University of Virginia Library

SCENE XXI.

Walpurga's Night. Hartz Mountains.
Region of Schirke and Elend.
Faust and Mephistopheles.
Mephistopheles.
Are you not longing for a broomstick, eh!
I wish I had a stout buck-goat for steed.
By this rough path our goal is far away.

Faust.
So long as still untired my limbs can play,
This knotty stick will serve my need.
What boots it to cut short the road?—
Through all these labyrinthine valleys creeping,
Then o'er these rocks climbing and leaping.
Whence evermore the bubbling spring has flowed,
On such a path this relish serves as goad!
Spring stirs already in the birk,
And even the pines can feel her now,
Must she not eke be in our limbs at work?

Mephistopheles.
No trace of this I feel, I trow!
'Tis winter still within my carcase;
Snow, frost, upon my path I wish to see.
How sadly now the moon's red crescent mounts yonder,
And shines so feebly, that gainst rock and tree,
At every step you stumble on your way.
But let me hail a wisp-light, pray!
I see one there that now burns lustily.
Ho there, my friend! May I beg thee to come hither?
Be good enough to light us now up thither,
Why shouldst thou thus uselessly flare?

Will-o'-the-Wisp.
With all respect, I hope I may be able
To curb my nature so unstable;
By zig-zags, though, we usually fare.

Mephistopheles.
Ho! ho! ye would ape men, who do the same.
Go straight for once, in the Devil's name!
Or thy poor flickering life I'll soon blow out.

Will-o'-the-Wisp.
You are our Clan's great Chief, I have no doubt
I'll do my best to suit your paces.
Think, though, the mountain's magic-mad to-night,
And, if a Will-o'-the-Wisp must now guide you aright,
You must go round a bit in places.

Faust, Mephistopheles, Will-o'-the-Wisp,
(in alternate Song.)

Mephistopheles.
Grip my skirt with grip not weak,
Here we are on the midmost peak
Where one astounded may behold
How in the mountain glows Mammon's gold.

Faust.

Mephistopheles.
Does not Lord Mammon for this feast
Light up his palace gloriously?
This thou hast seen, what luck for thee!
Already I scent many an eager guest.

Faust.
How wind-gusts rage now through the air!
Their buffets deal my neck many a rude shock!

Mephistopheles.
Thou must grip tight the old ribs of the rock,
Or 'twill soon hurl thee to thy grave down there.
The night's growing thicker with cloud!
Hear how the woods are moaning loud!
Owls there in terror are flitting,
Hear how the columns are splitting
In the ever-green palaces now:
Sighing and breaking each bough.
The stems too mightily moaning,
As roots yawn, creaking, and groaning!
In dreadful and confusèd fall
Over each other the trees crash all,
And through the ruin-choked gap's abyss
Wild wind-gusts howl and hiss.
Voices on the heights dost hear,
Distant now, and now more near?
Yes, the whole mountain-side along,
Streams a maddening magic song.

Witches in Chorus.
The Witches to the Brocken hie,
The stubble is yellow, and green the rye.
There in huge crowds they congregate,
Up there Herr Urian sits in state,
O'er stick and stone go the sweating crew,
The Witches stink, and the goat stinks too.

A Voice.
Alone Old Baubo is coming now,
She rides upon a farrowed sow.

Choir.
So honour those to whom honour's due!
Dame Baubo first, well-escorted too!
A good strong sow, and the Mother thereon,
Then follow the Witches everyone.

Voice.
Which way came'st thou here?

Voice.
Over Ilsenstein!
I peeped in the owl's nest, her pair of eyne
Glared wickedly!

Voice.
Oh! to Hell with thee!

Voice.
Why ridest thou so furiously?

Voice.
Completely she's flayed me,
See! one wound she's made me!

Witches in Chorus.
The way is broad, the way is long,
How find ye this for a furious throng?
The pitchfork prods and scratches the broom,
The child is choked, and burst the womb.

Witch-Master.
Half-choir.
We creep like the snail that carries her house,
The women in the foremost places,
For, when they're bound for the Devil's house,
The women lead by a thousand paces.

Other Half-Choir.
We are not certain that is so,
The woman a thousand steps may go;
But, let her make what speed she can,
Up in one spring will come the man.

Voices
(above.)
Come with us, come from the Felsensee!

Voices
(below.)
Gladly with you on the heights we'd stray.
We wash; but no end to our toil we see!
Our labour is barren eternally.

Both Choirs.
The wind is hushed, and sinks the star,
The moon would hide her sad face afar.
And whizzing scatters the magic choir
Thousands of glittering sparks of fire.

Voices
(from below.)
Stay! stay!

Voices
(from above.)
Who calls from the clefts of the rocky way?

Voices
(from below.)
Take me with you! Take me with you!
I'm climbing now three hundred years,
And yet the peaks I can ne'er attain.
I would I were with my kind again.

Both Choirs.
The broomstick bears one, the walking-stick,
The pitch-fork, the buck-goat—take your pick!
Who proves not to-night that mount he can,
He is forever a lost man.

Half-Witch
(below.)
I have tript after, many a day;
Why are the others far on their way?
At home I have no peace at all
And here my progress is but small.

Choir of Witches.
The salve makes all the Witches bold,
If for a sail a rag you hold,
A trough for boat is a good stand-by,
Who flies not to-night will never fly.

Both Choirs.
And when the peak we soar around,
Swoop deftly down and skim the ground,
Cover the heath, both far and nigh,
With your vast swarm of witchery!

(They alight.)
Mephistopheles.
What crowding and chattering, what whirling and pushing!
What whispering, and prattling, and tugging, and rushing!
Gleams, sparks, stinks, flames are now unpent,
A genuine witch-element!
Cling to me! lest we apart be rent.
Where art thou?

Faust
(some way off.)
Here!

Mephistopheles.
So soon torn from me quite?
I must claim lordship here to-night.
Room there, Squire Voland comes. Room, my sweet rabble, room!
Here, Doctor, grip me tight! Now in one spring we come
Out of the crowd, from the crush we're free;
It is too mad even for the likes of me.
Close by there something shines with quite peculiar glare,
It lures me to yonder bush, I see.
Come, come! We'll slip behind it there.

Faust.
Spirit of Contradiction! On then! Thy lead I wait.
I think, though, thou hast been too clever quite;
Here to the Brocken we come upon Walpurga's Night,
And yet prefer ourselves to isolate.

Mephistopheles.
See but those many-coloured flames!
A merry Club are at their games,
'Mong few one's not alone, you see.

Faust.
Yet up there I would rather be!
I see fires glow, smoke whirl even now.
There streams the crowd to the Evil one,
Where many a riddle must be solved anon.

Mephistopheles.
And many a riddle knit fast, I trow.
Do thou let the great world run riot
Here we will house ourselves in quiet.
'Tis handed down without a break,
That in the great world one a little world may make.
I see young witches there, stark-naked all,
And old ones drest with sly coquetry,
For my sake treat them courteously!
The sport is great, the trouble small.
I hear the instruments some stock-piece playing,
Discord accurst! One must endure their braying,
Come with me! come! It can't be cured, you see.
I will step on, and bring thee in with me,
I'll win thy gratitude again.
What sayest thou, friend? This is no paltry Space.
There, look all round, the bounds evade thy gaze.
A hundred fires in rows burn o'er the plain;
They dance, they chat, they cook, they drink, they court;
Now tell me where one could find better sport?

Faust.
Wilt thou, in ushering us into this revel,
Present thyself as conjurer or devil?

Mephistopheles.
Though well-accustomed oft to come incognito,
On these, our gala-days, our Orders we may show.
A garter does not distinguish me,
My colts-foot here at home is honoured loyally.
See'st thou yonder snail? She's creeping here, no doubt
With groping eyes, searching each spot,
She has already half tracked me out,
I can't deny myself, if here I'm caught!
But come! We'll go from fire to fire,
I am the pander, thou of dames the squire.
(To some who sit over a dying fire.)
Old gentlemen, why sit ye at the end?
Had ye good places in the middle your nous I should commend,
'Mid revelling youths ye should have come,
One has enough of loneliness at home.

General.
Who can trust Nations to remember
How much for them one has done in by-gone days?
For with the people as with women,
The Young ramp in the first always.

Minister.
They have strayed too far from the right way,
I praise the good old times; when truly
We all ourselves were honoured duly,
That was the Golden Age, I say.

Parvenu.
We were no fools then, I'll be bound,
And often touched things rather shady,
But now all things are turning round,
Just when to bag our plunder we were ready.

Author.
Who anywhere now for serious writing cares,
Reads books of solid information?
Never before were seen such impudent airs
Among the dear young rising generation.

Mephistopheles
(who seems suddenly very old.)
I feel these folk ripe for the Judgment Day
As for the last time up the Witches' Mount I wheeze,
While turbid runs my cask of clay,
The World itself is on the lees.

Huxter-Witch.
Kind gentlemen, don't pass me by!
Don't lose your chance, as on you fare!
Look with attention at my ware,
Many a fine bargain here have I.
Yet in my shop there's naught for sale
That Earth can match, search high or low,
Which has not worked notorious bale
To men, and to the World also.
No dagger's here wherefrom blood hath not dript,
No cup whence one of sound and vigorous frame
Hot, wasting poison ne'er hath sipt.
No jewel that ne'er some fair, love-worthy Dame
Seduced, no sword that ne'er some solemn bond hath severed,
Or through a foeman's back a fatal thrust delivered.

Mephistopheles.
Dear Aunt! you are behind the times, one sees,
What's done has hapt, what's hapt is done!
Change stock, and deal in novelties,
We hunt for novelties alone.

Faust.
Of losing my own Self, beware!
This I call something like a fair!

Mephistopheles.
The whole huge whirlpool strains above
You are shoved along, even when you think you shove.

Faust.
See! who is that?

Mephistopheles.
Look at her curiously!
'Tis Lilith.

Faust.
Who?

Mephistopheles.
Adam's first wife is she.
Be on thy guard before her splendid hair,
On that one jewel she prides herself alone!
When with it she allures a youth, all's done,
Not soon she lets him further fare.

Faust.
There sits a pair, an old witch, and a young,
They have already well skipped and sprung.

Mephistopheles.
There is no rest for them to-day.
They're starting a new dance! Come, let's cut in, I say.

Faust
(dancing with the young witch.)
Once a fair dream came over me;
And there I saw an apple-tree,
Two splendid apples there did hang,
They tempted me, and up I sprang.

Fair One.
You longed for those twin apples fair,
As come from Paradise they were,
I am moved with joy because I know
Such apples in my garden grow.

Mephistopheles
(with the Old Witch).
Once a wild dream came over me,
I saw it in a cloven tree,
It had a—
So—it was, it pleased me well.

Old Witch.
With cordial greeting I salute
The Knight who wears the cloven foot!
Keeps he a—ready to ply,
If he—does not shy.

Procto Phantasmist.
Accursed folk! how dare ye venture here?
Did we not long since plainly prove
A Spirit on real feet could never move?
Now ye even dance as we men do, 'tis clear!

The Fair One
(dancing.)
Why comes to our ball that fellow there?

Faust
(dancing.)
Pooh! He comes prying everywhere.
While others dance he criticises,
Each step must go as he advises,
Or it must count as though 'twere never danced.
But most it vexes him when forward we've advanced.
If you would in a circle turn as he
Turns round and round in his old mill,
That, he would say, at least showed skill;
If you took off your hat to him especially.

Procto Phantasmist.
What! you're there still? Such things were never heard, I say.
Vanish then! This we have quite explained away.
This Devil's pack asks not for any rule,
A spook haunts Tegel still, though we've learnt sense at school.
Have I not been sweeping out these fancies long enough?
The filth's there still; I never heard such stuff!

Fair One.
Shut up! You bore us with your dull orations!

Procto Phantasmist.
To your face I tell you ye phantoms there,
The despotism of spirits I will not bear;
I cannot drill mine into patience.
(The Dance goes on.)
I've no success to-day, I know it;
I'll go a-travelling far away,
And still I hope before my dying day,
To get the better of the Devil and Poet.

Mephistopheles.
In some foul puddle he will soon be sitting,
That's how he finds his ease is best ensured
And when horse-leeches well his bum have bitten
Of spirits and bel-esprit he will be cured.
(To Faust, who has come away from the dance.)
Why hast thou left that pretty maiden lonely,
Who, dancing, charmed thee as she sang?

Faust.
Faugh! In the middle of her song there sprang
A red mouse out of her mouth, 'twas plain!

Mephistopheles.
That was all right! Don't be so strict, I say!
Enough that mouse was red not gray.
Who minds such things, playing the shepherd swain?

Faust.
Then I saw—

Mephistopheles.
What?

Faust.
Mephisto, seest thou there,
Standing alone, far off, a child, pale and so fair?
She drags herself slowly from the spot,
With fettered feet she seems to stumble there.
I must confess, it seems to me
That like my good Gretchen is she.

Mephistopheles.
Let the thing be! Sights like these profit none.
It is a magic shape, lifeless, an image alone.
To meet this phantom is not good;
Her stony stare can curdle a man's blood,
Straighway he almost petrifies;
Thou hast heard tell of Medusa's eyes.

Faust.
Those are the eyes of one dead, verily,
That loving hand ne'er closed; and this
Is the dear breast my Gretchen gave to me,
This the sweet body I embraced with bliss.

Mephistopheles.
That is her sorcery, thou soon-caught simpleton!
Like his own Love she appears to every one.

Faust.
Ah! what a rapture! what agony!
From that fixed stare I cannot flee.
How strange it is that slender neck so fair
Is decorated with one blood-red line,
No broader than a knife-cut fine.

Mephistopheles.
'Tis true, I too can see it there.
Under her arm her head eke she can carry,
Since Perseus cut it off. Why tarry?
You long for some delusion still!
Come, let's go up this little hill!
Here 'tis as merry as in the Prater;
And, if I'm not gone magic-blind,
I really see a Burg-Theatre.
What's running now?

Utility-Man.
All's ready now behind.
A new piece, 'tis of seven the last;
It is our custom here to stage the lot.
A Dilettante wrote it, and the cast
Are Dilettanti. Hiss them not!
Pardon me, Sirs, if I fade from view,
To dilettantise up the curtain!

Mephistopheles.
If on the Blocksberg I meet with you,
I shall be pleased; that's your true sphere I'm certain.