haunt her. Keen sand her sea 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, he'll gotten good and snares the soul, consumes the bird. Before the mother of God, we will lay it. With heavenly manners, she will repay it. But Margaret thought with sorghum maze, a gift ours is not out of place, and truly godless cannot be the one who brought such things to me. A person came by the mother Bidden. He saw at once where the game was hidden, and viewed it with a favor still thee. His pague, that is the proper view, will overcome it we net do. The holy chairs, as is Thomas healthy, had eaten many a land as four feet, and never yet complained of sub-feet. The chairs alone beyond all question, as for he'll gotten good, the right digestion. A general practice is the same, which Jew and king may also claim. Then beg the spangles, chains and rings, as if but thoughts to also other things. I'm thanked no less and thanked no more, than if a sack of nuts he bore, promised them fullest heavenly pay, and deeply defied were they. And Margaret? Seeds unrestful steel, and knows not what she should or will, thinks on the jewels thee and I, but more on him who gave her such delight. The darling sorrow gives me pain, get thou a set for her again. The first was not a great display. Oh 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 fast. Such an animal fool in air would blow, sun, moon and all the star-religions, to give his sweetheart a diverting show. Exit. Scene 10 The Neighbour's House Martha Solis God forgive my husband, yet he hasn't done his duty by me. Often the world he went straight away, left me lying in the straw where I lay. And truly I did not fret him. God knows I loved, and can't forget him. She weeps. Perhaps he's even dead. Oh, well, had I a certificate to show? Margaret comes. Day 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 worthy old. You mustn't tell it to your mother, twid'd go to the priest, as did the other. Ah, look and see, just look and see. Martha adorning her. Oh, 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 dawn. Walk up and down an hour before the mirror yonder. We'll have our private joy therein, 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 will invent. Whoever could have bought 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. Here's some strange gentleman, come in. Mephistopheles enters. Dad, I so boldly introduce me. I beg you, ladies, to excuse me. Steps back reverently on seeing Margaret. For Martha so clean, I'll inquire. I'm she. What does the gentleman desire? Mephistopheles, aside to her. It is enough that you are she. You have a visitor of high degree. Pardon the freedom I have taken. We'll afternoon return again. Martha, aloud. Of all things in the world, just here. 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. Rejoice the mire that I may stay. What is your business, I would feign. Ayud, I had a more cheerful strain. Take not unkindly its repeating. Your husband is dead, and sense 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 of the joy comes flying. Relate his life, sad, close to me. In Padua buried he is lying. Beside the good Saint Anthony. Within a grave well consecrated. For cool, eternal rest created. He gave you further no commission? Yes, one await, with many shies, 300 masses by, 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 grieve to me. Yet on my ward his cash was put to proper uses. Besides, his penitence was very sore and lamented his ill fortune all the more. A lack that men are so unfortunate. Surely for his soul's sake full many a prayer I'll proffer. He will deserve a speedy marriage offer. You are so kind, compassionate. Oh no, as yet it would not do. If not a husband, then it be all 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. It was 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 tread in manner so ungrateful. Oh, 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 seeing God knows was more to blame than I. He lied. What? On the brink of death he slandered? In the last rows his senses went, if by such things but half can judge. He said, I had no time for play, for keeping freedom. First children and then walk for bread to feed them. For bread in the widest sense to judge. And could not even eat my share in peace and quiet. Had he all love, all faith forgotten in his riot, my work and worried 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 jealous. And such luck from heaven befell us. We made a Turkish merchant man our prey. That to the Sultan bore a mighty treasure. Then I received, as was most fit, since bribery was paid in fullest measure. My will apportioned share of it. Say how? Say where? If buried, did he own it? Who knows now, whether the four winds have blown it. A fair young damsel took him in her care. As he in Naples went around unfriended, and see 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 is dead there from at last. Where I in your place do not doubt me, I would mourn him decently a year. And for another keep meanwhile my eyes about me. Oh 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 heat. I swear, with this condition too, I would myself change rings with you. The gentleman is pleased to jest. I will cut away betimes from here. She would take the devil at his word, I fear. To Margaret. How fares the heart within your breast? What means the gentleman? Aside. Sweet and innocent, dull art. Allowed. Ladies, farewell. Farewell. A moment, every 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 day. A pair of witnesses, always the truth establishes. I have a friend of high condition, who will also add his deposition. I will 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 will expect the gentleman. Scene eleven. A street. Foust. How is it? Underway and soon complete? Mephistopheles. Ah, bravo. Do I find you boning? Well, Margaret soon will steal your yarning. At neighbour Martha's he will this evening meet. A fitter woman neighbour was made. To pry the pimp and gypsy trade. Tis well. Yet something is required from us. One service pays the other thus. We have but to make a deposition valid. That now her husband's limbs outstretched and pellet. At Pado arrest, in consecrated soil. Most wise. And first of course will make the journey thither. Sancto simplicitas. No need of such a toil. Depose with knowledge or without it, either. If you've not better, then I'll tear your pretty plan. Now there you are. Oh holy man. Is it the first time in your life you are 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 present forehead, daring breath? And if you will probe the thing profoundly, knew you so much and you will confess it wrongly? As here of Swartling's death and place of rest? Thou art and thou remainst a softest liar. Yes, knew I not more deeply thy desire. For will thou not know love or fairer? Poor Margaret flatter and ensnare her, and all thy souls devotion swear her. And from my heart? It is very fine. Dine endless love, thy fate assuring, to one almighty force and during. Will that too prompt this heart of dine? 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 ardour so supernal, endless, eternal and eternal. Is that a devilish lying game? And yet I am 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. 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 never entertain such an experienced man. A look from thee, a word, my heart, and my soul, my soul, my soul, my soul, my soul, my soul, my soul, my soul, my soul, my soul, my soul, my soul, 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, the trade and duty are so hairy, with what a pang one leaves so many as part, and there is not even now and then to Terry. 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 and easy graces, 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 of you, all places. No doubt you're much alone. Yes, for our household small has grown, yet must be cared for, you alone. We have no maid I do the knitting, sewing, sweeping, the cooking, early work, and late in fact, and mother, in her notions of housekeeping, is so exact. Not that she needs so much to keep expenses down. We, more than others, might take comfort rather. A nice estate was left us by my father. A house, a little garden near the town, but now my days have less of noise and hurry. My brother is a soldier, my little sister's dead. True, with the child a troubled life I led, yet I would take again and willing all the worry. So very dear was she. An angel if like thee. I bought it up, and it was fond of me. Father had died before it saw the light, and mother's case seemed hopeless quite. So weak and miserable she lay, and she recovered then so slowly, day by day. She could not think herself of giving, the poor we thing its natural living. And so I nursed it all alone, with milk and water, twas my own, lulled in my lap with many a song. It smiled and humbled and grew strong. The purest bliss was surely then thy dour. But surely also many a weary hour. I kept the baby's cradle near, my bed at night, if'd even stirred I'd guess it. And waking here, and I must nurse it warm beside me press it, and oft to quiet it my bed foresake, and dandling back and forth the restless creature take, then at the washed up stand at morning's break, and then the marketing and kitchen tending, day after day the same thing never ending. One spirit, sir, are thus not always good, but then one learns to relish rest and food. They pass. Yes, the poor women are bad off, tis true. A stubborn bachelor, there's no converting. It, but depends upon the like of you. And I should turn to better ways than flirting. Speak plainly, sir. Have you no one detected? Has not your heart been anywhere subjected? The proverb says, one's own warm heart, and a good wife are golden jewels what? I mean, have you not felt desire, though ne'er so slightly? I have everywhere, in fact, been entertained politely. I meant to say, were you not touched in earnest ever? One should allow oneself to jest with ladies never. Ah, you don't understand. I am sorry I am so blind, but I am sure that you are very kind. They pass. And me, thou angel, didst thou recognise, as through the garden gate I came? Did you not see it? I cast down my eyes. And thou forgives'dt my freedom, and the blame to my impertinence befitting as the cathedral thou art quitting? I was confused, the like ne'er happened to me. No one could ever speak to my discredit. Ah, thought I, in my conduct has he read it, something immodest or unseemly free. He seemed to have the sudden feeling, that with this wench to a very easy dealing. I will confess, I knew not what appeal on your behalf here in my bosom grew, but I was angry with myself to feel that I could not be angrier with you. Sweet darling. Wait a while. She plucks a star flower and pulls off the leaves one after the other. Shall that a nose-gay be? No, it is just in play. How? Go, you'll laugh at me. She pulls off the leaves and murmurs. What murmurous thou? Huff aloud. He loves me, he loves me not. Thou sweet angelic soul. Margaret continues. Loves me not, loves me not. Plucking the last leaf she cries with frank delight. He loves me. Yes, child, and let this blossom word for thee be speech divine. He loves thee. Ah, knowest thou what it means? He loves thee. He grasps both her hands. I'm all a tremble. Oh, tremble not, but let this look, let this warm clasp of hands declare thee what is unspeakable, to yield one wholly and to feel a rapture in yielding. That must be eternal. Eternal for the end would be despair. No, no, no ending, no ending. Martyr coming forward. The night is falling. Aye, we must away. I'd ask you longer here to tarry, but evil tongues in this town have full play. It's as if nobody had nothing to fetch and carry nor other labour, but spying all the do-ings of one's neighbour. And one becomes the talk, do what soar one may. Where is our couple now? Flown up to El Yonder, delightful summer birds. He seems of her still fonder. And she of him. So runs to walled away. Scene 13. A Garden Arba Margaret comes in, conceals herself behind the door, puts her finger to her lips and peeps through the crack. He comes. Faust entering. Ah rogue, a tease thou art. I have thee. He kisses her. Margaret, clasping him and returning the kiss. Dearest man, I love thee from my heart. Mephistopheles knocks. Faust stamping his foot. Who's there? A friend. A beast. It is time to separate. Martyr coming. Yes, sir, it is late. May I not then upon you wait? My mother would fare well. Ah, can I not remain? Farewell. Adieu. And soon to meet again. Exiant Faust and Mephistopheles. Dear God, however is it such a man can think and know so much. I stand ashamed and in amaze and answer yes to all he says. A poor unknowing child. And he, I can't think what he finds in me. Exit. Scene 14. Forest and Cavern Faust. Solus. Spirits sublime. Thou gaves me, gaves me all for which I prayed. Not unto me in vain has thou thy countenance revealed in fire. Thou gaves me nature as a kingdom grand with power to feel and to enjoy it. Thou not only cold amazed acquaintance yields'd, but grantest that in her profoundest breast I gaze as in the bosom of a friend. The ranks of living creatures thou dost lead before me, teaching me to know my brothers in air and water and the silent wood. And when the storm in forests roars and grinds, the giant furs in falling, neighbor boughs and neighbor trunks with crushing weight bear down, and falling fill the hills with hollow thunders. Then to the cave secure thou leadest me. Then shoest me mine own self, and in my breast the deep mysterious miracles unfold. And when the perfect moon before my gaze comes up with soothing light, around me float from every precipice and thicket damp the silvery phantoms of the ages past and temper the austere delight of thought. That nothing can be perfect unto man, I now am conscious. With this ecstasy which brings me near and nearer to the gods, thou gaves the comrade whom I now know more can do without, though cold and scornful he demeans me to myself. And with a breath, a word, transforms thy gifts to nothingness. Within my breast he fans a lawless fire, unwirried for that fair and lovely form. Thus in desire I hasten to enjoyment, and in enjoyment pine to feel desire. Mephistopheles enters. Have you not led this life quite long enough? How can a father test delight you? It is very well that once one tries the stuff, but something new must then require thee. Would there were other work for thee? To plague my day auspicious thou returnest. Well, I'll engage to let thee be. Thou darest not tell me so in earnest. The loss of thee were truly very slight. Comrade crazy rude repelling. One has one's hands full all day and night. If what one does or leaves undone is right. From such a face as thine there is no telly. There is again thy proper tone, that thou hast bored me I must thankful be. Poor son of art, how could thou thus alone have let thy life be left of me? I, for a time at least, have worked thy cure. Thy fancy rickets plague thee not at all. Had I not been so hath thou sure, worked thyself off this artly ball. Why, here to caverns rocky hollows slinking, since thou, as it were an owl a blinking. Why, sucked from sodden moss and dripping stone? Toad-like thy nourishment alone. A fine way this thy time to fill. The doctor is in thy body still. What fresh and vital forces canst thou guess, spring from my commerce with the wilderness? But if thou hats the power of guessing, thou wouldst be devil enough to grudge my soul the blessing. A blessing drawn from supernatural fountains, in night and deal to lie upon the mountains. All heaven and art in rapture pen of trading, thyself to Godhood hostily inflating. To grub with yawning force, to art's dark marrow, compress the six days' orc within thy bosom narrow. To taste I know not what in half the power, dine own ecstatic life on tink's shower, dine artly self behind the cast, and then the loft instinct does. With a gesture. At last I dare not say how to pluck the final flower. Shame on thee! Yes, thou findest that unpleasant. Thou hast a moral right to crime a shame at present. One day's not that before jest hears declare, which jest hearts not withstanding cannot spare. And once for all I grudge thee not the pleasure of lying to thyself in moderate measure. But such a course thou wilt not long endure. Already art thou overexcited, and if it lusts, wilt soon be plighted to madness and to horror sure. And after that, thy love sits lonely yonder. By all things sudden than oppressed, her thoughts and yearning, seeing thee tenderer fonder, might the love is in her breast. First came thy passion's flood and poured around her, as when from melted snow a streamlet overflows. Thou hast a dear with so filled and drowned her, that now thy stream all shallow shows. My things, instead of in the forest's longing, the noble sir should find it good, the love of this young silly blood at once to set a watch reporting. Her time is miserably long. She haunts a window, watching clouds that stray over the old city wall and far away. Where I a little bud, so runs her song, day long and half night long. Now she is lively, mostly sad. Now wept beyond her tears, then again quiet she appears. Always love man. Serpent! Serpent! Mephistopheles aside. Ha! Do I trap thee? Get thee away with thine offences, reprobate. Name not that fairest thing, nor the desire for her sweet body bring again before my half-distracted senses. What would thou then? See, things that thou art flown, and half-and-half thou art I own. Yet am I near, and love keeps watch and ward, though I were near so far it cannot falter. I envy even the body of the Lord, the touching of her lips before the altar. It is very well, my envy of triposes, on your twin pair, that feed among the roses. Away thou pimp! You rail, and it is fun to me. The guard who fashioned ute and maid perceived the novelest paupers of his trade, and also met dear opportunity. Go on, it is you who profound. It is for your sweethearts room you abound, and not for that indeed. What are within her arms the heavenly blisses? Though I be glowing with her kisses, do I not always share her need? I am the fugitive, all houseless roaming, the monster without air or rest, that like a cataract, down rocks and gorges foaming, leaps maddened into the abyss's breast, and sideward she, with young, unwakened senses, within her cabin on the alpine field, her simple, homely life commences, her little world therein concealed. And I, God's hate flung o'er me, had not enough to thrust the stubborn rocks before me and strike them into dust. She and her peace I yet must undermine. Thou, hell, hast claimed this sacrifice as thine. Help, devil, through the coming pangs to push me. What must be, let it quickly be. Let fall on me her fate, and also crush me. One ruin-whelm both her and me. Again it seeds, again it glows. Thou fool, go in and comfort her. When such a head as thine no outlet knows, it thinks the end must soon occur. Hail him who keeps his steadfast mind. Thou, else dost dwell the devil-nature where, not so insipid in the world I find, as is a devil in despair. Scene 15. Margaret's Room Margaret, at the spinning wheel, alone. My peace is gone. My heart is sore. I never shall find it. Ah, never more! Save I have him near. The grave is here. The world is gall and bitterness all. My poor weak head is wracked and crazed. My thought is lost. My sense is mazed. My peace is gone. My heart is sore. I never shall find it. Ah, never more! To see him, him only at the pain I sit. To meet him, him only, the house I quit. His lofty gate, his noble size, the smile of his mouth, the power of his eyes, and the magic flow of his talk, the bliss in the clasp of his hand. And ah, his kiss. My peace is gone. My heart is sore. I never shall find it. Ah, never more! My bosom yearns for him alone. Ah, dare I clasp him, and hold and own, and kiss his mouth to heart's desire. And on his kisses, at last, expire. Scene 16. Martyr's Garden Margaret Promise me, Henry. Faust What I can Howist with thy religion, pray. Thou art a dear, good-hearted man, and yet I think does not incline that way. Leave that, my child. Thou knows my love is tender, for love my blood and life would I surrender. And as for faith and church, I grant to each his own. That's not enough. We must believe thereon. Must we? Would that I had some influence. Then, too, thou honourest not the holy sacraments. I honour them. Desiring no possession. Tis long since thou has been to mass or to confession. Believest thou in God? My darling, who shall dare I believe in God to say? Ask priest or sage the answer to declare, and it will seem a mocking play, a sarcasm on the asker. Then thou believest not? Hear me not falsely, sweetest countenance. Who dare express him? And who profess him, saying, I believe in him? Who, feeling, seeing, deny his being, saying, I believe him not? The all enfolding, the all upholding, folds and upholds he not thee, me, himself? Arch is not there, the sky above us? Lies not beneath us, firm the earth? And rise not on a shining, friendly, the everlasting stars? Look I not eye to eye, on thee? And feels not thronging to head and heart the force still weaving its eternal secret, invisible, visible, round thy life? Vast as it is, fill with that force thy heart. And when thou in the feeling holy blessed art, call it then what thou wilt. Call it bliss, heart, love, God. I have no name to give it. Feeling is all in all. The name is sound and smoke, obscuring heaven's clear glow. All that is fine and good. To hear it so, much the same way the preacher spoke, only with slightly different phrases. The same thing in all places, all hearts that beat beneath the heavenly day, each in its language say, why then not I in mine as well? To hear it thus it may seem passable, and yet some hitch in there must be, for thou hast no Christianity. Dear love, I've long been grieved to see that thou art in such company. How so? The man who with thee goes, thy mate, within my deepest, innermost soul I hate, in all my life there's nothing has given my heart so keen a pang of loathing as his repulsive face has done. Nay, fear him not, my sweetest one. I feel his presence like something ill. I've else for all a kindly will, but much is my heart to see the yearneth, the secret horror of him returneth, and I think the man a knave as I live, if I do him wrong may God forgive. There must be such queer birds, however. Live with the like of him may I never, when once inside the door comes he, he looks around so sneeringly, and half in wrath once sees that in nothing no interest he hath. It is written on his forehead that love, to him, is a thing of horde. I am so happy on thine arm, so free, so yielding, and so warm, and in his presence stifled seems my heart. For a boating angel that thou art. It overcomes me in such degree that wheresoever he meets us even I feel as though I'd lost my love for thee. When he is by I could not pray to heaven, that burns within me like a flame, and surely Henry tis with thee the same. There now is thine antipathy. But I must go. Ah, shall there never be a quiet hour to see us fondly plighted with breast to breast, and soul to soul united? Ah, if I only slept alone, I'd draw the bolts to night for thy desire. But my mother's sleep so light has grown, and if we were discovered by her it would be my death upon the spot. Thou angel, fear it not. Here is a vile. In her drink but three drops of it measure, and deepest sleep will on her senses sink. What would I not to give thee pleasure? It will not harm her when one tries it. If it would, my love, would I advise it? Ah, terrorist man, if but thy face I see, I know not what compels me to thy will. How much have I already done for thee that scarcely more is left me to fulfil? Enter Mephistopheles. Exit Margaret. Mephistopheles. The monkey is see-gone. Has played the spy again? I have heard how fully see G.O.D. The doctor has been capsized. It is plain. Great good I hope the thing will do thee. The girls have much desire to ascertain if one is prim and good, and the ancient rules compel. If dare he is led to think, he will follow them as well. Thou monster, wilt nor see nor own how this pure soul of faith so lowly, so loving and ineffable, the faith alone that her salvation is, with scruples holy pines, lest she hold as lost the man she loves so well. Full of sensual, super sensual desire. A girl by the nose is leading thee. Abortion thou of filth and fire. And then how masterly she reads physionomy. When I am present she is impressed. She knows not how. She in my mask a hidden sense would read. She feels that surely I am a genius now. Perhaps the very devil indeed. Oh well, tonight. What's that to thee? Yet my delight it'll also be. Scene 17 At the fountain Margaret and Lisbeth with pictures. Lisbeth. Has nothing heard of Barbara? Margaret. No, not a word. I go so little out. It's true, Sebelah said today. She's played the fool at last. There's not a doubt. She's taken on of heirs. How so? It stinks. She's feeding two when she eats and drinks. Ah. And so at last it serves her rightly. She clung to the fellow so long and tightly that was a promenading. At village and dance parading. As the first they must everywhere shine. And he treated her always to pies and wine. He made it to do with her face so fine. So mean and shameless was her behavior. She took all the presents the fellow gave her. Twas kissing and coddling on and on. So now, at the end, the flower is gone. The poor, poor thing. Dustpity heard that. When one of us at spinning sat, and Mother Knight's near led us off the door. She sported with her paramour. On the door bench in the passage dark. The length of the time they'd never mark. So now her head no more shall lift. But do church penance in her sinner's shift. He'll surely take her for his wife. He'd be a fool. A brisk young blade has room elsewhere to ply his trade. Besides, he's gone. That is not fair. If him she gets, why let her be where? The boy shall dash her wreath on the floor. And we'll get her shaft before her door. Exit. Margaret returning home. How scornfully I once reviled. When some poor maiden was beguiled. More speech than any tongue suffices. I craved to censure others vices. Black as it seemed I blackened still. And blacker yet was in my will. And blessed myself and boasted high. And now a living sin am I. Yet all that drove my heart there too. God was so good, so dear, so true. Scene 18. Don John. In a niche of the wall a shrine with an image of the Marta Dolorosa. Pots of flowers before it. Margaret putting fresh flowers in the pots. Incline, O maiden. Thou sorrow laden, thy gracious countenance upon my pain. The sword thy heart in with anguish smarting. Thou luckest up to where thy son is slain. Thou seest the father, thy sad sighs gather and bear aloft thy sorrow and his pain. Ah, hast guessing, beyond expressing, the pangs that ring my flesh and bone. Why this anxious heart so burneth? Why it trembleth? Why it yearneth? No, it's thou, and thou alone. Where ere I go? What sorrow? What woe? What woe and sorrow? Within my bosom aches. Alone and ah, unsleeping. I'm weeping, weeping, weeping. The heart within me breaks. The pots before my window alas, my tears did wet, as in the early morning for thee these flowers I set. Within my lonely chamber, the morning sun shone red. I sat in utter sorrow, already on my bed. Help! Rescue me from death and stain, O maiden. How sorrow laden incline thy countenance upon my pain. Scene 19. Night. Street before Margaret's door. Valentine. A soldier, Margaret's brother. What I have set has some corrals, where each to each his brag allows, and many a comrade prays to me, the pink of girls right lustily, with brimming glass that spilled the toast, and elbows planted as in boast. I sat in unconcerned repose, and heard this wagger as it rose. And stroking then my beard, I'd say, smiling, the bumper in my hand. Each well enough in her own way, but is there one in all the land, black sister Margaret, good as gold, one that to her can a candle hold? Plink clang, his to her, went around the board. He speaks the truth, cried some, and heard the flower of the sexes found, and all the swaggerers were dumb. And now I could tear my hair with vexation, and dash all my brains in desperation, with turned up nose each camp may face me with sneers and stinging taunts disgrace me, and like a bankrupt debtor setting, a chance dropped word may set me sweating. Yet though I thrashed them all together, I cannot call them liars either. But what comes sneaking there to view, if I mistake not there are two, if he's one, let me at it dry, he shall not leave this spot alive. How from the window of the sacristy upward the eternal lamp sends forth a glimmer, that lessening sidewards fainter grows and dimmer, till darkness closes from the sky, the shadows thus within my bosom gather. I'm like a sentimental tomcat, rather, that round the tall fire-ladders sweeps, and still thee, then along the coping crepes. Quite virtuous, we tell, I come, a little teavis and a little frolic sum. I feel in every limb the presage for running the grain to all pause's night, day after tomorrow brings its message, and one keeps watch, then it delight. Meanwhile, may not the treasure risen be, which there behind I glimmering see? Sell soon experienced a pleasure to lift a cat-lute its treasure. I lately gave Deirene a squint, saw splendid-line dollars in it. Not even a jewel, not a ring to deck therewith my darling girl? I saw among the rest a thing that seemed to be a chain of pearl. That's well indeed, for painful is it to bring no gift when her eye visit. Thou such not find it so am I, who doth return to be enjoying. Now, while the sky lit forth its starry throng, thou wilt hear a masterpiece, no work-completer. I will sing her first immoral song, the short afterwards to cheat her. Sings to the scither. What doth thou hear in daybreak clear? Get reined, Deirene, before thy lover's door. Beware the blame, let's see in a mate, that's how they mate, they parted nevermore. Thou quakes in shan, of such an one, when once it is done, good night to the poor thing. Love's time is brief, unto no teeth, be warm and leave, but with the waiting ring. Valentine comes forward. Whom wilt thou lure? God's element, rat-catching, pipe-or-thou, perdition to the devil first the instrument, to the devil then the cursed musician. The cedar is smashed, for nothing more it is fading. There is yet a skull I must be splitting. To Faust. So, doctor, don't retreat, I pray. Stand by, I'll lead, if you will but tarry. Out which of speed do thou delay? You have but to lunge, and I will parry. Then parry that! Why not? It is light. That too. Of course. I think the devil must fight, how is it then? My hand's already lame. To Faust. Just home. Jails. Oh, God! Now is the lava-ting, but come away, it is time for us to fly. For there arises now a murderous cry. With the bullets it were easy to compound it, but here the penal code will sift and sound it. Exit with Faust. Martha at the window. Come out, come out. Margaret at the window. Quick, bring a light. Martha as above. They swear and storm, they yell and fight. Here lies one dead already, see. Martha coming from the house. The murderers, wither have they run. Margaret coming out. Who lies here? Tis their mother's son. Almighty God, what misery. I'm dying. That is quickly said. And quicker yet tis done. Why howl, you woman there. Instead, come here and listen. Everyone. All gather round him. My Margaret, see. Still young thou art. But not the least bit shrewd or smart. Thy business thus too slight. So this advice I bid thee heed. Now that thou art a horn deed. Why be one then? All right. My brother, God, such words to me. In this game let our Lord God be. What's done's already done, alas. What follows it must come to pass. With one begins thou secretly. And soon will others come to thee. And when a dozen thee have known. Thou art also freed while the town. When shame is born and first appears. She is in secret brought to light. And then they draw the veil of night over her head and ears. Her life, in fact, there loathe to spare her. But let her growth and strength display. She walks abroad unveiled by day. Yet is not grown with the fairer, the uglier she is to sight. The more she seeks the day's broad light. At the time I barely can discern When all the honest folk will turn from thee. Thou jade and seek protection As from a corpse that breeds infection. That guilty heart shall then dismay thee When they but look thee in the face. Shalt not in a golden chain ray thee Nor at the altar take thy place. Shalt not, in lace and ribbons flowing, Make merry when the dance is going. But in some corner will be tied thee Among the beggars and cripples hide thee. And so, though even God forgive, On earth a damned existence live. Commend your soul to God for pardon. That's you, your heart with slander harden. Thou pimp most infamous be still. Could I, thy withered body, kill To adbring for all my sinful pleasure Forgiveness in the richest measure? My brother, this is Hell's own pain. I tell thee, from thy tears refrain. When thou from honour didst depart It stabbed me to the very heart. Now, through the slumber of the grave, I go to God as a soldier brave.