Faust: A Tragedy

Scene I.

_Walpurgis-Night._

_The Hartz Mountains. Neighborhood of Schirke and Elend._

/Faust/ _and_ /Mephistopheles/.

Mephistopheles. Would you not like a broomstick to bestride? Would God I had a stout old goat to ride! The way is long; and I would rather spare me This uphill work.

Faust. While my good legs can bear me, This knotted stick will serve my end. What boots it to cut short the way? Through the long labyrinth of vales to wend, These rugged mountain-steeps to climb, And hear the gushing waters' ceaseless chime, No better seasoning on my wish to-day Could wait, to make the Brocken banquet prime! The Spring is waving in the birchen bower, And ev'n the pine begins to feel its power; Shall we alone be strangers to its sway?

Mephistopheles. No whiff I feel that hath a smell of May; I am most wintry cold in every limb; I'd sooner track my road o'er frost and snow. How sadly mounts the imperfect moon!--so dim Shines forth its red disk, with belated glow, We run the risk, at every step, on stones Or stumps of crazy trees, to break our bones. You must allow me to request the aid Of a Will-o-the-Wisp;--I see one right ahead, And in the bog it blazes merrily. Holla! my good friend! dare I be so free? Two travellers here stand much in need of thee; Why should'st thou waste thy flickering flame in vain? Pray be so good as light us up the hill!

Will-o-the-Wisp. Out of respect to you, I will restrain, If possible, my ever-shifting will; But all our natural genius, and our skill Is zigzag; straight lines go against the grain.

Mephistopheles. Ha! ha! hast learned from men how to declaim? March on, I tell thee, in the Devil's name! Else will I blow thy flickering life-spark out.

Will-o-the-Wisp. You are the master of the house, no doubt, And therefore I obey you cheerfully. Only remember! 'tis the first of May, The Brocken is as mad as mad can be; And when an _ignis fatuus_ leads the way, You have yourselves to blame, if you should stray.

Faust, Mephistopheles, and Will-o-the-Wisp. [_in reciprocal song_] Through the realms of fairy dreaming, Through the air with magic teeming, Guide us forward, guide us fairly, Thanks to thee be rendered rarely; Guide us quick, and guide us sure, O'er the wide waste Brocken moor.

Trees on trees thick massed before us Flit, and fling dark shadows o'er us, Cliffs on cliffs in rugged masses Nod above the narrow passes, And each rock from jagged nose, How it snorts, and how it blows!

Over turf and stones are pouring Stream and streamlet, wildly roaring; Is it rustling? is it singing? Love's sweet plaint with gentle winging! Voices of those days, the dearest, When our light of hope was clearest! And the echo, like the sounds Of ancient story, back rebounds.

Oohoo! Shoohoo! what a riot! Owl and pewit, jay and piet! Will no bird to-night be quiet? What is this? red salamanders, With long legs and swoll'n paunches, Weaving wreathy fire-meanders Through the thicket's bristling branches! And the trees, their roots outspreading From the sand and rocky bedding, Winding, stretching, twisting grimly, Through the dun air darting dimly Seek to seize us, seek to grasp us, And with snaky coils enclasp us! And the mice in motley muster, Red and white, and blue and grey, Thick as bees that hang in cluster, Crowd along the heathy way. And the fire-flies shooting lightly Through the weirdly winding glade, With bewildering escort, brightly Lead the streaming cavalcade!

But tell me, in this strange confusion, What is real, what delusion? Do we walk with forward faces, Or stand and halt with baffled paces? All things seem to change their places, Rocks and trees to make grimaces, And the lights in witchy row, Twinkle more and more they blow!

Mephistopheles. Hold me tightly by the cue! From this hillock, we may view, At leisure, with admiring gaze, How Mammon in the mount doth blaze!

Faust. How strangely through the glooming glens Dim sheen, like morning redness, glimmers! Ev'n to the darkest, deepest dens With its long streaky rays it shimmers. Here mounts the smoke, there rolls the steam, There flames through the white vapors gleam, Here like a thread along the mountain It creeps; there gushes in a fountain! Here stretching out, in many a rood, Along the vale, its veinèd flood, And here at once it checks its flight, And bursts in globes of studded light. There sparks are showering on the ground, Like golden sand besprinkled round, And lo! where all the rocky height, From head to foot is bathed in light!

Mephistopheles. Hath not old Mammon lit with goodly flame His palace for the jubilee? Thou art in luck to see the game; Even now I scent the lusty company.

Faust. How the mad storm doth howl and hiss And beats my neck with angry buffeting!

Mephistopheles. To the old mountain's hard ribs cling, Or the strong blast will hurl thee down the abyss; The night with clouds is overcast; Hear in the woods the grinding of the blast! How the frightened owlets flit! How the massive pillars split Of the dark pine-palaces! How the branches creak and break! How the riven stems are groaning! How the gaping roots are moaning! In terrible confusion all, One on another clashing, they fall, And through the clefts, where their wrecks are buried, Hissing and howling the winds are hurried. Sounds of voices dost thou hear? Voices far, and voices near? And, all the mountain-side along, Streams a raving wizard song.

Witches. [_in chorus_] The witches to the Brocken ride, The stubble is yellow, the corn is green; A merry crew to a merry scene, And good Sir Urian is the guide.[*n10] Over stock and stone we float, Wrinkled hag and rank old goat.

A Voice. Old mother Baubo comes up now, Alone, and riding on a sow.

Chorus. Honor to him to whom honor is due! Lady Baubo heads the crew! On the back of a sow, with the wings of the wind, And all the host of witches behind.

A Voice. Sister, which way came you?

A Voice. By Ilsenstein! and I looked into An owlet's nest, as on I fared, That with its two eyes broadly stared!

A Voice. The deuce! at what a devil's pace You go; this march is not a race.

A Voice. It tore me, it flayed me! These red wounds it made me!

Witches. [_in chorus_] The road is broad, the road is long, Why crowd you so on one another? Scrapes the besom, pricks the prong, Chokes the child, and bursts the mother.

Wizards. [_semi-chorus_] We trail us on, like very snails, The women fly with flaunting sails; For, when we run Squire Satan's races, They always win by a thousand paces.

Semi-Chorus. Not quite so bad: the women need A thousand paces to help their speed; But let them speed what most they can, With one spring comes up the man.

Voice. [_from above_] Come up! come up from the lake with me.

Voices. [_from below_] Right gladly would we mount with thee; We wash, and wash, and cease from washing never; Our skins are as white as white can be, But we are as dry and barren as ever.

Both Choruses. The wind is hushed, the stars take flight, The sullen moon hath veiled her light, The magic choir from whizzing wings, Long lines of sparkling glory flings.

Voice. [_from below_] Stop, stop!

Voice. [_from above_] Who bawls so loud from the cleft?

Voice. [_from below_] Let me go with you! let me not be left! Three hundred years I grope and grope Round the base and up the slope, But still the summit cheats my hope. I fain would be a merry guest At Satan's banquet with the rest.

Both Choruses. On broomstick, and on lusty goat, On pitchfork, and on stick, we float; And he, to-day who cannot soar, Is a lost man for evermore.

Half-Witch. [_below_] I hobble on behind them all, The others scarcely hear my call! I find no rest at home: and here, I limp on lamely in the rear.

Chorus of Witches. The ointment gives our sinews might,[*n11] For us each rag is sail enough, We find a ship in every trough; Whoso will fly must fly to-night.

Both Choruses. While we upon the summit ride, Be yours to sweep along the side; Up and down, and far and wide, On the left, and on the right, Witch and wizard massed together, Scour the moor and sweep the heather, Bravely on Walpurgis-night!

[_They alight._

Mephistopheles. What a thronging, and jolting, and rolling, and rattling! What a whizzing, and whirling, and jostling, and battling! What a sparkling, and blazing, and stinking, and burning! And witches that all topsy-turvy are turning!-- Hold fast by me, or I shall lose you quite, Where are you?

Faust. [_at a distance_] Here!

Mephistopheles. What! so far in the rear! Why then 'tis time that I should use my right, As master of the house to-night. Make way! Squire Voland comes,[*n12] sweet mob, make way! Here, Doctor, hold by me!--and now, I say, We must cut clear Of this wild hubbub, while we may; Even my cloth is puzzled here. See'st thou that light on yonder mound quite near, It hath a most peculiar glare, We'll slip in there, And watch behind the bush the humors of the Fair.

Faust. Strange son of contradiction!--may'st even guide us! A rare conceit! of course you must be right; This weary way we march on famed Walpurgis night, Like hermits in a corner here to hide us!

Mephistopheles. Lo! where the flames mount up with bickering glee; In sooth it is a goodly company. In such a place one cannot be alone.

Faust. And yet a place I'd rather own Upon the top, where whirling smoke I see; There thousands to the evil Spirit hie, And many a riddle there he will untie.

Mephistopheles. Yes: and for every knot he disentangles, He'll make another to produce new wrangles. Let the great world rant and riot, We'll know to house us here in quiet; In the great world 'tis a sanctioned plan, Each makes a little world the best he can. Look there; you see young witches without cover, And old ones prudently veiled over; Yield but to me, and I can promise thee, With little labor, mickle glee. I hear their noisy instruments begin! Confound their scraping!--one must bear the din. Come, come! what must be must be--let's go in! With my good introduction on this night, Thou shalt have laughter to thy heart's delight. What say'st thou, friend? this is no common show, A hundred lights are burning in a row, You scarce may see the end; They dance, they talk, they cook, they drink, they court; Now tell me, saw you ever better sport?

Faust. Say, in what character do you intend To appear here, and introduce your friend? Devil or conjurer?

Mephistopheles. I love incognito, Yet on a gala-day my order I may show; And, though a garter here is but of small avail, The famous horse's foot I ne'er yet knew to fail. See even now that cautious creeping snail! With her long feeling visage, she Has smelt out something of hell in me. Do what I can, they have a snout, In this keen air to scent me out; Come! come; from fire to fire we roam; the game Be mine to start, and yours to woo the dame. [_To some who are sitting round a glimmering coal-fire._] Why mope you here, old sirs, toasting your toes? Methinks your Brocken hours were better spent Amid the youthful roar and merriment; One is enough alone at home, God knows.

General. Who would rely upon the faith of nations! They leave you thankless, when their work is done; The people, like the women, pour libations Only in honor of the rising sun.

Minister. The liberties these modern changes bring, I must confess I cannot praise; The good old times, when we were everything, These were the truly golden days.

Parvenu. We, too, pushed forward with the pushing crew, And for the need could stretch a point or two; But now all's changed; and with the whirling bucket, We lose the fruit, just when our hand would pluck it.

Author. No solid work now suits the reading nation, And year by year the world more shallow grows; And, for the glib-tongued rising generation, They hang their wisdom on their up-turned nose!

Mephistopheles. [_Who all at once appears very old_] The people here seem ripe for Doom's day; I Suspect the world is now on its last legs; And, since mine own good cask is running dry, Men and their ways, I guess, are near the dregs!

Peddler-Witch. Good sirs, I pray you pass not by, Cast on my wares a friendly eye! One cannot see such rich display Of curious trinkets every day. Yet is there nothing in my store (Which far all other stores excels), That hath not done some mischief sore To earth, and all on earth that dwells; No dagger by which blood hath not been shed, No cup from which, through sound and healthy life, Corroding fiery juice hath not been spread, No gaud but hath seduced some lovely wife, No sword that hath not made a truce miscarry, Or stabbed behind the back its adversary.

Mephistopheles. Good lady cousin! you come rather late. Your wares, believe me, are quite out of date; Deal in the new and newest; that Our palate smacks; all else is flat.

Faust. This is a fair that beats the Leipzig hollow! My head is so confused, I scarce can follow.

Mephistopheles. To the top the stream is rushing, And we are pushed, when we think we are pushing.

Faust. Who, then, is that?

Mephistopheles. Look at her well. 'Tis Lilith.[*n13]

Faust. Who?

Mephistopheles. Adam's first wife. Beware, Art thou a wise man, of her glossy hair! 'Tis fair to look on, but its look is fell. Those locks with which she outshines all the train, When she hath bound a young man with that chain, She'll hold him fast; he'll scarce come back again.

Faust. There sit an old and young one on the sward; They seem to have been dancing somewhat hard.

Mephistopheles. O! once begun, they'll go on like the devil. Come, come! they rise again--let's join the revel.

[/Faust/ _and_ /Mephistopheles/ _join the dance; the former with the Young Witch as his partner; the latter with the Old one._

Faust. [_dancing with the young Witch_] A lovely dream once came to me, I saw in my sleep an apple-tree; Two lovely apples on it did shine; I clomb the pole to make them mine.

The Young Witch. For apples your sire in Paradise And primal dame had longing eyes: And, if your eyes are wise to see, You'll find such apples on my tree.

Mephistopheles. [_dancing with the old Witch_] An ugly dream once came to me, I dreamed I saw a cloven tree; In the tree there sat an ugly owl; I called it fair, though it was foul.

The Old Witch. My best salute this night shall be, Thou knight of the cloven foot, to thee; A cloven tree with an ugly owl, And I for thee, or fair, or foul.

Proctophantasmist.[*n14] [_to the dancers_] Listen to order, you presumptuous brood! Have we not proved beyond disputing, That ghosts on terra firma have no footing? And yet you dance like any flesh and blood?

The Young Witch. [_dancing_] What wants he here, that rude-like fellow there?

Faust. [_dancing_] O, he is everywhere! What others dance 'tis his to prize; Each step he cannot criticise Had as well not been made. But in the dance It grieves him most when we advance. If we would wheel still round and round in a ring, As he is fond to do in his old mill, He would not take it half so ill; Especially if you take care to bring Your praiseful offering to his master skill.

Proctophantasmist. What! still there, phantoms? this is past endurance! In this enlightened age you have the assurance To show your face and play your tricks undaunted; We are so wise, and yet a man's own house is haunted. How long have I not swept the cobwebs of delusion, And still the world remains in the same wild confusion!

The Young Witch. Be quiet then, and seek some other place!

Proctophantasmist. I tell you, Spirits, in your face, This intellectual thrall I cannot bear it; I love to have a free unshackled spirit. [_The dance goes on._] To-day I see that all my strength is spent in vain; I've had a tour, at least, to compensate my evils, And hope, before I come to Blocksberg back again, To crush, with one good stroke, the poets and the devils.

Mephistopheles. He will now go, and, bare of breeches, Sit in a pool with solemn patience; And, when his buttocks are well sucked by leeches, Be cured of ghosts and ghostly inspirations. [_To_ /Faust/, _who has just left the dance._] Why do you let the lovely damsel go, That in the dance with sweet song pleased you so?

Faust. Alas! while she so passing sweet was singing, I saw a red mouse from her mouth outspringing.

Mephistopheles. Pooh! on the Brocken that's a thing of course; Let not such trifles mar your sweet discourse. Go, join the crew, and dance away; Enough, the red mouse was not gray.

Faust. Then saw I--

Mephistopheles. What?

Faust. Mephisto, see'st thou there A pale yet lovely girl, in lonely distance fare? From place to place she moveth slow; With shackled feet she seems to go; I must confess, she has a cast Of Margaret, when I saw her last.

Mephistopheles. Let that alone! it brings thee certain harm; It is bewitched, a bloodless, breathless form, For men to look upon it is not good. Its fixèd gaze hath power to freeze the blood, And petrify thee stark and stiff. Of course I need not ask you if You've heard of the Medusa's head.

Faust. In truth I see the eyes of one that's dead, On which no closing hand of love was laid. That is my Margaret's kindly breast, That the sweet body I caressed.

Mephistopheles. There lies the witchcraft o't, thou fool! A phantom takes thy wit to school: She is the love of every lover's brain.

Faust. What ecstasy! and yet what pain! I cannot leave it for my life. How strangely this most lovely neck A single streak of red doth deck, No broader than the back o' a knife!

Mephistopheles. Quite right! I see it, just as well as you. Sometimes her head beneath her elbow too She wears; for Perseus cut it off, you know. What! will you still a-dreaming go? Come, let us mount the hillock--there We shall have noble sport, believe me; For, unless mine eyes deceive me, They have got up a theatre. What make you here?

A Servant. You are just come in time. 'Tis a new piece, the last of all the seven, For such the number that with us is given. A dilettante 'twas that wrote the rhyme, And dilettanti are the actors too. Excuse me, sirs,--no disrespect to you, If I seem curt: I am the dilettante To draw the curtain; and our time is scanty.

Mephistopheles. Just so; I only wish you were so clever To know your home; Then from the Blocksberg you would never Have lust to roam!

Scene Ii. _Intermezzo._[*n15]

Walpurgis-Night's Dream; or Oberon and Titania's Golden Hightide.

Director of the Theatre. We players here may take our ease; For all we need for scenery Is mount and mead, and trees, and seas Of Nature's leafy greenery.

Herald. The golden high-tide is it then, When fifty years pass over; But doubly golden is it when All brawls and strifes they cover.

Oberon. Ye spirits, who obey my law, Are to this feast invited, When Oberon and Titania In love are reunited.

Puck. Puck comes in first, and turns athwart, His merry circles wheeling; And hundreds more behind him dart, Loud shouts of laughter pealing.

Ariel. I fill the air with thrilling song Of virtue quite enchanting; Though ugly imps I lure along, The fair are never wanting!

Oberon. When man and wife begin to strive, Just give them length of tether! They will learn in peace to live, When not too much together.

Titania. When pouts the wife, and frets the man, This cure is best in Nature, Him to the Arctic circle ban, And her to the Equator.

Orchestra. [_Tutti. Fortissimo_] Snout of fly, and nose of gnat, Lead on the band before us! Frog and cricket, cat and bat, Join merry in the chorus!

Solo. A soap-bell for a doodle-sack,[*3] The merry waters troubling! Hear the snecke-snicke-snack, From its snub-nose bubbling!

Embryo-Spirit. Legs of spider, paunch of toad, And wings, if you would know it; Nor fish, nor fowl, but on the road Perhaps to be a poet!

A Pair of Dancers. With many a nimble pace and spring, Through honey-dew and vapour, Trips o'er the ground the little thing, But higher cannot caper.

Inquisitive Traveller. Do I see a real thing, Or is it all delusion? Oberon, the fairy king, Amid this wild confusion.

Orthodox. Though neither tail nor claws are his, 'Tis true beyond all cavil, As devils were the gods of Greece, He too must be a devil.

Northern Artist. 'Tis but a sketch, I must admit; But what I can't unravel To-night, I'll know, with larger wit, From my Italian travel.

Purist. Alas! that I should see it too! Here we a riot rare have! Of all the crew, there are but two That powder on their hair have.

Young Witch. Powder and petticoat for grey And wrinkled hags are fitting; But I my lusty limbs display, Upon a he-goat sitting.

Matron. To speak with such a shameless pack We have nor will nor leisure; Soon may your flesh rot on your back, And we look on with pleasure!

Leader of the Orchestra. Snout of fly, and nose of gnat, Sting not the naked beauty! Frog and cricket, cat and bat, Attend ye to your duty!

Weathercock. [_to the one side_] A goodly company! as sure As I stand on the steeple; With brides and bridegrooms swarms the moor, The hopefulest of people!

Weathercock. [_to the other side_] And opes not suddenly the ground, To swallow one and all up, Then, with a jerk, I'll veer me round, And straight to hell I'll gallop.

Xenien. We insects keep them all in awe, With sharpest scissors shear we! Old Nick, our worthy Squire Papa, Here to salute appear we.

Hennings. See! how in merry circles they Sit gossiping together; The graceless crew have hearts, they say, As good as any other.

Musagetes. This witch and wizard crew to lead, My willing fancy chooses; More hopeful field is here indeed, Than when I lead the Muses.

Ci-devant Genius of the Age. The Brocken has a good broad back, Like the High-Dutch Parnassus; The Jury here no man can pack, Or with proud silence pass us.

Inquisitive Traveller. Say, who is he so stiff that goes, That stately-stalking stranger? He snuffs for Jesuits with sharp nose, And cries--the Church in danger!

Crane. In muddy waters do I fish As well as where it clear is, And only for such cause as this The pious man too here is.

Worldling. Yes! though the saints declare that sin And Blocksberg are identical, Yet here, amid this demon din, They'll set up their conventicle.

Dancer. A sound of drums! a sound of men! That wafted on the wind came!-- The weary bitterns in the fen Are booming--never mind 'em!

Dancing-Master. Lo! how they kick, and how they jump! How well each figure shown is! Springs the crooked, hops the plump! Each thinks him an Adonis!

A Good Fellow. A sorry lot! What muffled ire Their swelling breasts inflames here! The beasts were tamed by Orpheus' lyre, And them the bagpipe tames here!

Professor of Systematic Theology. I let no one bamboozle me With doubts and critic cavils; The devil sure must something be, Else whence so many devils?

Idealist. Imagination travels free Without or rein or rule here; If I am all that now I see, Myself must be a fool here.

Realist. That on the Brocken ghosts appear Now scarce admits disputing; Amid this hurly burly here I've fairly lost my footing.

Supernaturalist. Into this swarming hellish brood I come, without intrusion; From evil spirits to the good, It is a just conclusion.

Sceptic. They chase the flame that flits about, And deem them near their treasure; Best rhymes with doubt this demon-rout, And I look on with pleasure.

Leader of the Orchestra. Snout of fly, and nose of gnat, Ye stupid Dilettanti! Frog and cricket, cat and bat, Keep better time, why can't ye?

Clever Spirits. _Sans-souci_ is hight the crew On limber limbs that ply it; When on our feet it will not do, Then on our heads we try it.

Awkward Spirits. With once or twice a lucky throw We tramped the road together; But now we flounder on, and show Our toes outside the leather!

Ignes Fatui. Though born but with the sultry ray This morn, in the morass all, Yet now, amid the gallants gay, We shine here and surpass all.

Falung Star. Last night I shot from starry sky And fell upon my nose here; Will no one come where flat I lie, And plant me on my toes here?

Stout Spirits. Make way, make way! and brush the dew Right bravely from the lawn here; Spirits we are, but Spirits too Can show both pith and brawn here!

Puck. Why tramp ye so majestical As cub of river-horse is? The plumpest spirit of you all Stout Puck himself of course is.

Ariel. If loving Nature's bounteous care Hath fitted you with pinions, Then cleave with me the yielding air To rosy bright dominions.

Orchestra. The mist draws off, and overhead All clear and bright the air is, And with the rustling breeze are fled The devils and the fairies!

/end of the interlude./

Scene Iii. _A cloudy day. The Fields._

/Faust/ _and_ /Mephistopheles/.

Faust. In misery! in despair! Wandering in hopeless wretchedness over the wide earth, and at last made prisoner! Shut up like a malefactor in a dungeon, victim of the most horrible woes--poor miserable girl! Must it then come to this? Thou treacherous and worthless Spirit! this hast thou concealed from me!--Stand thou there! stand!--Roll round thy fiendish eyes, infuriate in thy head! Stand and confront me with thy insupportable presence. A prisoner! in irredeemable misery! given over to evil Spirits, and to the condemning voice of the unfeeling world! and me, meanwhile, thou cradlest to sleep amid a host of the most vapid dissipations, concealing from my knowledge her aggravated woes!--while she--she is left in hopeless wretchedness to die!

Mephistopheles. She's not the first.

Faust. Dog! abominable monster!--Change him, O thou infinite Spirit! change the reptile back again into his original form--the poodle that ran before me in the twilight, now cowering at the feet of the harmless wanderer, now springing on his shoulders!--Change him again into his favorite shape, that he may crouch on his belly in the sand before me, and I may tramp him underneath my feet, the reprobate!--Not the first! Misery, misery! by no human soul to be conceived! that more than one creature of God should ever have been plunged into the depth of this woe! that the first, in the writhing agony of her death, should not have atoned for the guilt of all the rest before the eyes of the All-merciful! It digs even into the marrow of my life, the misery of this _one_; and thou--thou grinnest in cold composure over the wretchedness of thousands!

Mephistopheles. Here we are arrived once more at the limit of our wits, where the thread of human reason snaps in sunder. Wherefore seekest thou communion with us, unless thou would'st carry it through? Would'st fly, and yet art not proof against giddiness? Did we thrust ourselves on you, or you on us?

Faust. Whet not thy rows of voracious teeth at me! I loathe it!--Great and glorious Spirit, who didst condescend to reveal thyself to me, who knowest my heart and my soul, wherefore didst thou yoke me to this vilest of complices, who feeds on mischief and banquets on destruction?

Mephistopheles. Art done?

Faust. Deliver her! or woe thee!--the direst of curses lie on thee forever!

Mephistopheles. I cannot loose the bonds of the avenger, nor open his bars.--Deliver her! Who was it that plunged her into ruin? I or thou?

[/Faust/ _looks wildly round._

Mephistopheles. [_continues_] Would'st grasp the thunder? 'Tis well that you, poor mortals, have it not to wield! To smash the innocent in pieces is the proper tyrant's fashion of venting one's spleen in a dilemma.

Faust. Bring me to her! She shall be free!

Mephistopheles. And the danger to which thou exposest thyself! Know that the guilt of blood from thy hand still lies upon the town. Above the spot where the slain fell, avenging Spirits hover and lie in wait for the returning murderer.

Faust. That too from thee? Murder and death of a world on thee, thou monster! Bring me to her, I say, and deliver her!

Mephistopheles. I'll lead thee thither, and what I can do that I will do. Mark me! Have I all power in heaven and on earth? I will cloud the wits of the warder, and thou may'st seize the keys, and bring her out with the hand of a man. I wait for you with the magic horses to ensure your escape. This I can do.

Faust. Up and away!

Scene Iv. _Night. The open Field._

/Faust. Mephistopheles/. (_Galloping past on black horses._)

Faust. What are they about there, bustling round the Ravenstone?[*4]

Mephistopheles. Can't say what they are cooking and kitchening.

Faust. They hover up, they hover down, bending and bowing.

Mephistopheles. A corporation of Witches.

Faust. They seem to be sprinkling and blessing something.

Mephistopheles. On! on!

Scene V. _A Prison._

/Faust/, _with a bundle of keys in his hand and a lamp, before an iron door._

Faust. A strange cold shuddering dread comes o'er me, all The up-heaped wretchedness of time. Here dwells she now behind this damp cold wall, And dear delusion was her only crime! Fear'st thou to go to her? Tremblest to meet her eye? Quick! thy delay but brings her death more nigh.

[_He seizes the lock. Singing heard from within._

My mother, the wanton, That choked my breath![*n16] My father, the villain, That dined on my death! My sister dear, In the cool green shade My bones she laid; Then was I a glad little bird in the May; Fly away! fly away!

Faust. [_opening the door_] She dreams not that her loved one is so near, The clinking chains and rustling straw to hear.

Margaret. [_hiding herself on the bed_] Woe, woe! they come.--To bitter death they call.

Faust. [_softly_] Hush! hush! I come to free thee from their thrall!

Margaret. [_throwing herself at his feet_] Art thou a man? feel for my hapless plight.

Faust. Thy cries will wake the watchers of the night!

[_He takes hold of the chains to unloose them._

Margaret. [_on her knees_] Who gave thee, hangman, such a power To drag me from my cell at midnight hour? Have pity on me! Be not so harsh!--so rough! Surely to-morrow morn is soon enough. [_She stands up._] So young, so very young, am I, And must already die! Once I was lovely too--'twas this that caused my fall. Near was the friend, but far from me to-day; Torn lies the wreath, the flowers are scattered all. Oh tear me not so forcibly away! Spare me! what have I done to injure thee? Oh hear my prayer! for once compassion show!-- 'Tis the first time I ever looked on thee.

Faust. That I should live to see such depth of woe!

Margaret. Thou hast me now completely in thy might. Only first give me time to suckle my sweet child. I hugged it the whole weary night; They took't from me in very spite; And now they say I murdered the sweet child, And never more shall I be glad again. They sing songs on me, too! A wicked thing to do! 'Tis the refrain Of a grim old melody: Who taught them that its words were meant for me?

Faust. [_throwing himself down_] Here, at thy feet, behold who loves thee fall, To strike thy shackles, and to break thy thrall!

Margaret. [_falling beside him on her knees_] Yes! let us kneel and call upon the Saints! Beneath these steps, I hear it well! Beneath the threshold, Boileth Hell! The evil One His fury vents, With fearful yell!

Faust. [_loud_] Gretchen! Gretchen!

Margaret. [_attentive_] That was the loved one's voice! [_She springs up; the chains fall away._] Where is he? where? I heard him call on me, Now I am free! and none shall hinder me! To his neck will I fly! On his bosom lie! He called me his Gretchen! he stood at the door. Through the wild howling and hissing of Hell, Through the loud-laughing scorn and the fiendish uproar, Came the sweet voice of love that I know so well.

Faust. 'Tis I!

Margaret. 'Tis thou! O say it yet again! [_Clasping him._] 'Tis he! 'tis he! Where now is all my pain? Where all my prison's woe? my fetters where? 'Tis he! he comes to lift me from this lair Of wretchedness! I'm free, I'm free! Already the well-known street I see, Where the first time I spake to thee, And the pleasant garden, where Martha and I did wait for thee.

Faust. [_striving forward_] Come, come!

Margaret. O stay, stay! Thou know'st how pleased I stay where thou dost stay.

[_Caressing him._

Faust. Away, away! Unless we haste, Dearly we'll pay for these few moments' waste.

Margaret. How! giv'st thou me no kiss? My friend, so very short a space away, And hast forgot to kiss? Why feel I now so straitened when I hold Thee in my arms? It was not so of old, When from thy words and looks, a heaven of bliss Came down; and thou didst kiss As thou would'st smother me. Come, kiss me! kiss! Else kiss I thee! [_She embraces him._] O woe! thy lips are cold, Are dumb; Where is the love thy swelling bosom bore Whilome for me? why are thy lips so cold?

[_She turns away from him._

Faust. Come with me, sweet love, come! I'll hug thee ten times closer than before, Only come with me now! Come, I implore!

Margaret. [_turning to him_] Art thou then _he_? Art thou then truly _he_?

Faust. 'Tis I, in truth. Come, love, and follow me.

Margaret. And these vile chains thou breakest, And me again unto thy bosom takest? How canst thou dare to turn fond eyes on me? Know'st thou then, Henry, whom thou com'st to free?

Faust. Come, come! the night sinks fast; come, follow me!

Margaret. My mother slept a sleep profound! I drugged her to't; My little babe I drowned! Was it not heaven's boon to me and thee? Thee, too!--'tis thou! I scarce may deem My sense speaks true. Give me thy hand! It is no dream! Thy dear, dear hand! Alas! but it is wet! Wipe it; for it is wet With blood! O God! what hast thou done? Put up thy sword; I pray thee put it up.

Faust. Let gone be gone! Thou stabbest me with daggers, every word.

Margaret. No! thou shalt survive our sorrow! I will describe the graves to thee, Where thou shalt bury them and me To-morrow. The best place thou shalt give my mother; Close beside her lay my brother; Me a little to the side, But at distance not too wide! And my child at my right breast.-- These, and none else with us shall rest! Me on thy loving side to press, That was a heaven of blessedness! But now, I cannot do it more; I feel as I must force my love to thee, And thou didst coldly fling me back from thee; And yet 'tis thou!--as good, as loving as before.

Faust. 'Tis I, even I, come, sweet love, come!

Margaret. Out there?

Faust. Into the open air.

Margaret. If the grave be there, And death there waits, then come! Hence to my eternal home, Not a step more.-- Thou leav'st me now?--would I might go with thee?

Faust. Thou canst, if thou but wilt. I have unbarred the door.

Margaret. I may not go; no hope for me remains; They watch me close--my home is with my chains. It is so sad to beg from door to door; A guilty thing from human loves outcast, A homeless earth to wander o'er; And they are sure to find me out at last.

Faust. I will protect thee.

Margaret. Quick! Quick! Save thy poor child! Away, away! Keep the path Up the stream, Across the bridge, To the left hand, Where the plank stands, In the pond, Seize it, quick! It rises up, It kicks! it lives! O save it, save it!

Faust. Only bethink thee! One step more, and thou art free.

Margaret. Would we were past that mountain gray! There sits my mother on a stone-- I feel a hand that pulls me back As cold as clay! There sits my mother on a stone; Her head sways heavily; She winks not, she nods not, her head she may not raise. She slept so long, she never more may wake. She slept that we might our enjoyment take. O these were happy days!

Faust. Here words and prayers will only make things worse; Come! come; or I must hale thee hence by force.

Margaret. Let me alone! lay no rough hands on me! Nor with such murderous clutches seize me! Thou know'st I have done everything to please thee.

Faust. The day dawns. Come, my Gretchen, follow me!

Margaret. Day! yes, it is day! the Judgment-day breaks in! My marriage-day it should have been! Let no one know thou wert before with Margaret. Woe to my wreath! 'Tis done! oh, pain! We will meet again; But not at the dance. The thronging crowds advance With bated breath; No word is spoken; The squares, the streets, Cannot contain them all. The bell doth call, The staff is broken, They bind me with cords, they drag me away, And on the bloody block me lay; And every trembling eye doth quake At the blade that is brandished o'er my neck. Mute lies the world as the grave!

Faust. O had I ne'er been born!

Mephistopheles. [_appearing from without_] Up! or no help can save! Profitless whining, whimpering, and prating! Meanwhile my eager steeds are waiting, Snuffing the scent of the morning air.

Margaret. What's that from the floor uprising there? 'Tis he! 'Tis he! O send his hateful face Away! What seeks he in this holy place? He comes for me!

Faust. No! thou shalt live.

Margaret. Judgment of God! to thee my soul I give.

Mephistopheles. [_to_ /Faust/] Come, come! else will I leave you to your fate!

Margaret. Thine am I, Father! O shut not the gate Of mercy on me! Ye angels! ye most holy Spirits! now Encamp around me! and protect me now! Henry, I tremble when I think on thee.

Mephistopheles. She is judged!

Voice. [_from above_] Is saved!

Mephistopheles. [_to_ /Faust/] Hither to me!

Voice. [_from within, dying away_] Henry! Henry!

[The End]

FOOTNOTES.

Introduction

[i1] _De Dæmonibus, Ficini, Aldus; and Horst, Zauber-Bibliothek_, vi. p. 72.

[i2] _Giordano Bruno de Monade, numero et figura, apud Horst, Z. B._ iii. p. 70.

[i3] John xii. 31; 1 John iii. 8; and the remarks in Bretschneider's _Dogmatik_, § 108.

[i4] "The weary bitterns in the fen Are booming--never mind them." _Walpurgis-Night's Dream._

[i5] See this particularly proved of Ficinus, in Buhle's _Geschichte der Philosophie_, vi. _theil._ § 889.

[i6] Buhle, _ubi subra_, § 897.

[i7] The most deliberate attempt of this kind that I have seen, is that of _Dürr_, in the sixth volume of _Schellhorn's Amœnitates Literariæ_; where the story of Faust is called "Historiola pueris et aniculis credita;" and the hero himself, "_Doctor Faust fictitius ille et imaginarius_."

[i8] _Faust, eine Tragœdie_, von August Klingemann, Leipzig, 1815; of which there is a good account in one of the numbers of _Blackwood's Magazine_.

[i9] _Christ. Aug. Huemann's Glaubwürdigste Nachricht von D. Fausten._ In einem Schreiben an Herrn D. Haubern. _Bib. Mag._ vol. iii. p. 84.

[i10] _Die Sage von Doctor Faust_, von D. Christian Ludwig Stieglitz, in Raumer's _Historiches Taschenbuch_, 5ter Jahrgang, Leipzig, 1834. The same number contains a dissertation on Wallenstein.

[i11] _Apud_ Heumann.

[i12] From the Latin of Manlius. _Apud_ Heumann, _ut supra_.

[i13] _Wierii Opera_, Amstelodami, 1660. _De Magis Infamibus_, p. 105. He is as little favourable to our hero as Manlius. He says, indeed, that he practised magic over the whole of Germany, "cum multorum admiratione;" and that "nihil non potuit," but it was all "inani jactantia et pollicitationibus."

[i14] _Disquisit. Mag._, lib. ii. dissert. 12.

[i15] _Apud_ Stieglitz, _ubi supra_, p. 130.

[i16] I suppose Begardi alludes to the world-renowned Philippus Aureolus Theophrastus Paracelsus Bombastus von Hohenheim.

[i17] In a letter dated 20th August 1507.

[i18] Camerarius, Hor. Suceessiv. cent. 2. page 314. Conrad Gesner, Onomasticon apud Stieglitz, Sage von Faust.

[i19] The life of Paracelsus is very characteristic of the age, and may be seen in Sprengel's _Histoire de Medecine_, § 9. art. iii.

[i20] That Faust might attain universal celebrity, the fame of authorship could not be wanting. Besides being the reputed author of his own life and exploits, published by his executor Wagner after his death, there are extant magical works under his own name,--perhaps not more authentic than those ascribed to Solomon,--of which one of the most curious is reprinted by Horst, _Zauber Bibliothek_, vol. iii. p. 86, with the following title, "Doctor J. Faust's Book of Miracles, Art, and Wonders, or the Black Raven,--also called the Threefold Hell-compulsion; wherewith I compelled the Spirits to bring me whatsoever things I pleased, whether gold or silver, treasure great and small, and the springroot (a magic plant), and whatever other such things are upon the earth; all this have I brought to pass by means of this book, and was also able to dismiss the spirits as often as I pleased." The introduction to this book by Doctor Faust himself is curious, but too long for insertion. The warning, however, with which it concludes is too serious to be omitted, "_Above all things, beware of entering into compacts with these Spirits, that it may not fare with you as it has fared with me._"

[i21] Roscoe's _German Novelists_, vol. i. To which the curious may add (1.) Faust: _dans l'Histoire et dans la, Legende par Ristelhüber._ Didier. 1863. (2.) Faustus: his life, death, and doom, a romance in prose; from the German. London: Kent and Co., 1864. (3.) Auerbach's _Volksbuchlein_. München, 1839.

[i22] See notes to Manfred.

[i23] Martin.

Faust. [1] Apollyon, Beelzebub, Satan.

[2] A cant word for a sword.

[3] _Dudelsack_. A bagpipe.

[4] _Rabenstein_. Place of execution.

NOTES.

Note I. _And this mysterious magic page_ _From Nostradamus' hand so sage._

Nostradamus was born at St. Remy, a town of Provence, in 1503, and was a great friend of Julius Scaliger. He must thus have been likewise a cotemporary of the famous alchymist Cornelius Agrippa, whom, as we have seen (_Vide Introd. Remarks_), Del-Rio makes a companion of Dr. Faust. Like a worthy son of the sixteenth century, Nostradamus was convinced that he could make no progress in the art of healing bodily diseases unless he began _ab ovo_ with the study of the stars; and this it was that led him away from his own profession of medicine into the sublime regions of astronomy and astrology, to which allusion is made in the text. He was particularly famous for his prophetic almanacs, which were held in universal estimation. The title of his principal work is "_The true Prophecies and Prognostications of Michael Nostradamus, physician to Henry II., Francis II., Charles IX., Kings of France, and one of the best astronomers that ever were, a work full of curiosity and learning_." The English translation is from the hand of Theophilus de Garenciennes, a naturalised Frenchman, and Oxonian Doctor of Physic. The common edition is London, 1672.

Note II. _He sees the sign of the Macrocosm._

The macrocosm is a Greek word signifying the _big world_, the universe, as contrasted with the _little world_, the microcosm or man, made in the likeness of God, and therefore in the likeness of his great manifestation, the universe. The terms were in familiar use with the theosophists of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries; as may be seen from the title-page of a great physico-metaphysical book by our countryman, Robert Fludd, printed at Oppenheim 1617-19, "_Utriusque Cosmi, majoris scilicet et minoris, Metaphysica, Physica atque technica Historia, in duo volumina, secundum, Cosmi differentiam divisa; auctore Roberto Fludd, alias de Fluctibus, Armigero, et in Medicina Doctore Oxoniensi_," etc. The book is rare; but the curious may find a beautiful copy in the Library of the Writers to the Signet, Edinburgh.

Note III. _The key of Solomon the wise_ _Is surest spell to exorcise._

Solomon was a magician among the Jews, for the same reason that Roger Bacon has acquired that reputation amongst us--on account of his great wisdom. The Jewish exorcists, of whom mention is made in several passages of the New Testament (Matthew xii. 27), used to invoke the evil spirit by the name of Solomon (Joseph. Antiq. 8, 2, 5, apud Bretschneider Dogmatik, vol. i. p. 764), and the cabalistic talmudists were, of course, not negligent in taking advantage of this popular belief for giving authority to their occult science of numbers. Accordingly, we find Solomon, in the Middle Ages, looked upon as the patriarch and patron-saint of the Magic Art; and many curious books, under his name, were in common circulation among its Professors. It is to the title of these books that the text alludes, "_Clavicula Solomonis_," or Key of Solomon, supposed to be of supreme power in compelling spirits to obey the will of man. They are now become exceedingly rare, but some notice of them will be found in Reichard's work _von Geistern_, and in Horst's _Zauber-Bibliothek_.

Note IV. _Let the Salamander glow,_ _Undene twine her crested wave,_ _Silphe into ether flow,_ _And Kobold vex him, drudging slave!_

Here we have the four elemental spirits, of which Mr. Pope has discoursed so learnedly to Mrs. Anabella Fermor in his preface to "The Rape of the Lock." With Silphs and Salamanders I may suppose the English reader sufficiently acquainted, as they have been almost naturalised on British ground; Undenes and Kobolds still remain more closely attached to their German soil. The former, sometimes called _Wasser-Nixen_, are a sort of Teutonic Nymphs or Sirens, familiar now to a large class of English readers, from Heine's ballad of the _Lurley_, and Fouque's beautiful extravaganza of _Undine_; the latter, seemingly from a Greek original, κόβαλος, well known to the readers of Aristophanes, are called /gnomes/ by Pope, and appear as _brownies_ in many a Scotch ballad. For special details of their character and proceedings the German work of Henning's _von Geistern_ may be consulted, p. 800, and Horst's _Zauber-Bibliothek_, vol. iv. p. 250.

Note V. _Bend thee this sacred_ _Emblem before,_ _Which the powers of darkness_ _Trembling adore._

"Jam experimento comprobatum est nullum malum dæmonem, nullum inferiorum virtutum, in his quæ vexant aut obsident homines, posse huic nomini resistere quando nomen /Jesu/ debitâ, pronunciatione illis proponitur venerandum; nec solum nomen, sed etiam illius signaculum /Crucem/ pavent."--_Agrippa de Occult. Philos._, lib. iii. c. 12.

Note VI. _The pentagram, stands in your way._

"Inter alios plurimos characteres, duo tantum sunt veri et præcipui, quorum primus constat ex duobus trigonis super se invicem ita depictis ut Hexagonum constituant. Alterum dicunt esse priori potentiorem et efficaciorem et esse pentagonon."--_Paracelsus de Characteribus apud Horst, Z. B._ vol. iii. p. 74. The figure thus accurately described by the oracular Bombastus occurs almost as frequently as the sign of the cross, in almost all the old books on magic, and is drawn thus:

[image - pentagram]

The Platonists (let Proclus serve for an example) seem to have derived from the Pythagoreans a strange mixture of religious mysticism with a great enthusiasm for the mathematical sciences; and this same pentagonal figure very probably derives not a little of its supreme efficacy from the fact of its having been transmitted to us from the most ancient times. Poetry is not the only thing that receives a sacredness from age.

Note VII. _When left you Rippach? you, must have been pressed_ _For time. Supped you with Squire Hans by the way?_

"Rippach is a village near Leipzig; and to ask for Hans von Rippach, a fictitious personage, was an old joke amongst the students. The ready reply of Mephistopheles, indicating no surprise, shows Siebel and Altmayer that he is up to it. /Hans/ is the German _Jack_."--/Hayward/.

Note VIII. _Cat-Apes._

These nimble little animals, which play such a distinguished part in this Witch Scene, are denominated in the original "_Meer-katzen_," literally "Sea-cats;" of which Adelung (in voce) gives the following account:--"A name given to a certain kind of monkeys with a cat's tail, of which there are many species,--_Cebus_, Linnæi. They are so called from coming across the sea from warm countries." I originally intended to retain the German phrase "_Sea-cat_;" but afterwards had no hesitation to adopt the happy translation given by the writer in _Blackwood's Magazine_, vol. vii. There is something mystical in the idea of an animal half cat and half ape, which agrees wonderfully with the witch-like antic character of this whole scene. Besides, the term "Cat-ape" is far more expressive of the nature of the animal than that in the original.

Note IX. _And we will strew chopped straw before the door._

A German custom prevalent among the common people, when they suspect the virginity of a bride. The ceremony is performed on the day before the marriage.--_Vide_ Adelung in voce _Häckerling_.

Note X. _And good Sir Urian is the guide._

"Sir Urian is a name which was formerly used to designate an unknown person, or one whose name, even if it were known, it was not thought proper to mention. In this sense it was sometimes applied to the devil. In the Parzival of Wolfram von Eschenbach, the unprincipled Prince of Partartois is called Urian."--/Bayard Taylor/.

Note XI. _The ointment gives our sinews might._

"According to the orthodox theory, the witches anointed their whole body with a salve or ointment prepared in the name of the fiend, murmured a few magic sentences into their beard, and then flew up, body and soul, head and hair, actually and corporeally into the air."--Horst's _Dæmonomagie_, vol. ii. p. 203.

Note XII. _Make way, Squire Voland comes._

A name of Satan, derived probably from the Latin _Volo_, through the Italian _Volante_, expressive of that agile quality of the old deceiver, whereby he is always "going to and fro on the earth, and walking up and down in it."--Job i. 7. See Reichard's _Geister Reich_, vol. i. p. 397. But I rather suspect this appellation is connected with the office of the evil one, as chief of the flies, and other volatile tormentors. In the French edition of the popular story the devil is called "Le Diable volatique," c. vi.;--or, better still, the devil is so called as being "the prince of the power of the air," and therefore a flying spirit. "Mon Valet, dis moi quel esprit es-tu?--Mon Maistre Faust, je suis un esprit Volant, qui ay mon cours dans l'air sous le ciel"--in the same French history of Doctor Faust.

Note XIII. _Who then is that?--'Tis Lilith._

_Lilith_, from _Lil_, darkness, is the name of night-monster (translated _screech-owl_ in Isaiah xxxiv. 14), who, under the deceitful form of a beautiful woman, was believed by the Jews to be most injurious to parturient women, and very often to occasion the death of young persons before they were circumcised. Buxtorf, in his Lexicon Talmudicum, gives a tolerably good account of these Hebrew _Lamiæ_; but the most complete and satisfactory information on this, as on all other subjects connected with ancient and modern superstition, is to be found in Horst, _Zauber-Bibliothek_, part vi. pp. 42 and 86.

Note XIV. _Proctophantasmist._

It is universally agreed that Nicolai, a noted Berlin publisher, who flourished about the middle and towards the end of the last century, is the person meant here. From his biography by Göcking, he appears to have been a man of remarkable mental activity and considerable literary significance in his day; but, like the Brandenburg sands on which he was located, his ideas seemed to have been somewhat flat and prosaic, and totally inadequate to grasp the significance of the great master spirits of thought, who were now asserting their rightful place on the platform of German literature. Notwithstanding the prosaic character of his mind, he became subject to a disease of seeing apparitions in clear daylight (see Dr. Hibbert's book on apparitions), an abnormal action of the optic nerves, which was cured by the application of leeches to the part of the body on which the unfeathered biped finds it comfortable to sit. Hence the name, from the Greek πρωκτός.

Note XV. _Intermezzo._

Most of the puppet personages who pop up in this curious little piece, and explain their own significance in a stanza, may be presumed to be sufficiently familiar to all readers capable of appreciating the mind of a poetical thinker such as Goethe. I confine myself to the few following notes:--

_Embryo-Spirit_.--German "_Geist der sich erst bildet_." A quiz upon young versifiers,--poetlings with whom rhyme and reason are opposite poles.

_Orthodox_.--We are indebted to the Fathers of the Church for the pious imagination that the heathen gods were devils. Milton follows the same unfounded idea. The gods of Greece were bad enough; but we need not make them worse than they were. They had their good side too. _Vide_ Schiller's beautiful poem, "The Gods of Greece," which, by the by, Frantz Horn calls "Ein unendlicher Irrthum,"--an infinite error. But a man may admire an Apollo or a Minerva without meaning to be a heathen.

_Purists_.--There are "purists" among the German grammarians; but the allusion here must be to something else--prigs and precisians, I fancy.

_Xenien_.--Epigrammatic poems published by Goethe and Schiller, which were very severe on the half-poets of the day.

_Hennings_.--I know nothing of this character. Hayward says he was one of the victims of the Xenien, and editor of two periodicals, "_The Genius of the Age_," and the "_Musaget_."

The _stiff_ man is Nicolai; he of the "old mill," _supra_, p. 251. Nicolai was a great zealot against Catholics and Jesuits; but, as Frantz Horn hints, his zeal was not always according to knowledge.--_Geschichte der Deutschen Poesie_, vol. iii.

The _Crane_, I believe, is Lavater.

Note XVI. _My mother, the wanton,_ _That choked my breath._

"This song is founded upon a popular German story, to be found in the _Kinder-und Haus-Märchen_ of the distinguished brothers Grimm, under the title of _Van den Machandel-Boom_, and in the English selection from that work (entitled _German Popular Stories_), under the title of _The Juniper Tree_.--The wife of a rich man, whilst standing under a juniper tree, wishes for a little child as white as snow and as red as blood; and, on another occasion, expresses a wish to be buried under the juniper when dead. Soon after, a little boy as white as snow and as red as blood is born: the mother dies of joy at beholding it, and is buried according to her wish. The husband marries again, and has a daughter. The second wife, becoming jealous of the boy, murders him, and serves him up at table for the unconscious father to eat. The father finishes the whole dish, and throws the bones under the table. The little girl, who is made the innocent assistant in her mother's villany, picks them up, ties them in a silk handkerchief, and buries them under the juniper tree. The tree begins to move its branches mysteriously, and then a kind of cloud rises from it, a fire appears in the cloud, and out of the fire comes a beautiful bird, which flies about singing the following song:--

"'Min Moder de mi slacht't Min Vader de me att, Min Swester de Marleenken Söcht alle mine Beeniken, Un bindt sie in een syden Dook, Legts unner den Machandelboom; Kywitt, Kywitt! ach watt en schön Vagel ben ich!'" Hayward's _Prose Translation of Faust_, _2d edition_, p. 294.

[THE END.]

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES.

Alterations to text:

Add TOC and Dramatis Personae listing.

Relabel footnote markers and link to footnotes at end of work.

Add note markers to play and link to notes at end of work.

Minor changes to the formatting of some play elements (speaker names, stage directions, etc.).

[Act IV/Scene VIII] Change the speaker of "Who's this lies here?" from Gretchen to Margaret.

Text surrounded by /slashes/ is mixed capitals.