 Scenes 20 and 21 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 1 by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, translated by Bayard Taylor. Scenes 20 Cathedral, Service, Organ, and Anthem Margaret, among much people, the evil spirit behind Margaret. How otherwise was it, Margaret, when thou still innocent here to the altar camest, and from the worn and fingered book thy prayers did's prattle, half sport of childhood half God within thee? Margaret, where tens thy thought, within thy bosom what hidden crime? Praise thou for mercy on thy mother's soul, that fell asleep to long, long torment and through thee. Upon thy threshold who's the blood? And stirrath not and quicken something beneath thy heart, thy life disquieting with most foreboding presence. Woe, woe, would I were free from the thoughts that cross me, drawing hither and thither despite me. Di e si e di e si la, so v'et se glum in fa vila. Sound of the organ. Wrath takes thee, the trumpet peals, the graves tremble, and thy heart from ashy rest of fiery torments now again re-quickened throbs to life. Would I were forth? I feel as if the organ here my breath takes from me, my very heart dissolved by the anthem. Yudexer concuse debit, quid quid la tetatarebit, nilinuture malebit. I cannot breathe, the massy pill has imprisoned me, the vaulted arches crush me, err. Hide thyself, sin and shame stay never hidden, err, light, woe to thee. Quid sum miser tuncticturus, quen patronem rogaturus, con vixius tu si securus. They turn their faces, the glorified from thee, the pure their hands to offer, shuddering, refuse thee. Woe! Quid sum miser tuncticturus. Neighbor, your cordial. She falls in a swoon, scene twenty-one, Valpergus night, the heart's mountains, district of Shirkha and Eiland. Dost da not wish, abrooms its deets assistance. The stardest he go'd I would gladly see, the way we take, our girl is yet some distance. So long as in my legs I feel the fresh existence, this knotted staff suffices me. What need to shorten so the way, along this labyrinth of veils to wander, then climb the rocky ramparts yonder, where from the fountain flings eternal spray, is such delight my steps would feign delay. The springtime stirrs within the fragrant birches, and even the fir tree feels it now. Should then our limbs escape its gentle searches? I notice no such thing, I Val. It is winter-steeloid in my body. Upon my path I wish for frost and snow. How sadly rises in complete and ruddy, the moon's lone disk, with its belated glow, and lights so dimly, that as one advances, at every step one strikes a rock or tree. Let us then use the jack-all-and-dune's glances. I see one yonder, barning merrily. How dear, my friend, I will live wide in attendance. Why waste so vainly dire splendence? Be kind enough to light us up the steep. Willow the wisp. My reverence, I hope, will be unable to curb my temperament on stable, for zig-zag courses we are want to keep. Indeed, he would like mankind to imitate. Now in the devil's name goes straight, or I'll blow out his being's flickering spark. You are the master of the house, I mark, and I shall try to serve you nicely. But then reflect, the mountain's magic mad today, and if a willow the wisp must guide you on the way, you mustn't take things too precisely. In alternating song. We, it seems, have entered newly in the sphere of dreams enchanted. Do the bidding, guide us truly, that our feet be forest-planted in a fostered days of spaces. See them swiftly changing places, trees on trees beside us trooping, and the craigs above are stooping, and the rocky snouts outgrowing. Hear them snoring, hear them blowing. O'er the stones the grass is flowing, stream and stream, let's seek the hollow. Here are noises, songs that follow, here I tender love petitions. Voices of those heavily-veasions, sounds of hope of love and Ike, and echoes like traditions of oldest, confined and hollow. Hush, shoo, nearer, hover, jay, and screech, all and a plover. Are they all awake and crying? He's the salamander, pushes, lord of the lechuta, pushes. And the roots like serpents twisted through the sand and boulders toiling, frightest, weirdest, links uncoiling, to entrap us unresisted. Living knots and gnarls uncanny, fill with polypus and tanny, for the wander mice are flying, thousand-colored herd, wise-hawing through the moss and through the heather. And the pyroflies link and duckle, crowded swarms that soar and sparkle, and in well-dring as cold gather. Tell me if we still are standing, or if further we're ascending, all is turning, whirling, glending, trees and rocks with grinning faces, wandering like the spinning mazes, still increasing and expanding. Crest my scud with hard undaunted, here a middle pig is planted, whence one see to it amaze, mermen in the mountain blaze. How strangely glimmers through the hollows a dreary light like that of dawn. Its exhalation tracks and follows the deepest gorges faint and wan. Here steam, there rolling vapour sweepeth, here burns the glow through film and haze, now like a tender thread at creepeth, now like a fountain leaps and plays. Here winds away, and in a hundred divided veins the valley braids. There in a corner, pressed and sundered, its self-detaches, spreads and fades. Here gush the sparkles incandescent, like scattered showers of golden sand. But see, in all their height at present the rocky ramparts blazing stand. Has not some mermen grandly lighted his palace for his fest tonight? It is lucky thou hast seen the sight, the boisterous guests approach that were invited. How raves the tempest through the air, with what fierce blows upon my neckt his beating! Under the old reaps of the rock retreating, hold fast, lest thou be hurled down the abyss's dare, deny to the mist his black, hark how the forests grind and crack, hark how the pillars are shattered, the evergreen palaces shaking, boughs groaning and breaking, the tree trunks terribly thunder, the roots are twisting as thunder, in frightfully intricate crashing, each on the other is dashing, and over the rags stream gorgeous, the tempest whistles and surges. Lest thou voices high ringing, far away, on air are singing, yes, the mountains side alone, sweeps an infuriate, glamouring song. Witches in chorus, the witches ride at the rock and stop, the stubble is yelling, wean the crop, their gall is the crowd for carnival, their oarances are all, and so they go over stone and stop, the witches in the butt. Alone, old Baabao's coming now, she rides upon a pharaoh-sao. Witches chorus, the honor of all the honors do you, the imbaba first believed it through, a tupple-sao and a mother thereon, and follow the witches, everyone, which way comest thou hither? O'er the illusin' stone, I peeped at the owl in her nest alone, how she stared and glared, be taketh thee to hell, why so fast and so fell? She has scored and has flayed me, see the wounds she has made me. Witches chorus, the ways why and the ways not see, what a violent and crazy throng, the brunous sessions of broken thrust, the child's faithful, the mother's. Wizards semi-chorus, as doth the snail shell we crawl, before us go the women all, when towards the devil's house we tread, women's a thousand steps ahead. We do not measure with such care, woman in thousand steps is theft, but house-aware she hasten may, man in one leap has cleared the way. Voice one from above. Come on, come on, from Rocky Lake. Voice two from below. Aloft we'd feign ourselves but take we've washed, and are as bright as ever you will, yet we're eternally sterile still. Both choruses, witches and wizards. The wind is hushed, the star should hide, the dreary moon forsakes the sky. The magic notes like spark on spark, drizzle whistly through the dark. Voice two from below. Halt there, who there? Voice one from above. Who calls from the rocky cleft below there? Voice two from below. Take me too, take me too, I'm climbing now three hundred years, and yet the summit cannot see among my equals I would be. Both choruses, witches and wizards. There's the broom and there's the sock, there's the fork and there's the buck. Who cannot raise himself tonight is evermore ruin-white. Half-witch below. So long I stumble, it'll be stead, and the others are now so far ahead. At home I've neither rest nor cheer, and yet I cannot gain them here. To cheer the wages of the veil, a rag will answer for a sale, each crowd whose ship supplies, he near will fly, who now not flies. Both choruses, witches and wizards. When rounds of the sub-literals are fight, they're lower and on the ground alight, and far more either press, with which was formed the wilderness. They settle down. They crowd and push, they roar and clatter, they whirl and whistle, pull and chatter, they shine and spit and stink and burn, that through which element we learn, keep close or we are parted in our time. Where are thou? In the distance. Here. What? Well, so far astray. Then house right I must use and clear the way. Make room, square-volant comes, room, gentle rebel, room. Here, doctor, hold to me, in one jump we'll resume, and in your space and from the crowd be free. It is too much even for the like of me. Yonder with special light there is something shining clearer. Within those bushes I have a mind to see. Come on, we'll slip a little nearer. Spirit of contradiction, on! I'll follow straight. Tis planned most wisely if I judge a right. We climb the brockens top in the Valpergus night, that arbitrarily hear ourselves we isolate. But see what motley flames among the heather. There is a lively club together. In smaller circles one is not alone. Better the summit I must own. There, fire and whirling smoke I see. They seek the evil one in wild confusion. Many enigmas there might find solution. But there enigmas also not at be. We leave to the multitude there riot. Here will we house ourselves in quiet. It is an old transmitted trade, that in the greater world the little walls are made. I see stark new young witches congregate. The old ones veiled and hidden shrewdly. On my account be kind, nor treat them rudely. The trouble is small, the fun is great. I hear the noise of instruments attuning, while the enigmas must learn to bear the croning. Come, come along, it must be I declare. I'll go ahead and introduce thee there. There an obligation newly arning. There is no little space what says thou friend. Look yonder, thou can scarcely see the end. A hundred fires along the ranks are burning. They dance, they chat, they cook, they drink, they call. Nowhere just tell me is there better sport. Will thou to introduce us to the revel assume the part of wizard or of devil? I mostly use it is true to go incognito. But on a gala day one may his orders show. The garter does not deck my suit, but honored at at home is here the cloven foot, pursues thou yonder snail. It comets slow and steady, so delicately its feelers pry, that it had scented me already. I cannot hear this guy's me if I try. But come, we will go from this fire to a newer. I am the go-between, and thou the war. To some who are sitting around dying embers. O gentlemen, why at the outskirts, amter, I'd praise you if I found you snuggly in the centre, with ute and rebel round you like a jewel. To each at home are quite enough aloe. General, say who would put his trust in nations. However, for them one may have worked in plan, for with the people as with women, youth always has the upper hand. Minister. 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. Parvenu. We also were not stupid either, and what we should not often did. But now all things have from their basis lid, just as we meant to hold them fast together. Author. Who now? A work of moderate, since we'll 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. Mephistopheles, who all at once appears very old. I feel that men are ripe for judgment day. Now for the last time I have the witches he'll ascended. Since to the lease my cask is drained away. The walls as well must soon be ended. Huxter Witch. Ye gentlemen, don't pass me thus. Let not the chance neglected be. Behold my wares attentively. The stock is rare and various. And yet there's nothing I have collected. No shop on earth like this you'll find, which has not once soar hurt inflicted upon the world and on mankind. No daggers here that set not blood to flowing. No cup that hath not once, within a healthy frame, poured speedy death in poison glowing. No gems that hath not brought a maid to shame. No sword but severed ties for the unwary. Or from behind shrug down the adversary. Gosset. The time is thou badly comprehandest. What is done has apt. What haps is done. It are better if for novelty is thou sandest. By such alone can we be one. Let me not lose myself in all this father. This is a fair as never was another. The whirlpool swells above. Thou art choked thyself. Amazingly to show. But who is that? Not her especially. It is Lilith. Who? Adam's first wife is See. Beware the lure within her lovely traces. The splendid soul adornment of her hair. When she succeeds therewith a ute to snare. Not soon again she frees him from her chases. Those two, the old one with the young one sitting, they've danced already more than fitting. No rest tonight 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 their two fairest apples shone. They lured me so I climbed thereon. Huxter witch. 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. Dancing with the old one. A diesel dream once came to me. Therein I saw a cloven tree, which had a, yet as it was I fancied it. Old witch. You offer here my best salute unto the night with a cloven foot. Let him prepare if him does not scare. Proctofantasmist. A cursed folk, how dare you venture thus? Had you not long since, demonstration that ghosts can't stand an ordinary foundation. And now you even dance like one of us. Huxter witch. Dancing. Why does he come, then, to our ball? Dancing. Everywhere on him you fall. When others dance, he weighs the matter. If he can't every step be chatter, then tis the same as were the step not made. But if you forwards go, his ire is most displayed, and 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 enlightened word. The pack of devils by no rules is daunted. We are so wise, and yet is Tegel haunted. To clear the folly out, now have I swept and stirred. To will nare be cleaned, 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 practice it at all. The dance continues. Not will succeed. I see amid such rebels, 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 sit him in the nearest puddle. The soul is this, whereof he is most assured, and when upon his rump the litches hang and fuddle, he will be spirits and of spirit cure. To fouls to his left the dance. Wherefore forsakes to doubt 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 is nothing. One must not so squirm as be. To the mouse is not gray, yet not for thee. Who would think of that in love's selected season? Then saw I— What? Mephisto, seeest 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 margarite were she. Let the thing be. All thence have we withdrawn. It is a magic shape, a lifeless idle on. Such the encounter is not good. Their blanks at stare pinnumps the human blood, and one is almost on to stone. Medusa's tale to thee is known. For sooth 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. It is magic all, thou fool, said used so easily. A rich man his love see 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, to Mark I also know. Her head beneath her arms he will sometimes carry. But as Perseus lobbed it, her old adversary, the crevice to the same illusion steal. Come, let us mount this little hill. The preter shows no livelier's tear, and if they have not bewitched my sense, I verily say at Theater, what's going on? Servibulous! It will shortly recommence. A new performance is the last of seven. To give that number is the custom here. It was by a dilettante written, and dilettante in the parts appear, that now I vanish, pardon I entreat you, as dilettante I the curtain raise. When I upon the Blocksburg meet you, I find it good, for that is your proper place. End of Scene Twenty-One End of Section Scenes Twenty-Two to Twenty-Five 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 Twenty-Two Valpergus Knight's Dream Oberon and Titania's Golden Wedding Intermezzo Manager Sons of Miding Rest Today Needless your machinery Misty Veil and Mountain Grey That is all the scenery. Herald Let the wedding golden bee must fifty years be rounded, but the golden give to me when the strife's compounded. Oberon Spirits, if you're here, be seen. Show yourselves delighted. Bury king and fairy queen, they are newly blighted. Puck Cometh Puck and light of limb, whisks and wells in measure, come a hundred after him to share with him the pleasure. Aerial Aerial's song is heavenly pure, his tones are sweet and rare ones, though ugly faces he allure, yet he allures the fair ones. Oberon Falses, who would feign agree, learn how we were mated. If your pairs would loving be, first be separated. Titania If her wings less control and the men derail her, take him to the north end pole, and her to the equator. Orchestra Tutti, Fortissimo Snout of life, mosquito bill and kin of all commissions, Frog and grass and cricket thrill, these are the musicians. Solo See the bagpipe on our track, tease the soplon bubble, hear the schnickish-nickish-snack through his nostrils double. Spirit just growing into form. Spiders foot and punch of toad, and little wings we know him, a little creature twill not be, but yet a little poem. A little couple Little step and lofty leap through how you do in fragrance, you'll never mount the air steep with all your tripping fragrance. Inquisitive Traveller Ispid masquerading play, see I with precision. Oberon the beautyous fey meets tonight, my vision. Orthodox Not a claw, no tail I see, and yet beyond a cavill, like the gods of Greece, must he also be a devil. Northern Artist I only cease with sketchy air some outlines of the tourney, yet I be times myself prepared for my Italian journey. Purist My bad luck brings me here, alas, how roars the orgy louder, and of the witches in the mass, but only two wear powder. Young Witch, Huxter Witch Powder becomes, like petticoat, a gray and wrinkled knotty, so I sit naked on my goat, and show a shraping body. Matron Weave too much tact and policy to rate with jibes a scolder, yet young and tender though you be I hope to see you molder. Leader of the Band Fly snout a mosquito bill, don't swarm so round the naked. Dog in grass and cricket trill, observe the tide and make it. Weathercock Towards one side Society to one's desire, brides only in the sweetest, and bachelors of youth and fire, and prospects the completest. Towards the other side And if the earth don't open now, to swallow up each renter, why then will I myself, I bow, jump into hill, in stanza. Us, as little in sexy, with sharpest snippers footing, that our Papa Satan we may honour as is fitting. Hennings How, in crowds together massed, they are jesting shameless. They will even say at last that their hearts are blameless. Musa Jets Among this witch's revelry his way one gladly loses, and truly it would easy to be, than to command the muses. C'est devant, genius of the age. The Papa folks one's talents laud, come on and nunchop ass us. The Blocksburg has a summit broad, like Germany's Parnassus. Inquisitive Traveller Say, who's that stiff and pompous man? He walks with haughty paces. He snuffles all he snuffle can. He scents the Jesuits' traces. Crane 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. Wildling Yes, for the pious I suspect all instruments are fitting, and on the Blocksburg they erect for many a place of meeting. Dancer A newer chorus now succeeds, I hear the distant drumming, don't be disturbed, tis in the reeds the bittern's changeless booming. Dancing Master How each his legs in nimble trip lifts up, and makes a clearance. The crooked jump, the heaviest kip, nor care for the appearance. Good fellow The rabble by such height are held to maim and sleigh delights them. As orfeous lie the brutes compel, the bagpap here unites them. Dogmatist I'll not be led by any lure of doubts or critic cabals. The devil must be something sure, or how should there be devils? Idealist This once the fancy wrought in me is really too despotic, for sooth, if I am all I see I must be idiotic. Realist This racking fuss on every hand, it gives me great vexation, and for the first time here I stand on insecure foundation. Supernaturalist With much delight I see the play, and grant to these their merits, since from the devils I also may infer the better spirits. Skeptic 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. Leader of the band Frog in green and cricket-trill, such dilatants, perdition, lies now to end mosquito-bill, each one's a fine musician. Be adroit Sound sucy, we call the clan, of merry creatures so then. Go afoot, no more, if we can, and on our heads we go then. The awkward Once many a bit we sponged, but now God help us, that is done with. Our shoes are all danced out, we throw, we've but naked souls to run with. Willow the wisp From the marshes we appear where we originated, yet in the ranks at once we're here, as glittering gallants raided. Shooting star Darting hither from the sky, in star and fire-light shooting, crosswise now in grass I lie, who'll help me to my footing? The heavy fellows Room and round the bodice room, trod and hard of grasses, spirits also, spirits come, and they are our bulky masses. Puck Enter not so stalfed quite, like elephant calves about one, and the heaviest weight tonight to be Puck himself, the stout one. Aerial If loving nature at your back or mind the wings uncloses, follow up my airy track to the mount of roses. Orchestra Pianissimo Cloud and train, mist or head are now illuminated, air and leaves that wind in need, and all is dissipated. Scene 23 Dreary Day A field In misery, in despair, long wretchedly astray on the face of the earth, and now imprisoned, that gracious ill-starred creature shot in a dungeon as a criminal, and given up to fearful torments. To this has it come, to this treacherous contemptible spirit, and now has concealed it from me. And then, stand, roll the devilish eyes wrathfully in my head. Stand and defy me with thine intolerable presence, imprisoned in irretrievable misery, delivered up to evil spirits and to condemning unfeeling man. And now has lulled me, meanwhile, with the most insipid dissipations, has concealed from me her increasing wretchedness, and suffered her to get hopelessly to ruin. She's not the first. Dog! Abominable monster! Transform him, thou infinite spirit! Transform the reptile again into his dog-shape, in which it pleased him often at night to scamper before me, to roll himself at the feet of the unsuspecting wanderer, and hang upon his shoulders when he fell. Transform him again into his favorite likeness, that he may crawl upon his belly in the dust before me, that I may trample him, the outlawed underfoot. Not the first! Oh, woe! Woe which no human soul can grasp, that more than one being should sink into the depths of this misery! But the first, in its writhing death-agony under the eyes of the eternal forgiver, did not expiate the guilt of all others. The misery of this single one pierces to the very marrow of my life, and thou art calmly grinning at the fate of thousands. Now we are already again at the end of our wits, where the understanding of human runs wild. Why did thou enter into fellowship with us, if thou canst not carry it out? Would fly and art not secure against dizziness? Did we trust ourselves upon thee, or douth thyself upon us? Nash not thus thy devouring teeth at me! It fills me with horrible disgust. Bloody glorious spirit, who has vouchsafe to me thine apparition, who knowest my heart and my soul, why fetter me to the felon comrade who feeds on mischief, and gluts himself with ruin? Has thou done? Rescue her, or woe to thee! The fearfulest curse be upon thee for thousands of ages! I cannot loosen the bonds of the Avenger, nor undo his balls. Rescue her! Who was it that plunged her into ruin? I, or thou? Faust looks around wildly. Well, thou grasp the time, dear. Well, but it has not been given to you, miserable mortals, to crust to pieces, the innocent respondent. That is the tyrant fashion of relieving oneself in embarrassments. Take me, thither. She shall be free. Under danger to which thou wilt expose thyself. Know that the guilt of blood from thy hand still lies upon the town. Avenging spirits hover over the spot where the victim fell, and lie in wait for the returning mother. That too from thee, murder and death of a world upon thee, monster. Take me, thither, I say, and liberate her. I will convey thee there, and hear what I can do. Have I all the power in heaven and on earth? I will be clouded the jailer's senses, get position of the king, and lead her forth with human hand. I will keep watch. The magic steeds are ready. I will carry you off. So much is in my power. Up and away! Scene 24 Night, open field. Faust and Mephistopheles speeding onward on black horses. What weave they there round the raven stone? I know not what they are brewing and doing. Soaring up, sweeping down, bowing and bending. A witch's guild. They scatter, devote, and doom. On, on. Scene 25 Dungeon, Faust with a bunch of keys and a lamp before an iron door. A shudder, long unfelt, comes o'er me. Mankind's collected woe overwhelms me here. She dwells within the dark, damp walls before me, and all her crime was a delusion, dear. What? I delay to free her? I dread once again to see her? On! My shrinking but linger's death more near. He grasps the lock. The sound of singing is heard inside. Margaret, singing. My mother, the harlot, who put me to death. My father, the vallet, who eaten me hath. Little sister, so good, laid my bones in the wood. In the damp morse and clay, there was I a beautiful bird of the wood. Fly away, fly away. Faust unlocking. She does not dream her lover listens near, that he, the rattling chain, the rustling straw, can hear. He enters, hiding herself on the pallet. Woe, woe, they come, O death of bitterness! Whispering. Hush! The hour has come that frees thee! Throwing herself before him. Art thou a man, then pity my distress. Thy cries will wake the guards, and they will seize thee. He takes hold of the fetters to unlock them. On her knees. Two headsmen unto thee such power over me could give. Thou art come for me at midnight hour. Have mercy on me. Let me live. Is not soon enough when morning chime has run. She rises. And yet I am so young, so young, and now death comes and ruin. I too was fair, and that was my undoing. My love was near, but now he's far. One lies the wreath, scattered the blossoms are. Seize me not thus so violently. Spare me. What have I done to thee? Let me not vainly entreat thee. I never chanced in all my days to meet thee. Shall I outlive this misery? Now am I wholly in thy might. But let me suckle, first, my baby. I blissed it all this life long night. They took away, to vex me, maybe. And now they say I killed the child outright, and never shall I be glad again. They sing songs about me, it is bad of the folk to do it. There's an old story has the same refrain. Who bade them so construe it? Falling upon his knees. Here lieth one who loves thee ever, the thralldom of thy woe to sever. Flinging herself beside him. O let us kneel and call the saints to hide us, under the steps beside us, the threshold under, hell heaves in thunder, the evil one with terrible wrath, seeketh a path, his prey to discover. Allowed. Margaret. Margaret. Attentively listening. That was the voice of my lover. She springs to her feet, the fetters fall off. Where is he? I heard him call me. I am free, no one shall enthrall me. To his neck will I fly, on his bosom lie. On the threshold he stood, and Margaret, calling. Midst of hell's howling and noises appalling, midst of the wrathful infernal derision. I knew the sweet sound of the voice of the vision. Tis I. Tis thou, O say it once again. Clusping him. Tis he, tis he. Where now is all my pain? The anguish of the dungeon, and the chain. Tis thou, thou comest to save me. And I am saved, again the street I see, where first I looked on thee. And the garden, brightly blooming, where I and Martha wait thy coming. Struggling to leave. Come, come with me. Delay now. So feign I stay, when thou delayest. Caressing him. Away now. If longer here thou stayest, we shall be made to dearly rue it. Kiss me. Can'ts no longer do it. My friend, so short a time thou art missing, and hast unlearn thy kissing. Why is my heart so anxious on thy breast? Where once a heaven thy glances did create me, a heaven thy loving words expressed, and thou didst kiss as thou would suffocate me? Kiss me. Or I'll kiss thee. She embraces him. Oh, woe, thy lips are chill and still. How changed in fashion thy passion, who has done me this ill? She turns away from him. Come, follow me, my darling, be more bold. I'll clasp thee soon with warmth a thousandfold, but follow now, tis all I beg of thee. Turning to him. And is it thou? Thou, surely, certainly? Tis I, come on! Thou wilt unloose my chain, and in thy lap wilt thou take me once again. How comes it that thou dost not shrink from me? Say, dost thou know, my friend, whom thou makest free? Come, come, the night already vanisheth. My mother have I put to death. I've drowned the baby born to thee. Was it not given to thee and me? Thee, too, tis thou, it scarcely true doth seem. Give me thy hand, tis not a dream, thy dear, dear hand. But, ah, tis wet. Why, wipe it off, me thinks that yet there's blood thereon. Ah, God, what has thou done? Nay, sheath thy sword at last. Do not affray me. O, let the past be past. Thy words will slay me. No, no, thou must outlive us. Now, I'll tell thee the graves to give us. Thou must begin tomorrow, the work of Zorro, the best place give my mother, then closer to her side my brother, and me a little away. But not too very far, I pray. And here, on my right breast, my baby lay. Nobody else will lie beside me. Ah, within thine arms to hide me. That was a sweet and gracious bliss. But no more, no more can I attain it. I would force myself on thee and constrain it. And it seems thou repelest my kiss. And yet, tis thou, so good, so kind to see. If thou feelst it is I, then come with me. Out yonder. To freedom. If the grave is there, death lying in wait, then come. From here to eternal rest, no further step. No, no, thou goest away. O, Henry, if I could go. Thou canst. Just will it. Open stands the door. I dare not go. There's no hope any more. Why should I fly? Thou still my steps way lay. It is so wretched, forced to beg my living. And a bad conscience, sharp and misery-giving. It is so wretched to be strange, forsaken. And I'd still be followed and taken. I'll stay with thee. Be quick. Be quick. Save thy perishing child away. Follow the ridge, up by the brook, over the bridge, into the wood, to the left, where the plank is placed, in the pool, seize it in haste, to his trying to rise, to his struggling still. Save it! Save it! Recall thy wandering will, one step, and thou art free at last. If the mountain we had only passed, there sits my mother upon a stone. I feel an icy shiver. There sits my mother upon a stone. And her head is wagging ever. She beckons. She nods not. Her heavy head falls o'er. She slept so long that she wakes no more. She slept while we were caressing. Ah! Those were the days of blessing. Hear words and prayers are nothing worth. I'll venture then to bear thee forth. No. Let me go. I'll suffer no force. Grasp me not so murderously. I've done else, all things for the love of thee. The day dawns. Dearest, dearest! Day? Yes. The day comes. The last day breaks for me. My wedding day it was to be. Tell no one thou has been with Margaret. Woe for my garland. The chances are over. Tis all in vain. We shall meet once again. But not at the dances. The crowd is thronging. No word is spoken. The square below and the streets overflow. The death-bell tolls. The wand is broken. I am seized and bound and delivered, shoved to the block. They give the sign. Now over each neck has quivered, the blade that is quivering over mine. Some lies the world, like the grave. Oh, had I never been born. Appears outside. Off! Are you a lost ear-mourn? Useless talking to laying and praying. My horses are mying. The morning twilight is near. What rises up from the threshold here? He! He! Suffer him not! What does he want in this holy spot? He seeks me! Thou shalt live! Judgment of God, myself to thee I give. To Faust. Come, or I'll leave hide the large and thee. Thine am I, Father. Rescue me. Ye angels, holy cohorts, guard me. Camp around and from evil ward me. Henry, I shudder to think of thee. She is judged. From above. She is saved. To Faust. Hither to me. He disappears with Faust. From within, dying away. End of Scene 25. End of Faust, Part One by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, translated by Bayard Taylor.