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    "endpoint": "/api/sources/goethe-works/faust/faust-ii/03-act-i-spacious-hall-masquerade.json"
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  "work": {
    "slug": "faust-ii",
    "name": "Faust II (1832)"
  },
  "parents": [
    {
      "slug": "goethe-works",
      "name": "Works of Goethe",
      "url": "/sources/goethe-works/"
    },
    {
      "slug": "faust",
      "name": "Faust (Parts I and II)",
      "url": "/sources/faust/"
    }
  ],
  "chapter": {
    "num": 3,
    "slug": "03-act-i-spacious-hall-masquerade",
    "title": "Act I — Spacious Hall (Masquerade)",
    "of": 12,
    "words": 6375,
    "text": "WITH ADJOINING APARTMENTS\nArranged and Decorated for the Carnival Masquerade.®\n\nHERALD.\n\nHINK not, as in our German bounds, your chance is\nOf Death's or Fools' or Devils' dances :\nHere cheerful revels you await.\nOur Ruler, on his Roman expedition,\nHath for his profit, your fruition,\nCrossed o'er the Alpine high partition,\nAnd won himself a gayer State.\nHe to the holy slipper bowed him\nAnd first the right of power besought ;\nThen, as he went to get the Crown allowed him,\nFor us the Fool's-cap he has also brought.\nNow are we all new-born, to wear it:\nEach tactful and experienced man,\nDrawn cosily o'er head and ears, doth bear it;\n\nA fool he seems, yet he must share it,\n\n28 Faust.\n\nAnd be, thereby, as sober as he can.\n\nThey crowding come, I see already,\n\nClose coupling, or withdrawn unsteady, —\nThe choruses, like youth from school.\nCome in or out, bring on your ranks!\nBefore or after —'t is the rule —\n\nWith all its hundred thousand pranks,\n\nThe World is one enormous Fool !\n\nGARDEN-GIRLS.!7\n\n(Song, accompanied with mandolines).\n\nThat we win your praises tender\nWe are decked in festal gear;\nAt the German Court of splendor,\n\nGirls of Florence, we appear.\n\nOn our locks of chestnut glosses\nWear we many a flowery bell;\nSilken threads and silken flosses\n\nHere must play their parts, as well.\n\nOur desert, not over-rated,\nSeems to us assured and clear,\nFor by art we 've fabricated\n\n_ Flowers that blossom all the year.\n\nAct I.\n\nEvery sort of colored snipping\nWon its own symmetric right:\nThough your wit on each be tripping,\nIn the whole you take delight.\n\nWe are fair to see and blooming,\nGarden-girls, and gay of heart;\nFor the natural way of woman\n\nIs so near akin to art.\n\nFIERALD.\n\nLet us see the wealth of blossoms\nBasket-crowning heads that bear them,\nGarlanding your arms and bosoms!\nEach select, and lightly wear them.\nHaste! and bosky arbors dressing,\nLet a garden here enring us! _\nWorthy they of closer pressing,\n\n'Hucksters and the wares they bring us.\n\nGARDEN-GIRLS.\nNow in cheerful places chaffer,\nBut no marketing be ours!\nBriefly, clearly, let each laugher\n\nKnow the meaning of his flowers.\n\n| Faust.\n\nO.ive Brancu, WITH Fruit.\n\nFlowery sprays I do not covet ;\nStrife I shun, or branch above it,\nFoe of conflict I remain.\n\nYet am I the marrow of nations,\nPledge of happy consummations,\nSign of peace on every plain.\nBe, to-day, my lucky fate\nWorthy head to decorate!\n\n\"Wareatu or Ears (golden).\nYou to crown, the gifts of Ceres\nHere their kindly grace have sent ;\nUnto Use what chiefly dear is\n\nBe your fairest ornament!\n\nFancy-WREATH.\nGayest blossoms, like to mallows, —\nFrom the moss a marvel grew!\nFashion calls to light, and hallows,\n\nThat which Nature never knew.\n\nFancy NoseEcay.\n\nWhat our name is, Theophrastus '9\n\nWould not dare to say: contrast us!\n\nAct I. 31\n\nYet we hope to please you purely,\nIf not all, yet many, surely, —\nSuch as fain we'd have possess us,\nBraiding us in shining tresses,\n\nOr, a fairer fate deciding,\n\nOn the heart find rest abiding.\n\nCHALLENGE.\n\nMotley fancies blossom may\n\nFor the fashion of the day,\nWhimsical and strangely moulded,\nSuch as Nature ne'er unfolded:\nBells of gold and stems of green\nIn the plenteous locks be seen! —\n\nYet we\nRosEBuDsS\n\nlie concealed behind ;\nLucky, who shall freshly find!\nWhen the summer-time returneth,\nAnd the rosebud, bursting, burneth,\nWho such blisses would surrender ?\nPromise sweet, and yielding tender,\nThey, in Flora's realm, control\n\nSwiftly eyes and sense and soul.\n\n32 faust.\n\n(Under green, leafy arcades, the GARDEN-GIRLS adorn aitd gracefu!ly\n\nexhibit their wares.)\n\nGARDENERS.?°\n(Song, accompanied with theorbos.)\n\nBlossoms there, that sprout in quiet,\nRound your heads their charms are weaving ;\nBut the fruits are not deceiving,\n\nOne may try the mellow diet.\n\nSunburnt faces tempt with glowing\nCherries, peaches, plums, your vision :\nBuy! for vain the eye's decision\n\nTo the tongue's and palate's showing.\nRipest fruit from sunniest closes\n\nEat, with taste and pleasure smitten!\nPoems one may write on roses,\n\nBut the apple must be bitten.\n\nThen permit that we be mated\nWith your youth, so flowery-fair :\nThus is also decorated,\n\nNeighbor-like, our riper ware.\n\nAct I, 33\n\nUnder wreaths of flowery tether,\nAs the leafy arbors suit,\nAll may then be found together,\nBuds and leaves, and flower and fruit!\n(With alternating songs, accompanied with mandolines and theorbos,\nboth Choruses continue to set forth their wares upon steps rising\n\naloft, and to offer them to the spectators.)\n\nMOoTHER AND DaAuGHTER.?2!\n\nMoTHER.\nMaiden, when thou cam'st to light,\nTiny caps I wrought thee;\nBody tender, soft, and white,\nLovely face I brought thee.\nAs a bride I thought thee, led\nTo the richest, wooed and wed,\n\nAs a wife I thought thee.\n\nAh! already many a year,\nProfitless, is over :\nNone of all the wooers here\nNow around thee hover;\nThough with one wast wont to dance,\nGav'st another nudge and glance, —\nHast not found thy lover!\n\n34. Faust.\n\nI to feast and revel thee\n\nVainly took, to match one:\n\nPawns, and hindmost man of three,\nWould not help thee snatch one.\nEvery fool now wears his cap:\nSweetheart, open thou thy lap!\n\nStill, perchance, mayst catch one!\n\n[Other maiden-playmates, young and beautiful, join the garden-girls :\nthe sound of familiar gossip is heard. Fishers and bird-catchers,\nwith nests, fishing-rods, limed twigs, and other implements, appear,'\nand disperse themselves among the maidens. Reciprocal attempts to\nwin, to catch, to escape, and to hold fast, give opportunity for the\n\nmost agreeable dialogues. |\n\nWoop-CuTtTErs.??\n(Enter, boisterously and boorishly.)\n\nRoom! Make a clearing!\nRoom in your revel!\n\nThe trees we level\n\nThat tumble cracking :\nWhere we 're appearing\nLook out for whacking.\nOur praise adjudging,\nMake clear this fable!\n\nAct T,\n\nSave Coarse were drudging\nWithin your borders,\nWould Fine be able\n\nTo build their orders,\nHowe'er they fretted?\n\nBe taught in season,\n\nFor you 'd be freezing\n\nHad we not sweated |!\n\nPuLcINELLI\n\n(uncouth, almost idiotic).\nYou, Fools, are trooping,\nSince birth so stooping ;\nThe wise ones we are,\nFrom burdens freer.\nOur caps, though sleazy,\nAnd jackets breezy\nTo wear are easy:\nIt gives us pleasure\nTo go with leisure,\nWith slippered shuffles\nThrough market-scufHles,\nTo gape at the pother,\nCroak at each other!\n\nFaust\n\nThrough crowded places\nYou always trace us,\nFel-like gliding,\nSkipping and hiding,\nStorming together:\nMoreover, whether\n\nYou praise — reprove us,\n\nIt does n't move us.\n\nParasites (fawningly-lustful.)\n\nYe woodland bandsmen, |\nAnd they, your clansmen,\nThe charcoal-burners,\nTo you we turn us:\n\nFor all such plodding,\nAffirmative nodding,\nTortuous phrases,\nBlowing both ways — 1s\nWarming or chilling,\nJust as you 're feeling:\nWhat profit from it?\nThere might fall fire,\nEnormous, dire,\n\nFrom heaven's summit,\n\nAct I,\n\nWere there not billets\nAnd coal in wagons,\nTo boil your skillets\nAnd warm your flagons.\nIt roasts and frizzles ;\n\nIt boils and sizzles !\nThe taster and picker,\nThe platter-licker,\n\nHe sniffs the roasting,\nSuspects the fishes,\n\nAnd clears, with boasting,\n\nHis patron's dishes.\n\nDrunken Man?3 (unconsciously).\nNaught, to-day, bring melancholy !\nSince I feel so frank and free:\n\nFresh delight and songs so jolly,\n\nAnd I brought them both with me!\nThus I'm drinking, drinking, drinking!\nClink your glasses, clinking, clinking!\nYou behind there, join the rout !\n\nClink them stout, and then it's out!\n\nThough my wife assailed me loudly,\nRumpled me through thin and thick ;\n\n3/7\n\nfaust.\n\nAnd, howe'er I swaggered proudly,\n\nCalled me \" masquerading stick\":\n\nYet I'm drinking, drinking, drinking!\n\nClink your glasses! clinking, clinking!\nMasking sticks, another bout !\n\nWhen you 've clinked them, drink them out!\n\nSay not mine a silly boast is!\n\nI am here in clover laid:\n\nTrusts the host not, trusts the hostess, —\nShe refusing, trusts the maid.\n\nStill I'm drinking, drinking, drinking !\n\nCome, ye others, clinking, clinking!\n\nEach to each! keep up the rout!\n\nWe, I'm thinking, drink them out. |\n\nHow and where iny fun I'm spying,\nLet me have it as I planned!\nLet me lie where I am lying,\n\nFor I cannot longer stand.\n\nCuHorwus.\n\nEvery chum be drinking, drinking!\nToast afresh, with clinking, clinking!\n\nAct Tf. 39\n\nBravely keep your seats, and shout!\n\nUnder the table 4e's drunk out.\n\n[The HERALD announces various Poets 24 — Poets of Nature, Courtly\nand Knightly Minstrels, Sentimentalists as well as Enthusiasts. In\nthe crowd of competitors of all kinds, no one allows another to coit-\n\nmence his declamation. One slips past with a few words: |\n\nSATIRIST.\n\nKnow ye what myself, the Poet,\nWould the most rejoice and cheer?\nIf I dared to sing, and utter,\n\nThat which no one wants to hear.\n\n[The Night and Churchyard Poets excuse themselves, because they\nhave just become engaged in a most interesting couversation with a\nnewly-arisen vampire, and therefrom a new school of poetry may\npossibly be developed. The HerRaro is obliged to accept their ex-\ncuses, and meanwhile calls forth the Grecian Mythalozy, which,\neven in modern masks, loses neither tts character nor its power to\n\ncharm. |\nTHE GRACES.?25\n\nAGLAIA.\n\nLife we bless with graces living ;\n\nSo be graceful in your giving!\n\nFaust.\n\nHEGEMONE.\n\nGraceful be in your receival ;\n\nWish attained is sweet retrieval.\n\nE.uPHROSYNE.\n\nAnd in days serene and spacious,\n\nIn your thanks be chiefly gracious !\n\nTue Parcé&.\"6\n\nATROPOS.\n\nI, the eldest, to the spinning\nHave received the invitation ;\nWhen the thread of Life 's beginning\n\nThere is need of meditation.\n\nFinest flax I winnow featly\nThat your thread be softly given ;\nDraw it through my fingers neatly,\n\nMake it thin, and smooth, and even.\n\nIf too wanton your endeavor,\nGrasping here of joy each token,\nThink, the thread won't stretch forever !\n\nHave a care! it might be broken.\n\nAct Tf,\n\nCLOoTHO.\n\nKnow that, given to me for wearing,\nLately were the shears supplied ;\nSince men were not by the bearing\n\nOf our eldest edified.\n\nUseless webs she long untangled,\nDragging them to air and light;\nDreams of fortune, hope-bespangled,\nClipped and buried out of sight.\n\nre\n\nAlso I, in ignorance idle,\n\nMade mistakes in younger years,\nBut to-day, myself to bridle,\n\n\"In their sheath I stick the shears.\n\nThus restrained in proper measure,\nFavor I this cheerful place:\nYou these hours of liberal pleasure\n\nUse at will, and run your race!\n\nLacuEsIs.\nIn my hands, the only skilful,\nWas the ordered twisting placed ;\nActive are my ways, not wilful,\n\nErring not through over-haste.\n\n4I\n\n42 Faust.\n\nThreads are coming, threads are reeling ;\nIn its course I each restrain:\nNone, from off the circle wheeling,\n\nFails to fit within the skein.\n\nIf I once regardless gadded,\nFor the world my hopes were vain :\nHours are counted, years are added,\n\nAnd the weaver takes the chain.\n\nHERALD.\n\nYou would not recognize who now appear,\nThough ne'er so learned you were in ancient writing ;\nTo look at them, in evil so delighting,\n\nYou 'd call them worthy guests, and welcome here.\n\nThey are Tue Furies,\"\" no one will believe us, —\nFair, well-proportioned, friendly, young in years:\nBut make acquaintance, and straightway appears\n\nHow snake-like are such doves to wound, deceive us.\n\nThough they are spiteful, yet on this occasion,\nWhen every fool exults in all his blame,\nThey also do not crave angelic fame,\n\nBut own themselves the torments of the nation.\n\nAct TI, 43\n\nALECTO.\n\nWhat good of that, for you will trust us still ! —\nEach of us young and fair, a wheedling kitten.\nHath one of you a girl with whom he's smitten,\n\nWe 'll rub and softly stroke his ears, until\n\n\"T is safe to tell him, spite of all his loathing,\nThat she has also this and the other flame, —\nA blockhead he, or humpbacked, squint and lame,\nAnd if betrothed to him, she's good-for-nothing !\n\nWe're skilled, as well, the bride to vex and sever:\nWhy scarce a week ago, her very lover\n\nContemptuous things fo her was saying of her!\nThough they make up, there 's something rankles ever.\n\nMEGARA.\nThat 's a mere jest! For, let them once be married,\nI go to work, and can, in every case,\nThe fairest bliss by wilful whims displace.\n\nMan has his various moods, the hours are varied,\n\nAnd, holding the Desired that once did charm him,\nEach for the More-desired, a yearning fool,\n\n44 Faust.\n\nLeaves the best fortune, use has rendered cool:\n\nHe flies the sun, and seeks the frost to warm him.\n\nOf ills for all I understand the brewing,\nAnd here Asmodi as my follower lead,\"®\nTo scatter mischief at the proper need,\n\nAnd send the human race, in pairs, to ruin.\n\nTIsIPHONE.\nSteel and poison I, not malice,\nMix and sharpen for the traitor:\nLov'st thou others, soon or later,\n\nRuin pours for thee the chalice.\n\nThrough the moment's sweet libation\nSee the gall and wormwood stealing!\nHere no bargaining, no dealing !\n\nLike the act and retaliation.\n\nNo one babble of forgiving!\nTo the rocks I cry: Revenge! is\nEcho's answer: he who changes\n\nShall be missed among the living.\n\nHERALD.\n\nDo me the favor, now, to stand aside,\n\nAct Tf.\n\nFor that which comes is not to you allied.\n\nYou see a mountain pressing through the throng,\"9\nThe flanks with brilliant housings grandly hung,\nA head with tusks, a snaky trunk below, —\n\nA mystery, yet I the key will show.\n\nA delicate woman sits upon his neck,\n\nAnd with a wand persuades him to her beck ;\nThe other, throned aloft, superb to see,\n\nStands in a glory, dazzling, blinding me.\n\nBeside him walk two dames in chains; one fearful\nAnd sore depressed, the other glad and cheerful.\nOne longs for freedom and one feels she's free:\n\nLet each declare us who she be!\n\nFEAR.\n\nSmoky torches, lamps are gleaming\nThrough the festal's wildering train ;\nAh! amid these faces scheming\n\nI am fastened by my chain.\n\nOff, ridiculously merry !\nI mistrust your grinning spite:\nEach relentless adversary\n\nPresses nearer in the night.\n\nFaust.\n\nFriend would here as foe waylay me,\nBut I know the masking shapes ;\nYonder 's one that wished to slay me, —\n\nNow, discovered, he escapes.\n\nFrom the world I fain would wander\nThrough whatever gate I find;\n\nBut perdition threatens yonder,\n\n+ And the horror holds my mind.\n\nHope.\n\nGood my sisters, I salute you!\nThough to-day already suit you,\nMasquerading thus demurely,\n\nYet I know your purpose surely\nTo reveal yourselves to-morrow.\nAnd if we, by torches lighted,\nFail to feel a special pleasure,\n\nYet in days of cheerful leisure,\nAt our will, delight we 'll borrow,\nOr alone or disunited\n\nFree through fairest pastures ranging,\nRest and action interchanging,\n\nAnd in life no cares that fetter\n\nAct iS.\n\nNaught forego, but strive for better.\nWelcome guests are all around us,\nLet us mingle with the rest !\n\nSurely, what is best hath found us,\n\nOr we 'll somewhere find the best.\n\nPRUDENCE.\n\nTwo of human foes, the greatest,\nFear and Hope, I bind the faster, «\nThus to save you at the latest :\n\nClear the way for me, their master\n\nI conduct the live colossus,\nTurret-crowned with weighty masses ;\nAnd unweariedly he crosses,\n\nStep by step, the steepest passes.\n\n— But aloft the goddess planted,\n_ With her broad and ready pinions,\nTurns to spy where gain is granted\n\nEverywhere in Man's dominions.\n\nRound her all is bright and glorious ;\n\nSplendor streams on all her courses :\n\n48 : faust.\n\nVictory is she —the victorious\n\nGoddess of all active forces.\n\nZOILO- I HERSITES.3°\n\nHo! ho! I've hit the time of day.\nYou 're all together bad, I say!\n\nBut what appeared my goal to me\n\nIs she up there, Dame Victory.\n\nShe, with her snowy wings spread out,\nThinks she 's an eagle, past a doubt ;\nAnd, wheresoever she may stir,\n\nThat land and folk belong to her;\nBut when a famous thing is done\n\nI straightway put my harness on,\n\nTo lift the low, the high upset,\n\nThe bent to straighten, bend the straight, —\nThat, only, gives my heart a glow,\nAnd on this earth I'll have it so.\n\nHERALD.\n\nThen take, thou beggar-cur, the blow,\nThis magic baton's stroke of skill ! —\nSo, twist and wriggle at thy will!\nSee how the double dwarfish ape\n\nAct TI,\n\nRolls to a hideous ball in shape ! —\n\nA marvel! 'T is an egg we view;\n\nIt puffs itself and cracks in two:\n\nA pair of twins come forth to day,\n\nThe Adder and the Bat are they.\n\nForth in the dust one winds and creeps;\nOne darkly round the ceiling sweeps.\nThey haste to join in company :\n\nThe third therein I would not be!\n\nMurmurs.\nCome! the dance is yonder gay. —\nNo! I would I were away. —\nFeel'st thou how the phantom race\nFlits about us in this place ? —\nSomething whizzes past my hair. —\nRound my feet I saw it fare. —\nNone of us are injured, though. —\nBut we all are frightened so. —\nWholly spoiled is now the fun. —\n\nWhich the vermin wanted done.\n\nHERALD.\nSince, as Herald, I am aiding\nAt your merry masquerading,\n\n50 Faust.\n\nAt the gate I'm watching, fearful\nLest within your revels cheerful\nSomething slips of evil savor ; |\nAnd I neither shrink nor waver.\nYet, I fear, the airy spectres\n\nEnter, baffling all detectors,\n\nAnd from goblins that deceive you\nI'm unable to relieve you.\n\nFirst, the dwarf became suspicious ;\nNow a mightier pageant issues\nYonder, and it is my duty\n\nTo explain those forms of beauty :\nBut the thing I comprehend not,\nHow can I its meaning mention?\nHelp me to its comprehension !\nThrough the crowd you see it wend not?\nLo! a four-horse chariot wondrous,\nHither drawn, the tumult sunders ;\nYet the crowd seems not to share in *t —\nNowhere is a crush apparent.\nColored lights, in distance dimmer,\nMotley stars around it shimmer ;\nMagic lantern-like they glimmer.\nOn it storms, as to assault.\n\nClear the way! I shudder!\n\nAct I.\n\nBoy CHARIOTEER.\n\nHalt!\nSteeds, restrain the eager pinion,\nOwn the bridle's old dominion,\nCheck yourselves, as I desire you,\nSweep away, when I inspire you! =\nHonor we these festal spaces !\nSee, the fast increasing faces,\nCircles, full of admiration ! |\nHerald, come! and in thy fashion,\nEre we take from here our glories,\nName us, and describe and show us!\nFor we're naught but allegories,\n\nTherefore 't is thy place to know us.\n\nHERALD.\n\nNo, thy name from me is hidden, —\nCould describe thee, were I bidden.\n\nBoy CHARIOTEER.\n\nTry it!\nHERALD.\n\nGranted, at the start,\nYoung and beautiful thou art, —\n\n52 faust.\n\nA half-grown boy; and yet the woman-nature\nWould rather see thee in completed stature.\nTo me thou seem'st a future fickle wooer,\n\nChanging the old betrayed love for a newer.\n\nBoy CHARIOTEER.\n\nGo on! So far, 't is very fine:\n\nMake the enigma's gay solution thine!\n\nHERALD. |\nBlack lightning of the eyes, the dark locks glowing,3!\nYet bright with jewelled anadem,\nAnd light thy robe as flower on stem,\nFrom shoulder unto buskin flowing\nWith tinsel-braid and purple hem!\nOne for a maiden might surmise thee,\nYet, good or ill, as it might be,\nThe maids, e'en now, would take and prize thee:\nThey 'd teach thee soon thy A BC.\n\nBoy CHARIOTEER.\n\nAnd he, who like a splendid vision,\nSits proudly on the chariot's throne?\n\nHERALD.\n\nHe seems a king, of mien Elysian ;\n\nAct I.\n\nBlest those, who may his favor own!\nNo more has he to earn or capture;\nHis glance detects where aught 's amiss,\nAnd to bestow his perfect rapture\n\nIs more than ownership and bliss.\n\nBoy CHARIOTEER. ~\n\nThou darest not at this point desist :\nDescribe him fully, I insist!\n\nHERALD.\nBut undescribed 1s Dignity.\nThe healthy, full-moon face I see,\nThe ample mouth, the cheeks that fresher\nShine out beneath his turban's pressure,\nRich comfort in the robe he 's wearing, —\nWhat shall I say of such a bearing?\n\nHe seems, as ruler, known to me.\n\nBoy CHARIOTEER.\n\nPlutus, the God of Wealth, is he.\nHe hither comes in proud attire ;\n\nMuch doth the Emperor him desire.\n\nHERALD.\n\nOf thee the What and How declare to me!\n\n54 Faust.\n\nBoy CHARIOTEER.\n\nI am Profusion, I am Poesy.3?\n\nThe Poet I, whose perfect crown is sent\nWhen he his own best goods hath freely spent.\nYet, rich in mine unmeasured pelf,\n\nLike Plutus I esteem myself:\n\nI prank and cheer his festal show\n\nAnd whatsoe'er he lacks bestow.\n\nHERALD.\n\nFresh charm to thee thy brag imparts,\nBut let us now behold thine arts!\n\nBoy CHARIOTEER.\n\nJust see me fillip with my fingers!\nWhat brilliance round the chariot lingers,\n\nAnd there a string of pearls appears!\n(continuing to fillip and snap his fingers in all directions :)\n\nTake golden spangles for neck and ears,\nCombs, and diadems free of flaw,\n\nAnd jewelled rings as ne'er ye saw!\n\nI also scatter flamelets bright,\n\nAwaiting where they may ignite.\n\nAct Tf.\n\nHERALD.\n\nHow strives the crowd with eager longing,\nAlmost upon the giver thronging !\n\nAs in a dream he snaps the toys;\n\nAll catch and snatch with crush and noise.\nBut now new tricks have I detected:\nWhat each has zealously collected\n\nHis trouble doth but poorly pay ;\n\nThe gifts take wings and fly away.\n\nThe pearls are loosened from their band\nAnd beetles crawl within his hand;\n\nHe shakes them off, and then instead,\nPoor dolt, they hum around his head!\nThe others find their solid things\n\nAre butterflies with gaudy wings.\n\nHow much the scamp to promise seems,\n\nAnd only gives what golden gleams! 33\n\nBoy CHARIOTEER.\n\nMasks to announce, I grant, thou 'rt worthy ;\n\nBut 'neath the shell of Being to bestir thee\n\nIs not a herald's courtly task :\n\nA sharper sight for that we ask.\n\nYet every quarrel I evade;\n\nTo thee, my Chief, be speech and question made!\n\n56 faust.\n\n(Turning to Piutus.)\nDidst thou not unto me confide\nThe tempest of the steeds I guide?\nCanst thou not on my guidance reckon?\nAm I not there, where thou dost beckon?\nAnd have I not, on pinions boldest,\nConquered for thee the palm thou holdest?\nWhen in thy battles I have aided,\nI ever have been fortunate ;\nThy brow when laurels decorate,\nHave I not them with hand and fancy bettden p34\n\nPLutus.\n\nIf there be need that I bear witness now,\nI'm glad to say: soul of my soul art thou!\nThine acts are always to my mind,\n\nAnd thou the richer art, I find.\n\nThy service to reward, I hold\n\nThe green bough higher than my crowns of gold.\nTo all a true word spoken be:\n\nDear Son, I much delight in thee.\n\nBoy CuHaARIOTEER (fo the Crowd).\nThe greatest gifts my hand flings out,\n\nSee! I have scattered round about.\n\nAct I.\n\nOn divers heads there glows the tongue\nOf flame which I upon them flung, —\nLeaps back and forth among the shapes,\nOn this remains, from that escapes,\n\nBut very seldom upward streams\n\nIn transient flush of mellow beams;\nAnd unto many, ere they mark,\n\nIt is extinct and leaves them dark.\n\nCHATTER OF WoMEN.\n\nUpon the chariot that man\n\nIs certainly a charlatan:\n\nThere, perched behind, the clown is seen,\nFrom thirst and hunger grown so lean\n\nAs one ne'er saw him; if you'd pinch,\n\nHe has n't flesh to feel and flinch.\n\nTHE STARVELING.\n\nDisgusting women, off! I know\n\nThat when I come, you'd have me go.\nWhen woman fed her own hearth-flame,\nThen Avaritia was my name ;35\n\nThen throve the household fresh and green,\n\nFor naught went out and much came in.\n\n58 faust.\n\nTo chest and press I gave good heed,\nAnd that you 'd call a vice, indeed!\n\nBut since in later years, the fact is,\nEconomy the wife won't practice,\n\n' And, like the host of spendthrift scholars,\nHas more desires than she has dollars,\nThe husband much discomfort brooks,\nFor there are debts where'er he looks.\nShe spends what spoil she may recover\nUpon her body, or her lover ;\n\nIn luxury eats, and to excess\n\nDrinks with the flirts that round her press ;\nFor me that raises money's price:\n\nMale is my gender, Avarice!\n\nLeEADER OF THE WoMEN.\nWith dragons, mean may be the dragon;\nIt's all, at best, but lying stuff!\n\nHe comes, the men to spur and egg on,\n\nAnd now they 're. troublesome enough.\n\nCrowpb oF WomMEeEN.\nThe scarecrow! Knock him from the wagon!\nWhat means the fag, to threaten here?\nAs if his ugly face we'd fear!\n\nAct I. 59\n\nOf wood and pasteboard is each dragon:\n\nCome on — his words shall cost him dear !\n\nHERALD.\nNow, by my wand! Be still —let none stir!\nYet for my help there 's scarcely need ;\nSee how each grim and grisly monster,\nClearing the space around with speed,\nUnfolds his fourfold wings of dread!\nThe dragons shake themselves in anger,\nWith flaming throats, and scaly clangor;\nThe place is clear, the crowd has fled.\n\n(PLutus descends from the chariot.)\n\nHERALD.\n\nHow kingly comes he from above!\nHe beckons, and the dragons move;\nThen from the chariot bring the chest\nWith gold, and Avarice thereon.\n\nSee, at his feet the load they rest!\n\nA marvel 't is, how it was done.\n\nPiutus (to the CHARIOTEER).\n\nNow thou hast left the onerous burden here,\n\nThou 'rt wholly free: away to thine own sphere!\n\n6o Faust.\n\nHere it is not! Confused and wild, to-day,\nDistorted pictures press around our way.\nWhere clear thy gaze in sweet serenity,\nOwning thyself, confiding but in thee,\nThither, where Good and Beauty are unfurled,\nTo Solitude !— and there create thy world!\n\nBoy CHARIOTEER.\nThus, as an envoy, am I worthy of thee;\nThus, as my next of kindred, do I love thee.\nWhere thou art, is abundance; where I go\nEach sees a splendid profit round him grow.\nIn inconsistent life each often wavers,\nWhether to seek from thee, or me, the favors.\nThy followers may be indolent, 't is true}\nWho follows me, has always work to do.\nMy deeds are never secret and concealed ;\nI only breathe, and I'm at once revealed.\nFarewell, then! Thou the bliss hast granted me;\n\nBut whisper low, and I return to thee!\n[ Exit, as he came.\nPLutus.\n\n\"T is time, now, to unchain the precious metals!\nThe padlocks with the herald's wand I smite:\nThe chest is opened: look! from iron kettles\n\nAct I. ) 61\n\nIt pours like golden blood before your sight.\nIt boils, and threatens to devour, as fuel,\n\nMelting them, crown and ring and chain and jewel!\n\nALTERNATE CRIES OF THE CrRowpD.\n\nSee here, and there! they boil and swim;\nThe chest is filling to the brim ! —\nVessels of gold are burning there,\n\nAnd minted rolls are turning there,\nAnd ducats jingle as they jump! —\n\nO, how my heart begins to thump! —\nAll my desire I see, and more.\n\nThey 're rolling now along the floor. —\n'T is offered you: don't be a dunce,\nStoop only, and be rich at once! —\nThen, quick as lightning we, the rest,\nWill take possession of the chest.\n\nHERALD.\n\nWhat ails ye, fools? What mean ye all?\n\"T is but a joke of Carnival.\n\nTo-night be your desires controlled ;\nThink you we'd give you goods and gold?\n\nWhy, in this game there come to view\n\n62 Faust.\n\nToo many counters even, for you.\n\nA pleasant cheat, ye dolts! forsooth\nYou take at once for naked truth.\nWhat 's truth to you? Illusion bare\nSurrounds and rules you everywhere.\nThou Plutus- mask, Chief unrevealed,\n\nDrive thou this people from the field ! 3°\n\nPLutus.\n\nThy wand thereto is fit and free;\n\nLend it a little while to me!\n\nI dip it in the fiery brew, —\n\nLook out, ye maskers! all of you.\n\nIt shines, and snaps, and sparkles throws;\nThe burning wand already glows.\n\nWho crowdeth on, too near to me,\n\nIs burned and scorched relentlessly. —\n\nAnd now my circuit Ill commence.\n\nCrIES AND CROWDING.\n\nWoe's me! We're lost —there's no defence! —\nLet each one fly, if fly he can! —\nBack! clear the way, you hindmost man! —\n\nIt sparkles fiercely in mine eyes. —\n\nAct Tf, 63\n\nThe burning wand upon me lies. —\n\nWe all are lost, we all are lost ! —\n\nBack, back! ye maskers, jammed and tossed ! —\nBack, senseless crowd, away from there! —\n\nO, had I wings, Id take the air.\n\nPLutus.\nNow is the circle crowded back,\nAnd none, I think, scorched very black.\nThe throng retires,\nScared by the fires.\nAs guaranty for ordered law,\n\nA ring invisible I draw.\n\nHERALD.\n\nA noble work is thine, to-night :\nI thank thy wisdom and thy might.\n\nPLutTus.\n\nPreserve thy patience, noble friend,\n\nFor many tumults yet impend.\n\nAVARICE.\n\nThus, if one pleases, pleasantly\n\nMay one survey this circle stately ;\n\n64 faust.\n\nFor, ever foremost, crowd the women greatly,\nIf aught to stare at, or to taste, there be.\n\nNot yet entirely rusty are my senses !\n\nA woman fair is always fair to me:\n\nAnd since, to-day, it makes me no expenses,\nWe'll goa courting confidently.\n\nBut in a place so populate\n\nAll words to every ear don't penetrate ;\n\nSo, wisely I attempt, and hope success,\nMyself by pantomime distinctly to express.\nHand, foot, and gesture will not quite suffice,\nSo I employ a jocular device.\n\nLike clay will I the gold manipulate ;\n\nOne may transform it into any state.\n\nHERALD.\n\nWhat will the lean fool do?37 Has he,\nSo dry a starveling, humor? See, —\n\nHe kneads the gold as it were dough!\nBeneath his hands 't is soft; yet, though\nHe roll and squeeze it, for his pains\nDisfigured still the stuff remains.\n\nHe turns to the women there, and they\n\nAll scream, and try to get away,\n\nAct Tf, 65\n\nWith gestures of disgust and loathing:\nThe ready rascal stops at nothing.\n\nI fear he takes delight to see\n\nHe has offended decency.\n\nI dare not silently endure it:\n\nGive me my wand, that I may cure it!\n\nPLutus.\n\nThe danger from without he does not see:\nLet him alone; his Fool's-hour fast is waning.\nThere 'll be no space for his mad pranks remaining ;\n\nMighty is Law, mightier Necessity.\n\nTuMULT AND SONG.\n\nThe savage hosts, with shout and hail,\nFrom mountain-height and forest-vale\nCome, irresistibly as Fate:\n\nTheir mighty Pan they celebrate.\n\nThey know, forsooth, what none can guess,\n\nAnd in the empty circle press.\n\nPLutus.\n\nI know you well, and your illustrious Pan!\n\nBoldly together you 've performed your plan.\n\n66 Faust.\n\nFull well I know what every one does not,\nAnd clear for you, as duty bids, the spot.\n\nBe Fortune still her favor lending !\n\nThe strangest things may here be bred:\n\nThey know not whitherward they 're wenaing,\n\nBecause they have not looked ahead.3®\n\nSAVAGE SONG.\n\nFurbished people, tinsel-stuff!\nThey 're coming rude, they 're coming rough;\nIn mighty leap, in wildest race,\n\nCoarse and strong they take their place.\n\nFauns.\nFauns, pair on pair,\n\nCome dancing down,\n\nWith oaken crown\n\nOn crispy hair ;\n\nThe fine and pointed ear is seen,\nLeaf-like, the clustering curls between:\nA stubby nose, face broad and flat,\n\nThe women don't object to that ;\n\nFor when his paw holds forth the Faun,\n\nThe fairest to the dance is drawn.\n\nAct I. 67\n\nSaTYR.\n\nSee now, behind, the Satyr skip,\n\nWith foot of goat, lean leg and hip, —\nLean and sinewy must they be:\n\nFor, chamois-like, on mountains he\nLoveth to stand or scamper free.\n\nThen, strong in freedom of the skies,\nChild, wife, and man doth he despise,\nWho, deep in the valley's smoke and steam\nThat they live also, snugly dream ;\n\nWhile, pure and undisturbed, alone\n\nThe upper world is all his own.\n\nGNOMES.39\n\nThe little crowd comes tripping there;\nThey don't associate pair by pair.\n\nIn mossy garb, with lantern bright,\n\nThey move commingling, brisk and light,\nEach working on his separate ground,\nLike firefly-emmets swarming round;\nAnd press and gather here and there,\nAlways industrious everywhere. |\nWith the \"Good People\" kin we own;\n\nAs surgeons of the rocks we 're known,\n\n68 Faust\n\nCupping the mountains, bleeding them\nFrom fullest veins, depleting them -\nOf store of metals, which we pile,\nAnd merrily greet: 'Good cheer!\" the while.\nWell-meant the words, believe us, then!\n\nWe are the friends of all good men.\n\nYet we the stores of gold unseal\n\nThat men may pander, pimp, and steal ;\n\nNor iron shall fail his haughty hand\n\nWho universal murder planned :\n\nAnd who these three Commandments breaks\nBut little heed o' the others takes.\n\nFor that we're not responsible:\n\nWe're patient — be you, too, as well!\n\nGIANTS.\n\nThe wild men of the woods they 're named,\nAnd in the Hartz are known and famed;\n\nIn naked nature's ancient might\n\nThey come, each one a giant wight,\n\nWith fir-tree trunk in brawny hand,\nAround the loins a puffy band,\n\nThe merest apron of leaf and bough : —\nThe Pope hath no such guards, I trow.\n\nAct I, 69\n\nNympus 1n Cuorus.\n(They surround the great Pan.)\n\nHe comes! . We scan\n\nThe world's great All,\n\nWhose part doth fall\n\nTo mighty Pan.\n\nYe gayest ones, advance to him,\n\nYour maddest measures dance to him!\nSince serious and kind is he,\n\nHe wills that we should joyous be.\nUnder the blue, o'er-vaulting roof,\nEver he seemeth slumber-proof ;\n\nYet murmurs of the brooks he knows,\nAnd soft airs lull him to repose.\n\nAt midday sleeping, o'er his brow *#\nThe leaf is moveless on the bough:\nOf healthy buds the balsam there\nPervades the still, suspended air :\n\nThe nymph no longer dares to leap,\nAnd where she stands, she falls asleep.\nBut when, all unexpected, he\n\nMaketh his voice heard terribly,\n\nLike rattling thunder, roar of wave,\n\nThen each one seeks himself to save ;\n\n70 faust.\n\nThe serried ranks disperse in fright,\nThe hero trembles in the fight.\nThen honor to whom the honor is due,\n\nAnd hail to him who led us to you!\n\nDEPUTATION OF GNOMES\n(to the great Pan).\n\nWhen the rich possession, shining\nThrough the rocks in thread and vein,\nTo the skilful wand's divining\n\nShows its labyrinthine chain,\n\nWe in vaults and caverns spacious,\nTroglodytes, contented bide ; |\nWhile in purest daylight, gracious,\n\nThou the treasures dost divide.\n\nNow we see, wilt thou believe us,\nHere a wondrous fountain run,\nPromising with ease to give us\n\nWhat was hardly to be won.\n\nLo! It waits for thy attaining:\nThen be moved to break the spell!\n\nAct I. 71\n\nAll the wealth which thou art gaining\n-Profits all the world as well.\n\nPiutus (fo the HERALD).\n\nWe, in the highest sense, must be collected,\n\nAnd let what may come, come, though unexpected.\nThy courage has not yet been counted short :\n\nThe fearful thing we now shall see will try it;\nThe world and History will both deny it,\n\nSo write it faithfully in thy report!\n\nHERALD.\n(Grasping the wand which Puutus holds in his hand.)\n\nThe dwarfs conduct the great Pan nigher,\nYet gently, to the fount of fire.\n\nIt bubbles from the throat profound,\nThen sinks, retreating, to the ground,\nAnd dark the open crater shows ;\n\nAnd then again it boils and glows.\n\nGreat Pan in cheerful mood stands by,\nRejoiced the wondrous things to spy,\nAnd right and left the foam-pearls fly.\nHow can he in the cheat confide?\n\nHe bends and stoops, to look inside. —\n\n72 faust.\n\nBut now, behold! his beard falls in:\nWhose is that smoothly-shaven chin?\nHis hand conceals it from our sight.\nWhat follows is a luckless plight ;\n\nThe beard, on fire, flies back to smite\nHis wreath and head and breast with flame:\nTo pain is turned the merry game.\nThey haste to quench the fire, but none\nThe swiftly-kindling flames can shun,\nThat flash and dart on other heads\n\nTill wide the conflagration spreads :\nWrapped in the element, in turn\n\nThe masking groups take fire and burn.\nBut hark! what news is bruited here\nFrom mouth to mouth, from ear to ear?\nO evermore ill-fated night,\n\nThat brings to us such woe and blight!\nTo-morrow will proclaim to all\n\nWhat no one wishes to befall,\n\nFor everywhere the cry I hear:\n\n\"The Emperor suffers pain severe! \"\n\nO were the proclamation wrong!\n\nThe Emperor burns and all his throng.\nAccurst be they who him misled,\n\nAct I.\n\nWith resinous twigs on breast and head,\nTo rave and bellow hither so,\n\nTo general, fatal overthrow.\n\nO Youth! O Youth! wilt never thou\nLimit thy draught of joy, in season ? —\nO Majesty, wilt never thou, _\nOmnipotent, direct with reason?\n\nThe mimic woods enkindled are;\n\nThe pointed tongues lick upward far\nTo where the rafters interlace:\n\nA fiery doom hangs o'er the place.'\nOur cup of misery overflows,\n\nFor who shall save us no one knows.\nThe ash-heap of a night shall hide,\n\nTo-morrow, this imperial pride.\n\nPLutTus.\n\nTerror is enough created ;\n\nNow be help inaugurated ! |\nSmite, thou hallowed wand, and make\nEarth beneath thee peal and quake!\nThou, the spacious breadth of air,\nCooling vapors breathe and bear!\n\nHither speed, around us growing,\n\n7A Faust.\n\nMisty films and belts o'erflowing,\n\nAnd the fiery tumult tame!\n\nTrickle, whisper, clouds, be crisper,\nRoll in masses, softly drenching,\nMantling everywhere, and quenching!\nYe, the moist, the broadly bright'ning,\nChange to harmless summer lightning\nAll this empty sport of flame! —\nWhen by spirits we 're molested,\nThen be Magic manifested.\n\nAct I. 75\n\nIV,\nPLEASURE-GARDEN.",
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