 | Faustus, A Dramatic Mystery ; The Bride of Corinth ; The First Walpurgis Night |  |
130
SET OF MERRY COMPANIONS.
Frosch.
Is no one laughing?—no one drinking?
Come, come, a truce to sober thinking!
Hang these long faces—come, be sprightly!
What, you that used to blaze so brightly!
All dull and damp—smoking together
Like dunghill straw in rainy weather?
Brander.
'Tis your fault that we are not jolly—
Have you no beastliness, no folly
To treat us to to-night?
Frosch
(throws a glass of wine over Brander's head).
Have both.
Brander.
Brute that you are! Were I not loth—
Frosch.
You got but what you asked me for.
131
Come, come, we'll have no civil war—
We'll have no difference of opinion
In this our absolute dominion.
Whoever quarrels, kick him out—
Now raise the chorus round about—
Lift every voice, and swill, and shout—
With holla—holla—ho!
Altmayer.
Help! help! I am lost—bring me cotton! the cheers
Will split open my skull, and play hell with my ears.
Siebel.
When the arches ring again,
We feel the bass in full power then.
Frosch.
Right, right, say I, with all my heart;
If any one in evil part
Takes any thing, that here is done,
Why, kick him out, the bitch's son.
Altmayer.
A tara—lara—da.
132
All throats are tuned.
(Sings.)
The holy Romish empire now,
How does it hold together?
How does it hold together?
Brander.
A nasty song—psha!—a political song—
A most offensive song. Thank God each day,
Rising from bed, that you have nought to say
With governing this Romish empire; I
Greatly rejoice and bless my stars therefore,
I am not Emperor or Chancellor;
Still I see no sufficient reason why
We should not have a ruler;—I propose
That we elect a Pope—what qualification
Should mark a candidate for consecration,
All of ye know.
Frosch
(sings).
Greet her, Lady Nightingale,
Greet my love ten thousand times.
Siebel.
Love-meetings and greetings—let us not hear of them.
133
Love-greetings and meetings—who can keep clear of them?
(Sings.)
Undo the door in stilly night—
Open latch—thy love keeps watch;
For thy sake—is he awake,
Shut-to the door at morning's light.
Open latch—thy love keeps watch;
For thy sake—is he awake,
Shut-to the door at morning's light.
Siebel.
Yes! sing, sing on—a little while sing on!
Sing her sweet praises!—I will laugh anon.
Me she deceived, and thee she is deceiving,
Devil that she is—whom there is no believing—
Has played the same tricks with each man that sought her—
I wish some goblin of the forest caught her
On a cross-road—or that, from the witch-dances
On Blocksberg, trotting home, an old buck-goat,
With his long-bearded chin and meg-a-geg throat,
Made up to her—'tis some such brute she fancies;—
A young fellow of proper flesh and blood,
To be thus thrown away were far too good;
From me no serenading should she gain,
Other than dashing in each window-pane.
134
(striking on the table).
Silence there—silence—all attend to me—
Gentlemen, I know life, and how to live;
And, as some of us seem in love to be,
A song for love-sick people will I give.
Your merry singer is the best physician
For a poor devil in such sad condition.
Here all of you attend—come, cease your chattering—
And listen to a song of the first pattern—
And all join in the chorus:—
(Sings.)
Once in a cellar lived a rat,
Whose paunch each day grew smoother;
He dined on butter, supped on fat,
And looked like Doctor Luther.
The cook put poison in his way,
And when our poor rat tasted it,
He felt a cramping in his heart,
As fierce as if Love wasted it.
As fierce as if Love wasted it.
Whose paunch each day grew smoother;
He dined on butter, supped on fat,
And looked like Doctor Luther.
The cook put poison in his way,
And when our poor rat tasted it,
He felt a cramping in his heart,
As fierce as if Love wasted it.
As fierce as if Love wasted it.
And he ran round, and out he ran,
And looking for a cure, he
Drank at each puddle, gnawed, and scratched,
And raved in perfect fury.
In pain he fell—in pain he sprang,
The cook with pleasure gazed at it;
Poor creature felt at heart a pang,
As fierce as if Love wasted it.
As fierce as if Love wasted it.
And looking for a cure, he
Drank at each puddle, gnawed, and scratched,
And raved in perfect fury.
135
The cook with pleasure gazed at it;
Poor creature felt at heart a pang,
As fierce as if Love wasted it.
As fierce as if Love wasted it.
And torture drove him at noon-day
To run into the kitchen;
He fell down on the hearth, and lay
Convulsing there and screeching.
Loud laughed the cook to see him sprawl
In death, and feel she hasted it:
Ha! ha! quoth she, your heart is gone,
As sure as if Love wasted it.
As sure as if Love wasted it.
To run into the kitchen;
He fell down on the hearth, and lay
Convulsing there and screeching.
Loud laughed the cook to see him sprawl
In death, and feel she hasted it:
Ha! ha! quoth she, your heart is gone,
As sure as if Love wasted it.
As sure as if Love wasted it.
Siebel.
How the heavy logs enjoy it,
As if a rat had nothing good,
And 'twere a virtue to destroy it.
Brander.
The rats, it seems, are special favourites;
Creatures of generous gentle blood,
And hold high place in your good graces.
Altmayer.
Old baldpate, with the paunch there,—how his wits
Are gone!—to him the rat's case his own case is—
136
Then the poor thing in death convulsions rolling—
No wonder it should jar and strike
Upon his nerves—it is too like.
Mephistopheles and Faustus enter.
Mephistopheles
(in conversation with Faustus).
—And first I feel anxiety,
To show you our “Society
Of merry fellows;”—free and gay,
Regular rioters are they,
And their whole life is holiday;
The requisites for happiness
Are few, are—what these men possess:
With lively spirits—self-conceit—
And little, very little wit—
'Tis the same life, the whole year round,
The self-same set together found;—
Each night, their songs—their drink—their game—
Their mirth—their very jests the same;
And as its tail diverts a kitten,
So they with their own jokes are smitten:
They ask no more than thus to sup—
Without a head-ache to get up—
And while the host will credit give
Are satisfied—and thus they live!
137
They're travellers off a journey, you may see it
In their odd manners—are not here an hour.
Frosch.
You're right, quite right! Leipzig, say I, for ever!
Leipzig's a little Paris in itself:
You'd know our Leipzig people any where.
Their manners are so finished.
Siebel.
But these strangers,
What, think you, are they?
Frosch.
Only wait a moment—
In the twinkle of a bumper I will tell you—
I'll worm it out of them as easily
As draw an infant's tooth: let me alone
For managing them: I guess that they belong
To the nobility, they look so haughty,
So distant,—you would almost say—displeased.
Brander.
They are mountebanks, I'll lay you any wager.
Altmayer.
Probably.
138
See if I don't screw it out.
Mephistopheles
(to Faustus).
Always the same, they never scent the devil,
Even when he has them by the nape of the neck.
Faustus.
Your servant, gentlemen—
Siebel.
Thanks, sir, and yours— (Looking at Mephistopheles, in a low tone.)
The fellow limps a little on one foot.
Mephistopheles.
Will you permit us to sit down with you,
And for good wine, which cannot be had here,
Give us the pleasure of good company?
Altmayer.
You seem a most fastidious gentleman.
Frosch.
You are lately come from Rippach, are you not, sirs?—
Have been at supper with old Hans to-night?
139
To-day we did not stop;—last time we spoke to him
He told us some good stories of his cousins—
And sent his compliments to each of you.
Altmayer.
A home thrust that—the fellow's not to be done.
Siebel.
He knows the world, and how to make out life.
Frosch.
Wait, wait, until—I'll have him before long.
Mephistopheles.
Was I deceived, for just as we came in
We heard, or thought we heard, a merry chorus
Of practised voices?—what a rich effect
Music must have along this vaulted roof.
Frosch.
You are a virtuoso then—
Mephistopheles.
Oh, no!
My skill is next to none—but I love music.
140
Give us a song—
Mephistopheles.
A hundred, if you please.
Siebel.
Something original—something brand-new.
Mephistopheles.
We're just returned from Spain, romantic Spain,
The land of wine and song.
(Sings.)
Once on a time there was a king,
A lovely queen had he—
But dearer far than queen or son,
He loved a big black flea.
A lovely queen had he—
But dearer far than queen or son,
He loved a big black flea.
Frosch.
A flea! is it possible I heard him right?
A flea! oh, what a guest to grace a palace!
[Mephistopheles]
Once on a time, there was a king,
A lovely queen had he—
But dearer far than queen or son,
He loved a big black flea!
141
Who measures him, and stitches
A coat for the young favourite,
And a little pair of breeches.
Brander.
Forget not, sire, to charge the tailor strictly
That they be well and fashionably made—
And as he sets a value on his head,
That he shall leave no seam, or plait, or wrinkle!
Mephistopheles.
Of silk and satin were the clothes
Our young lord looked so fine in—
He sported ribands—and a cross
Upon his breast was shining!
Soon Minister, he wore a star,
Lived splendidly and gaily,
His poor relations all got place,
And thronged the palace daily.
Our young lord looked so fine in—
He sported ribands—and a cross
Upon his breast was shining!
Soon Minister, he wore a star,
Lived splendidly and gaily,
His poor relations all got place,
And thronged the palace daily.
And Queen and Maid got bites and stings,
And were afraid to scratch 'em;
They cursed the flea and all his kin,
But did not dare to catch 'em!
But we, if we get sting or bite,
None hinders us to scratch 'em;
And if the fleas be troublesome,
We kill them when we catch 'em.
And were afraid to scratch 'em;
They cursed the flea and all his kin,
But did not dare to catch 'em!
But we, if we get sting or bite,
None hinders us to scratch 'em;
And if the fleas be troublesome,
We kill them when we catch 'em.
Chorus.
—And if, &c.
142
Bravo! bravo! that was excellent.
Siebel.
We'll catch and play the devil with the fleas.
Brander.
With pointed nail and finger, pressed together.
Altmayer.
Freedom and Wine for ever!—Wine and Freedom!
Mephistopheles.
Willingly would I drink long life to Freedom;
But that your wines are execrably bad.
Siebel.
You must not venture to say this again!
Mephistopheles.
Only I fear to vex our worthy host,
I'd give you something better from our cellars.
Siebel.
Out with it then. I'll take the blame on me.
143
Pour out a bumper if you wish to please us—
None of your sample thimblefuls for me—
When I try wine, I like a deep long draught—
That is the only way to judge of it.
Altmayer
(in a low voice).
I've strong suspicions they are from the Rhine.
Mephistopheles.
Bring me a gimlet.
Brander.
What to do with it?—
You cannot have your wine-casks at the door.
Altmayer.
Behind, there, is the landlord's chest of tools.
Mephistopheles
(taking up the gimlet).
Now say what wine you wish.
Frosch.
What do you mean?
Have you so many?
Mephistopheles.
Each may choose his favourite.
144
(to Frosch).
Ha! you begin to lick your lips already.
Frosch.
Well then, if I may choose, I'll take the Rhenish:
The best gifts we receive are from our country.
Mephistopheles
(boring a hole in the edge of the table opposite Frosch's seat).
Now get a little wax—and make some stoppers.
Altmayer.
'Tis plain that they are jugglers.
Mephistopheles
(to Brander).
Sir, your choice?
Brander.
I'll have Champagne—sparkling Champagne for me!
[Mephistopheles bores again; one of the party has in the mean time prepared the wax stoppers and stopped the gimlet holes.
Brander.
One cannot always do without the Foreigner—
But give him to me in the shape of wine.
145
A Frenchman—but their wines are excellent.
Siebel
(as Mephistopheles approaches his seat).
I'd have you know I hate all acid wines—
Give me a glass of genuine sweet!
Mephistopheles.
Tokay
Then let it be.
Altmayer.
No, gentlemen, this won't do!
Now look me straight in the face, old mountebank:
I see you but bamboozle us!—
Mephistopheles.
Yes! yes!
A very likely story—to play tricks
On noble guests like you! now fast—make ready—
Out with the word—pray, sir, what shall I give you?—
Altmayer.
Any and all! whatever I can get.
(After all the holes are bored and stopped, Mephistopheles, with strange gestures.)
Grapes are of the vine-branch born;
The buck-goat's is a branch of horn
146
The wooden board yields wine as good.
All is clear to him that seeth—
Lift the veil and look beneath,
It is but a deeper glance
Under Nature's countenance—
Now behold—your prophet saith—
Miracles—if you have faith.
Every man draw up his stopper,
And drink such wine as he thinks proper.
All
(as they draw the stoppers, and the wine each has chosen runs into his glass).
Flow on, bright rill—flow on and fill
Our hearts with joy—flow on at will!
Mephistopheles.
Drink—but be cautious how you spill:
There's danger if a drop but falls.
[They drink repeatedly.
All
(sing).
That we will—that we will!—
Happy as the cannibals:
Like five hundred swine we swill.
Mephistopheles.
Look at them, they're the happiest of men.
147
Take me away—I'll not come here again.
Mephistopheles.
Wait till you see them in their glory:
We'll soon have fun!
Siebel
(drinking carelessly, spills some of the wine, which turns to flame).
Help, help! fire, fire!—Hell fire!
Mephistopheles.
Down, friendly Element!—be still, I say—
—This time 'twas but a drop of purgatory!
Siebel.
What means the fellow? Damn him—he shall pay
Dearly for this: you'd think he did not know us.
Frosch
(to Mephistopheles).
Better take care no tricks like this to show us.
Altmayer.
The sooner we get rid of him the better—
There's nothing to be had from such a debtor.
148
You, sir, are guilty of strange impropriety;
Playing your mountebank pranks in such society.
Mephistopheles.
Silence, old wine-tub!
Siebel.
Broomstick! one would think
He might rest satisfied with these feats of his,
Without being impudent into the bargain.
Brander.
Be silent, and thankful that we do not flog you!
Altmayer
(draws a stopper out of the table; fire flies out).
I'm burnt—I'm burning!
Siebel.
Kill him—kill the scoundrel!
He's a magician!—Kill him! he's fair game!
[They draw their knives and attack Mephistopheles.
Mephistopheles
(with solemn gestures).
Wandering voices mock the ear!
Forms, that phantoms are, appear!
149
Be ye there! and be ye here!
[They stand gazing on each other in amazement.
Altmayer.
Where am I?—in what lovely land?
Frosch.
What a show of vineyards near!
Siebel.
Clustering grapes invite the hand.
Brander.
See them through the green leaves here—
Ripe and heavy—look at them;—
Oh! what grapes—and such a stem!
[He seizes Siebel by the nose. The others do the same one with the other, and are raising their knives.
Mephistopheles
(as from above).
Clouds of Error pass away!
See ye how the Devil can play!
Let each startled reveller
See who plays the Devil here.
[Vanishes with Faustus. The fellows start back from one another.
150
What's this?
Altmayer.
How's this?
Frosch.
Is this your nose?
Brander
(to Siebel).
And yours, on which my fingers close?
Altmayer.
I feel the shock through every limb;
A chair!—I faint!—my eyes grow dim!
Frosch.
What is the matter with you all?
Siebel.
Where is he? what's become of him?
If I can catch him, how I shall—
Altmayer.
Catch him, indeed! 'tis easy trying
To deal with such—I saw him flying
151
You may as well give up the task:
Cold, cold as lead these feet of mine
Are grown.— (Turning towards the table.)
We've lost our well of wine.
Siebel.
All was deception—trick—design!
Frosch.
Yet, what I drank, I thought was wine!
Brander.
The ripe grapes too—did they deceive?
—Who after this can but believe?
| Faustus, A Dramatic Mystery ; The Bride of Corinth ; The First Walpurgis Night | |