Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832). Faust. Part I.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.
Faust. Part I
2500–2999His eyes meanwhile were sinking,
And never again drank he.(She opens the press to put away her clothes, and perceives the casket.)
How comes this lovely casket here? The press
I locked, of that I’m confident.
’Tis very wonderful! What’s in it I can’t guess;
Perhaps ’twas brought by some one in distress,
And left in pledge for loan my mother lent.
Here by a ribbon hangs a little key!
I have a mind to open it and see!
Heavens! only look! what have we here!
In all my days ne’er saw I such a sight!
Jewels! which any noble dame might wear,
For some high pageant richly dight!
This chain—how would it look on me!
These splendid gems, whose may they be?(She puts them on and steps before the glass.)
Were but the ear-rings only mine!
Thus one has quite another air.
What boots it to be young and fair?
It doubtless may be very fine;
But then, alas, none cares for you,
And praise sounds half like pity too.
Gold all doth lure,
Gold doth secure
All things. Alas, we poor!
F
M
By all rejected love! By hellish fire I curse,
Would I knew aught to make my imprecation worse!
What aileth thee? what chafes thee now so sore?
A face like that I never saw before!
I’d yield me to the devil instantly,
Did it not happen that myself am he!
There must be some disorder in thy wit!
To rave thus like a madman, is it fit?
Think! only think! The gems for Gretchen brought,
Them hath a priest now made his own!—
A glimpse of them the mother caught,
And ’gan with secret fear to groan.
The woman’s scent is keen enough;
Doth ever in the prayer-book snuff;
Smells every article to ascertain
Whether the thing is holy or profane,
And scented in the jewels rare,
That there was not much blessing there.
“My child,” she cries, “ill-gotten good
Ensnares the soul, consumes the blood;
With them we’ll deck our Lady’s shrine,
She’ll cheer our souls with bread divine!”
At this poor Gretchen ’gan to pout;
’Tis a gift-horse, at least, she thought,
And sure, he godless cannot be,
Who brought them here so cleverly.
Straight for a priest the mother sent,
Who, when he understood the jest,
With what he saw was well content.
“This shows a pious mind!” Quoth he:
“Self-conquest is true victory.
The Church hath a good stomach, she, with zest,
Whole countries hath swallow’d down,
And never yet a surfeit known.
The Church alone, be it confessed,
Daughters, can ill-got wealth digest.”
It is a general custom, too.
Practised alike by king and jew.
With that, clasp, chain, and ring, he swept
As they were mushrooms; and the casket,
Without one word of thanks, he kept,
As if of nuts it were a basket.
Promised reward in heaven, then forth he hied—
And greatly they were edified.
And Gretchen!
In unquiet mood
Knows neither what she would or should;
The trinkets night and day thinks o’er,
On him who brought them, dwells still more.
The darling’s sorrow grieves me, bring
Another set without delay!
The first, methinks, was no great thing.
All’s to my gentleman child’s play!
Plan all things to achieve my end!
Engage the attention of her friend!
No milk-and-water devil be,
And bring fresh jewels instantly!
Ay, sir! Most gladly I’ll obey. (F
Your doting love-sick fool, with ease,
Merely his lady-love to please,
Sun, moon, and stars in sport would puff away.(Exit.)
Doth not in truth act well by me! Forth in the world abroad to roam, And leave me on the straw at home. And yet his will I ne’er did thwart, God knows, I lov’d him from my heart.(She weeps.) Perchance he’s dead!—oh wretched state!— Had I but a certificate!(M My knees beneath me well-nigh sink! Within my press I’ve found to-day, Another case, of ebony. And things—magnificent they are, More costly than the first, by far. It would to shrift, just like the other. Them in the street I cannot wear, Or in the church, or any where. The gems put on quite privately; And then before the mirror walk an hour or so, Thus we shall have our pleasure too. Then suitable occasions we must seize, As at a feast, to show them by degrees: A chain at first, pearl ear-drops then,—your mother Won’t see them, or we’ll coin some tale or other. I fear there’s something wrong about the thing!(A knock.) Good heavens! can that my mother be? Come in!(M Ladies, excuse the liberty, I pray.(He steps back respectfully before M After dame Martha Schwerdtlein I inquire! At present you’ve distinguished company. Pardon the freedom, Madam, with your leave, I will make free to call again at eve. For some grand lady taketh thee! The gentleman is far too good— Nor gems nor trinkets are my own. Her glance and mien far more betray. Rejoiced I am that I may stay. I trust mine errand you’ll not let me rue; Your husband’s dead, and greeteth you. My husband dead! Oh, I shall die! The loss my certain death would prove. In holy ground his body lies; Quiet and cool his place of rest, With pious ceremonials blest. Let them for him three hundred masses sing! But in my pockets, I have nothing there. What every journeyman safe in his pouch will hoard There for remembrance fondly stored, And rather hungers, rather begs than spend! But he his gold not lavishly hath spent. His failings too he deeply did repent, Ay! and his evil plight bewail’d still more. I for his soul will many a requiem pray. A child so worthy to be loved. That time hath not yet come for me. Among heaven’s choicest gifts, I place, So sweet a darling to embrace. Something less foul it was than dung; ’Twas straw half rotten; yet, he as a Christian died. And sorely hath remorse his conscience wrung. “Wretch that I was,” quoth he, with parting breath, “So to forsake my business and my wife! Ah! the remembrance is my death, Could I but have her pardon in this life!”— He doubtless fabled as he parted hence.— “No time had I to gape, or take my ease,” he said, “First to get children, and then get them bread; And bread, too, in the very widest sense; Nor could I eat in peace even my proper share.” My weary drudgery by day and night! Quoth he: “Heaven knows how fervently I prayed, For wife and children when from Malta bound;— The prayer hath heaven with favour crowned; We took a Turkish vessel which conveyed Rich store of treasure for the Sultan’s court; It’s own reward our gallant action brought; The captur’d prize was shared among the crew And of the treasure I received my due.” In Naples as he stroll’d, a stranger there,— A comely maid took pity on my friend; And gave such tokens of her love and care, That he retained them to his blessed end. And all this misery, this bitter need, Could not his course of recklessness impede! Now were I in your place, my counsel hear; My weeds I’d wear for one chaste year, And for another lover meanwhile would look out. Not quickly should I find another like my first! There could not be a fonder fool than mine, Only he loved too well abroad to roam; Loved foreign women too, and foreign wine, And loved besides the dice accurs’d. Had he but given you at home, On his side, just as wide a range. Upon such terms, to you I swear, Myself with you would gladly rings exchange! She’d make the very devil marry her.(To M How fares it with your heart? Ladies, farewell! I from a witness fain had heard, Where, how, and when my husband died and was interr’d. To forms I’ve always been attached indeed, His death I fain would in the journals read. Is held as valid everywhere; A gallant friend I have, not far from here, Who will for you before the judge appear. I’ll bring him straight. A noble youth, far travelled, he Shows to the sex all courtesy. There we’ll await you both this evening. Gretchen full soon your own you’ll name. This eve, at neighbour Martha’s, her you’ll meet again; The woman seems expressly made To drive the pimp and gipsy’s trade. That her dead husband’s limbs, outstretch’d repose In holy ground at Padua. So I suppose we straight must journey there! Without much knowledge we have but to swear. Against you plan I must at once protest. In all your life say, have you ne’er False witness borne, until this hour? Have you of God, the world, and all it doth contain, Of man, and that which worketh in his heart and brain, Not definitions given, in words of weight and power, With front unblushing, and a dauntless breast? Yet, if into the depth of things you go, Touching these matters, it must be confess’d, As much as of Herr Schwerdtlein’s death you know! To-morrow, in all honour, thou Poor Gretchen wilt befool, and vow Thy soul’s deep love, in lover’s fashion. Then deathless constancy thou’lt swear; Speak of one all o’ermastering passion,— Will that too issue from the heart? When passion sways me, and I seek to frame Fir utterance for feeling, deep, intense, And for my frenzy finding no fit name, Sweep round the ample world with every sense, Grasp at the loftiest words to speak my flame, And call the glow, wherewith I burn, Quenchless, eternal, yea, eterne— Is that of sophistry a devilish play? And spare my lungs; who would the right maintain, And hath a tongue wherewith his point to gain, Will gain it in the end. But come, of gossip I am weary quite; Because I’ve no resource, thou’rt in the right. The gentleman to shame me stoops thus low. A traveller from complaisance, Still makes the best of things; I know Too well, my humble prattle never can Have power to entertain so wise a man. Than the world’s wisdom or the sage’s lore.(He kisses her hand.) So rude as mine, how can you kiss! What constant work at home must I not do perforce! My mother too exacting is.(They pass on.) Are we compelled to leave full many a spot, Where yet we dare not once remain! ’Tis not amiss thus through the world to sweep; But ah, the evil days come round! And to a lonely grave as bachelor to creep, A pleasant thing has no one found. Politeness easy is to you; Friends everywhere, and not a few, Wiser than I am, you will find. Full oft is self-conceit and blindness! When will ye learn your hallow’d worth to know! Ah, when will meekness and humility, Kind and all-bounteous nature’s loftiest dower— To think of you I shall have many an hour. Yet must I see to it. No maid we keep, And I must cook, sew, knit, and sweep, Still early on my feet and late; My mother is in all things, great and small, So accurate! Not that for thrift there is such pressing need; Than others we might make more show indeed: My father left behind a small estate, A house and garden near the city-wall. But fairly quiet now my days, I own; As soldier is my brother gone; My little sister’s dead; the babe to rear Occasion’d me some care and fond annoy; But I would go through all again with joy, The darling was to me so dear. After my father’s death it saw the day; We gave my mother up for lost, she lay In such a wretched plight, and then at length So very slowly she regain’d her strength. Weak as she was, ’twas vain for her to try Herself to suckle the poor babe, so I Reared it on milk and water all alone; And thus the child became as ’twere my own; Within my arms it stretched itself and grew, And smiling, nestled in my bosom too. At night its little cradle stood Close to my bed; so was I wide awake If it but stirred; One while I was obliged to give it food, Or to my arms the darling take; From bed full oft must rise, whene’er its cry I heard, And, dancing it, must pace the chamber to and fro; Stand at the wash-tub early; forthwith go To market, and then mind the cooking too— To-morrow like to-day, the whole year through. Ah, sir, thus living, it must be confess’d One’s spirits are not always of the best; Yet it a relish gives to food and rest.(They pass on.) A bachelor’s conversion’s hard, indeed! To tutor me a better course to lead. Has your heart ne’er attach’d itself as yet? And pearls of price, so says the proverb old. But this I know-that you are very kind.(They pass on.) When in the garden first I came? The liberty I took that day, When thou from church didst lately wend thy way? No one of me could any evil say. Alas, thought I, he doubtless in thy mien, Something unmaidenly or bold hath seen? It seemed as if it struck him suddenly, Here’s just a girl with whom one may make free! Yet I must own that then I scarcely knew What in your favour here began at once to plead; Yet I was angry with myself indeed, That I more angry could not feel with you. He loves me! A heavenly oracle! He loveth thee! Know’st thou the meaning of, He loveth thee?(He seizes both her hands.) Let this hand-pressure, let this glance reveal Feelings, all power of speech above; To give oneself up wholly and to feel A joy that must eternal prove! Eternal!—Yes, its end would be despair. No end!—It cannot end!(M But ’tis a wicked place, just here about; It is as if the folk had nothing else to do, Nothing to think of too, But gaping watch their neighbours, who goes in and out; And scandal’s busy still, do whatsoe’er one may. And our young couple? The wanton butterflies! Think’st to provoke me! I have caught thee now!(He kisses her.) Farewell! Must fill his mind,—a man like this! Abash’d before him I appear, And say to all things only, yes. Poor simple child, I cannot see, What ’tis that he can find in me.(Exit.) For which I prayed! Not vainly hast thou turn’d To me thy countenance in flaming fire: Gavest me glorious nature for my realm, And also power to feel her and enjoy; Not merely with a cold and wondering glance, Thou dost permit me in her depths profound, As in the bosom of a friend to gaze. Before me thou dost lead her living tribes, And dost in silent grove, in air and stream Teach me to know my kindred. And when roars The howling storm-blast through the groaning wood, Wrenching the giant pine, which in its fall Crashing sweeps down its neighbour trunks and boughs, While hollow thunder from the hill resounds; Then thou dost lead me to some shelter’d cave, Dost there reveal me to myself, and show Of my own bosom the mysterious depths. And when with soothing beam, the moon’s pale orb Full in my view climbs up the pathless sky, From crag and dewy grove, the silvery forms Of by-gone ages hover, and assuage
God pardon my dear husband, he
Dame Martha!
Gretchen?
Only think!
You must not name it to your mother!
Nay look at them! now only see!
Thou happy creature!
Woe is me!
Come often over here to me,
But, who, I wonder, could the caskets bring?
’Tis a strange gentleman, I see.
I’ve ventur’d to intrude to-day.
’Tis I. Pray what have you to say to me?
I know you now,—and therefore will retire;
Why, child, of all strange notions, he
I am, in truth, of humble blood—
Oh ’tis not the mere ornaments alone;
Your business, Sir? I long to know—
Would I could happier tidings show!
Is dead? True heart! Oh misery!
Alas! good Martha! don’t despair!
Now listen to the sad affair!
I for this cause should fear to love.
Joy still must sorrow, sorrow joy attend.
Proceed, and tell the story of his end!
At Padua, in St. Anthony’s,
And had you naught besides to bring?
Oh yes! one grave and solemn prayer;
No trinket! no love-token did he send!
Madam, in truth, it grieves me sore,
Alas! That men should thus be doomed to woe!
A husband you deserve this very day;
Ah no,
If not a spouse, a gallant let it be.
Our land doth no such usage know.
Usage or not, it happens so.
Go on, I pray!
I stood by his bedside.
Dear soul! I’ve long forgiven him, indeed!
“Though she, God knows, was more to blame than I.”
He lied! What, on the brink of death to lie!
If I am skill’d the countenance to read,
What, all my truth, my love forgotten quite?
Not so! He thought of you with tender care.
How? Where? The treasure hath he buried, pray?
Where the four winds have blown it, who can say?
Scoundrel! to rob his children of their bread!
Well, he hath paid the forfeit, and is dead.
Alas, I might search far and near,
All had gone swimmingly, no doubt,
The gentleman is surely pleas’d to jest!
Now to be off in time, were best!
How mean you, Sir?
The sweet young innocent!(aloud)
Farewell!
But ere you leave us, quickly tell!
Ay, madam, what two witnesses declare
I pray you do!
And this young lady, we shall find her too?
I in his presence needs must blush for shame.
Not in the presence of a crowned king!
The garden, then, behind my house, we’ll name,
F
F
How is it now? How speeds it? Is’t in train?
Bravo! I find you all aflame!
Good!
But from us she something would request.
A favour claims return as this world goes.
We have on oath but duly to attest,
Sage indeed!
Sancta simplicitas! For that no need!
If you have nothing better to suggest,
Oh, holy man! methinks I have you there!
Thou art and dost remain liar and sophist too.
Ay, if one did not take a somewhat deeper view!
And from my heart.
All good and fair!
Forbear!
Yet am I right!
Mark this, my friend,
M
M
I feel it, you but spare my ignorance,
One glance, one word from thee doth charm me more,
Nay! trouble not yourself! A hand so coarse,
Thus, sir, unceasing travel is your lot?
Traffic and duty urge us! With what pain
In youth’s wild years, with vigour crown’d,
The prospect fills me with dismay.
Therefore in time, dear sir, reflect, I pray.(They pass on.)
Ay, out of sight is out of mind!
O dearest, trust me, what doth pass for sense
How?
Simplicity and holy innocence,—
Only one little moment think of me!
You are perhaps much alone?
Yes, small our household is, I own,
An angel, sweet, if it resembled thee!
I reared it up, and it grew fond of me.
Doubtless the purest happiness was thine.
But many weary hours, in sooth, were also mine.
Poor women! we are badly off, I own;
Madam, with one like you it rests alone,
Speak frankly, sir, none is there you have met?
One’s own fire-side and a good wife are gold
I mean, has passion never stirred your breast?
I’ve everywhere been well received, I own.
Yet hath your heart no earnest preference known?
With ladies one should ne’er presume to jest.
Ah! you mistake!
I’m sorry I’m so blind
Me, little angel, didst thou recognize,
Did you not see it? I cast down my eyes.
Thou dost forgive my boldness, dost not blame
I was confused. So had it never been;
Sweet love!
Just wait awhile!(She gathers a star-flower and plucks off the leaves one after another.)
A nosegay may that be?
No! It is but a game.
How?
Go, you’ll laugh at me!(She plucks off the leaves and murmurs to herself.)
What murmurest thou?
He loves me—loves me not.
Sweet angel, with thy face of heavenly bliss!
He loves me—not—he loves me-not—(Plucking off the last leaf with fond joy.)
Yes!
I tremble so!
Nay! Do not tremble, love!
Night’s closing.
Yes, we’ll presently away.
I would entreat you longer yet to stay;
They have flown up there.
He seems to take to her.
And she to him. ’Tis of the world the way!
(M
He comes!
Ah, little rogue, so thou
Dearest of men! I love thee from my heart!(M
Who’s there?
A friend!
A brute!
’Tis time to part.
Ay, it is late, good sir.
Mayn’t I attend you, then?
Oh no—my mother would—adieu, adieu!
And must I really then take leave of you?
Good-bye!
Ere long to meet again!(Exeunt F
Good heavens! how all things far and near
F
Spirit sublime! Thou gav’st me, gav’st me all