 | Goethe's Faust : First Part |  |
144
SCENE XIX.
Night.A Street. Before Gretchen's door.
Valentine
(a soldier, Gretchen's brother.)
When at a drinking-bout I have sat,
Where many bragged of this and that,
And fellows loudly praised to me
Some flower of maiden modesty,
In a full bumper pledged their Toast
Propt on their elbows made their boast;
I sat secure my heart at rest,
Heard all their swagger, as round they pressed,
And stroked my beard, as with a smile
I lifted the full glass in my hand,
And said: “Each after his own style!
But is there one in all the land
With my dear Gretel can compare,
Hold to my Sister a candle who dare?
“Hear! hear! cling! clang!” so it went round
Some cried: He's right, and right is he,
The jewel of all her sex is she!
There sat each toaster in silent stound.
And now—I could pluck out my hair,
Try to run up the steep wall there!
Each scoundrel now, with taunt and sneer,
Will heap vile insults on me here!
Like some base debtor must I sit,
Each chance word give me a sweating fit!
But, though I made mincemeat of them all,
None of them liars could I call.
Where many bragged of this and that,
And fellows loudly praised to me
Some flower of maiden modesty,
In a full bumper pledged their Toast
Propt on their elbows made their boast;
I sat secure my heart at rest,
Heard all their swagger, as round they pressed,
And stroked my beard, as with a smile
I lifted the full glass in my hand,
And said: “Each after his own style!
But is there one in all the land
With my dear Gretel can compare,
Hold to my Sister a candle who dare?
“Hear! hear! cling! clang!” so it went round
Some cried: He's right, and right is he,
The jewel of all her sex is she!
There sat each toaster in silent stound.
And now—I could pluck out my hair,
Try to run up the steep wall there!
Each scoundrel now, with taunt and sneer,
Will heap vile insults on me here!
Like some base debtor must I sit,
Each chance word give me a sweating fit!
But, though I made mincemeat of them all,
None of them liars could I call.
But who comes here, stealing from view?
If I mistake not, there are two.
Is't he, I'll soon grip him by the skin,
Alive from this place he shall not win!
145
Is't he, I'll soon grip him by the skin,
Alive from this place he shall not win!
Enter Faust and Mephistopheles.
Faust.
How from the window of the sacristy
Light from the ne'er-quenched lamp there upward shimmers,
And weak and weaker on all sides glimmers,
Till swallowed in the darkness quite.
So in my breast gathers the night.
Mephistopheles.
Like a lean cat I seem to be,
That up the fireman's ladder creeps,
Slinks round the wall, 'ere on he leaps.
Meanwhile I feel, quite virtuously,
A spark of thievish joy, and rammish lust in me.
So haunts me, through each limb and vein,
Magnificent Walpurga's-night!
But two nights hence 'twill come again,
One knows why one wakes there by weird moonlight.
Faust.
Does not the treasure now rise into sight
For I see something glimmering bright?
Mephistopheles.
You soon can experience true joy of soul,
Lifting the offertory bowl.
Just lately, when I squinted in it,
There were splendid lion-dollars within it.
Faust.
But not a jewel, not a ring,
Wherewith my dear Mistress to adorn?
Mephistopheles.
I saw in it some such pretty thing,
As a necklace of pearls no wench would scorn.
146
Then all is right! It works me woe,
When without a present to her I go.
Mephistopheles.
Well, it should give you no annoy,
Gratis another treat to enjoy.
Now, while the starry heaven glows
You'll hear a real work of art.
I'll sing her a moral song I chose,
Surelier to befool her heart. (He sings to the zither.)
Why stand before
Thy lover's door,
Kätchen once more,
Ere dawn in day is fading?
Win past the gin,
He'll let thee in,
As maiden in
And out no more a maiden.
Thy lover's door,
Kätchen once more,
Ere dawn in day is fading?
Win past the gin,
He'll let thee in,
As maiden in
And out no more a maiden.
Ah! then take heed,
When done the deed,
Good night, ill speed,
Poor jades when wedlock lingers!
Love your good name,
Play no sly game,
And keep Love tame,
Till rings are on your fingers.
When done the deed,
Good night, ill speed,
Poor jades when wedlock lingers!
Love your good name,
Play no sly game,
And keep Love tame,
Till rings are on your fingers.
Valentine
(coming forward.)
Whom lur'st thou here? By the Element!
Accurst ratcatcher, ware my whinger!
To the Devil first with the instrument!
Then to the Devil with the singer!
Mephistopheles.
The zither's smashed, to pot may go the shreds!
Valentine.
Now comes the game of splitting heads!
147
Herr Doctor, don't give ground! and quick!
Here to me, follow my lead, don't tarry!
Out with your whisk now, that's the trick!
Do you but thrust and I will parry.
Valentine.
Then parry this!
Mephistopheles.
And wherefore not?
Valentine.
This too
Mephistopheles.
Of course!
Valentine.
I think the Devil fights here!
But what is this? Already my hand grows lame.
Mephistopheles
(to Faust.)
Thrust home!
Valentine
(falls.)
Wo's me!
Mephistopheles.
Now is the lubber tame!
But now off! We must vanish ere they wake
For soon the cry of “Murder!” they will raise.
With the police I get on well always,
But for sheer murder terms could never make.
Martha
(at the window.)
Come out! come out!
Gretchen
(at the window.)
Here! Bring a light.
148
(as above.)
They wrangle, rage, they shout and fight.
The Crowd.
Already one lies dead!
Martha
(coming out.)
The murderers, have they already flown?
Gretchen.
Who lies here?
The Crowd.
'Tis thy Mother's son.
Gretchen.
Almighty! what misery!
Valentine.
I'm dying! That's soon said, I trow,
And sooner yet 'tis done.
Women, why stand ye, and shriek and moan?
Come hither, and hear me now!
(All crowd round him.)
My Gretchen, see! Still young art thou,
And art not yet discreet enow,
Thou art in evil plight.
I tell thee in confidence, no more:
Than this: thou art once for all a whore;
Then ply thy trade aright.
Gretchen.
My brother! God! Why this to me?
Valentine.
Leave our Lord God out of the spree.
What's done, alas! is done, and so
How go it can, e'en let it go.
With one in secret didst thou begin,
And soon with others thou wilt sin,
And when a dozen feres thou hast,
Then the whole town may have thee at last.
What's done, alas! is done, and so
How go it can, e'en let it go.
With one in secret didst thou begin,
And soon with others thou wilt sin,
149
Then the whole town may have thee at last.
When Shame is first conceived and born,
Secretly comes she to the world's light,
One draws the curtains of the night
O'er head and ears in scorn;
Ay, one would gladly strangle her there.
But still she grows, claims greater sway,
And then goes naked even by day,
And yet grows not more fair to sight.
The uglier grows her loathsome face,
The more by daylight she courts disgrace.
I see it, soon surely the time will come
When townsfolk, with pure wives at home,
As from an infectious corpse will flee
From thee, thou brazen strumpet, thee!
The heart in thy body will breed despair,
When folk shall stare thee in the face!
No gold chain henceforth shalt thou wear,
Nor in church at the altar take thy place!
That fine lace-collar upon thee there,
No more light-hearted to dances fare!
In some dark, miserable hole
With beggars and cripples hide, cheek by jole:
And even if God should pardon thee,
Be on this earth accurst by me!
Secretly comes she to the world's light,
One draws the curtains of the night
O'er head and ears in scorn;
Ay, one would gladly strangle her there.
But still she grows, claims greater sway,
And then goes naked even by day,
And yet grows not more fair to sight.
The uglier grows her loathsome face,
The more by daylight she courts disgrace.
I see it, soon surely the time will come
When townsfolk, with pure wives at home,
As from an infectious corpse will flee
From thee, thou brazen strumpet, thee!
The heart in thy body will breed despair,
When folk shall stare thee in the face!
No gold chain henceforth shalt thou wear,
Nor in church at the altar take thy place!
That fine lace-collar upon thee there,
No more light-hearted to dances fare!
In some dark, miserable hole
With beggars and cripples hide, cheek by jole:
And even if God should pardon thee,
Be on this earth accurst by me!
Martha.
Your soul needs mercy, and God's dear grace,
Will you burden it now with slander base?
Valentine.
Could I grip thy dry carcase of skin and bone,
Thou scandalous, bawdy, trafficking crone,
For all my sins of every kind
Full pardon I might hope to find.
Gretchen.
My Brother! What hellish pain for me!
150
I say, let all this weeping be!
When thou forsworest honour for lust,
Thou gavest my heart its deadliest thrust.
I go, through the sleep of death in the grave,
To God, a soldier true and brave. (Dies.)
| Goethe's Faust : First Part | |