GRETCHEN.
| My brother! God! What’s all this?
|
VALENTINE.
| Leave the Good Lord out of this!
|
| What has happened cannot be undone.
|
| It’s sad, but things will take their course.
|
| Since you started on the sly with one,
|
| there will be others soon to follow,
|
| and when a dozen get a taste of you,
|
| all the town will taste you soon enough.
|
3740
| When Disgrace first issues from the womb,
|
| her birth takes place in secrecy.
|
| A veil of night and furtive shadow
|
| is quickly drawn about her head and ears,
|
| and one would like to murder her.
|
| And if she grows and throws her weight about,
|
| she’ll walk stark naked in the sun,
|
| but her looks have not improved one bit.
|
| The uglier her face becomes,
|
| the more she seeks the light of day.
|
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| Even now I see the time
|
| when all the decent people of this town
|
| will turn, as from a festering cadaver,
|
| away from you, you slut!
|
| May your heart convulse in you
|
| when they look into your eyes!
|
| You shall no longer wear your golden chain,
|
| nor pray to God before the altar,
|
| nor seek your pleasures at a dance
|
| decked out in lace and finery.
|
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| You will hide in dismal nooks and corners
|
| among the cripples and the beggars,
|
| and even if our God forgives you in the end,
|
| you’ll still be damned on earth until you die!
|
MARTHA.
| Commend your soul to God Almighty!
|
| Do not add blasphemy to your sins.
|
VALENTINE.
| If I could smash your withered body,
|
| you miserable pimping woman!
|
| I would expect that all my sins
|
| might yet be pardoned in full measure.
|
GRETCHEN.
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| My brother! Oh, what hellish pain!
|
VALENTINE.
| I tell you, stop your useless tears!
|
| Once you said farewell to honor,
|
| you dealt my heart a heavy blow.
|
| I go to God through death’s deep slumber
|
| as a soldier, true and brave.
|
| (
He dies
.)
|
CATHEDRAL
Mass in progress, organ, choir. Gretchen among the congregation. The Evil Spirit behind Gretchen.
EVIL SPIRIT.
| How different, Gretchen, was it once for you when you came to kneel before this altar,
|
| pure and innocent,
|
| and you lisped your prayers
|
3780
| from the worn and fingered little book,
|
| half in childlike play,
|
| with God in your heart!
|
| Gretchen!
|
| What has happened to you?
|
| What misdeed
|
| is lodged in your heart?
|
| Do you pray for the soul of your mother,
|
| who through your doing passed to never-ending sleep?
|
| Whose blood stains your doorstep?—
|
3790
| Is something not stirring and swelling
|
| beneath your heart,
|
| making itself and you afraid
|
| with stark foreboding?
|
GRETCHEN.
| Oh, God!
|
| I wish that I could free myself
|
| from terrible thoughts
|
| marshaled against me!
|
CHOIR.
| Dies irae, dies illa
|
| Solvet saeclum in favilla.
41
|
| (
Organ tone
.)
|
EVIL SPIRIT.
3800
| Despair seizes you!
|
| The trumpet sounds!
|
| Sepulchers quake!
|
| And your heart
|
| from ashen sleep
|
| arises, new,
|
| trembling and throbbing,
|
| to fiery torture.
|
GRETCHEN.
| Oh, to escape!
|
| I feel the sound
|
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| throttling my breath,
|
| and the chants melting
|
| my inmost heart.
|
CHOIR.
| Judex ergo cum sedebit
,
|
| Quidquid latet adparebit
,
|
| Nil inultum remanebit
.
42
|
GRETCHEN.
| It’s closing in!
|
| The walls and pillars
|
| imprison me!
|
| The vaulted ceiling
|
3820
| crushes me!—Air!
|
EVIL SPIRIT.
| Hide! Hide! Yet sin and shame
|
| will not remain concealed.
|
| Air? Light?
|
| Woe to you!
|
CHOIR.
| Quid sum miser tunc dicturus?
|
| Quem patronum rogaturus?
|
| Cum vix justus sit securus.
43
|
EVIL SPIRIT.
| From you
|
| the blessed turn their faces.
|
3830
| The pure recoil
|
| from offering their hand.
|
| Woe!
|
CHOIR.
| Quid sum miser tunc dicturus?
|
GRETCHEN.
| Good neighbor! Please, your smelling salts!—
|
| (
She faints
.)
|
WALPURGIS NIGHT
44
The Harz Mountains. Region in the vicinity of
Schierke and Elend
.
Faust, Mephistopheles
.
MEPHISTOPHELES.
| Don’t you want a broomstick to convey you hence?
|
| As for me, I’d like the toughest billy goat.
|
| By this road our goal is very distant still.
|
FAUST.
| While my legs feel fresh and strong,
|
| the knotted stick will serve me well.
|
3840
| Why should I want to shorten the excursion?
|
| To creep along the labyrinthine valleys,
|
| then to scale this sudden towering cliff,
|
| eternal source of spurting, plunging waters—
|
| those are the joys and seasonings of the trail!
|
| Already Spring is weaving through these birches;
|
| the fir itself is touched by it;
|
| should Spring not quicken our limbs as well?
|
MEPHISTOPHELES.
| Myself I notice no such thing.
|
| I feel the winter in my belly
|
3850
| and wish for snow and frost to line my path.
|
| How sadly the unfinished, lunar disk
|
| rises with belated, ruddy glow,
|
| giving sparse illumination, and at every turn
|
| one stumbles into trees and boulders.
|
| Let me call upon a will-o’-the-wisp!
|
| I see one over there that’s burning merrily.
|
| Hi there! My friend! Please join us over here!
|
| Why cast your flickering flame for nothing?
|
| Be good enough to shine your light up here!
|
WILL-O’-THE-WISP.
3860
| My reverence for you, I hope, will help control
|
| my inborn instability;
|
| we are accustomed to a zigzag way of life.
|
MEPHISTOPHELES.
| Well, well! It’s man you aim to imitate.
|
| Now in the devil’s name, go straight!
|
| Or else I’ll snuff the fluttering life right out of you.
|
WILL-O’-THE-WISP.
| I see you are the lord and master in this house;
|
| I’ll do my best to keep you satisfied.
|
| But keep in mind, the mountain is magic-mad today,
|
| and since you’re asking me to light the way,
|
3870
| do not expect too much precision.
|
FAUST, MEPHISTOPHELES, WILL-O’-THE-WISP.
| (
singing alternately
).
|
| We have arrived, so it appears,
|
| In a sphere of magic dreams.
|
| Lead us on and show no fears,
|
| So we may move to further stations
|
| Over broad and barren regions!
|
| See the forest like a legion
|
| Flitting past us as we go;
|
| And the cliffs inclining low,
|
| Reaching for the forest floor,
|
3880
| Blow their noses, sneeze, and snore.
|
| Through meadows and by rocks we soar,
|
| By brooks and reeds to which we cling;
|
| Do they babble? Do they sing?
|
| Are those ancient lovers’ lays,
|
| Languid voices out of blissful days?
|
| We love and hope, and hope and love!
|
| And the echo, like an age-old secret tale,
|
| Rings below and sings above.
|
| To-whit! To-whoo! Not far away
|
3890
| Are the plover, owl, and jay.
|
| Have they all remained awake?
|
| Are there newts behind the reeds?
|
| Skinny legs and swollen glands!
|
| Here a root and there a snake,
|
| Coiling through the roots and sands,
|
| Sending strange and dewy threads
|
| To frighten us and hold us here.
|
| From living burls on crooked trees
|
| They wind their fibrous polyp-tether
|
3900
| To trap the wanderer. And the mice
|
| Of myriad colors, far and near,
|
| Scuttle through the moss and heather.
|
| Glowworms gleaming in a crowd
|
| Conjure up a sparkling cloud,
|
| A shimmering escort of confusion.
|
| But tell me if we stand and stay,
|
| Or if we move along the way.
|
| It all appears to turn and sway;
|
| Rocks and trees are making faces,
|
3910
| Will-o’-the-wisps flit by
|
| And swell their teeming races.
|
MEPHISTOPHELES.
| Seize my coattail with a steady hand;
|
| we’re flying by a central peak
|
| where we can marvel at the sight
|
| of Mammon glowing deep within.
|
