Part 17
I dare not go: there's no hope any more. Why should I fly? They'll still my steps waylay! It is so wretched, forced to beg my living, And a bad conscience sharper misery giving! It is so wretched, to be strange, forsaken, And I'd still be followed and taken!
FAUST
I'll stay with thee.
MARGARET
Be quick! Be quick! Save thy perishing child! Away! Follow the ridge Up by the brook, Over the bridge, Into the wood, To the left, where the plank is placed In the pool! Seize it in haste! 'Tis trying to rise, 'Tis struggling still! Save it! Save it!
FAUST
Recall thy wandering will! One step, and thou art free at last!
MARGARET
If the mountain we had only passed! There sits my mother upon a stone,-- I feel an icy shiver! There sits my mother upon a stone, And her head is wagging ever. She beckons, she nods not, her heavy head falls o'er; She slept so long that she wakes no more. She slept, while we were caressing: Ah, those were the days of blessing!
FAUST
Here words and prayers are nothing worth; I'll venture, then, to bear thee forth.
MARGARET
No--let me go! I'll suffer no force! Grasp me not so murderously! I've done, else, all things for the love of thee.
FAUST
The day dawns: Dearest! Dearest!
MARGARET
Day? Yes, the day comes,--the last day breaks for me! My wedding day it was to be! Tell no one thou hast been with Margaret! Woe for my garland! The chances Are over--'tis all in vain! We shall meet once again, But not at the dances! The crowd is thronging, no word is spoken: The square below And the streets overflow: The death-bell tolls, the wand is broken. I am seized, and bound, and delivered-- Shoved to the block--they give the sign! Now over each neck has quivered The blade that is quivering over mine. Dumb lies the world like the grave!
FAUST
Oh, had I ne'er been born!
MEPHISTOPHELES [_appears outside_]
Off! or you're lost ere morn. Useless talking, delaying, and praying! My horses are neighing: The morning twilight is near.
MARGARET
What rises up from the threshold here? He! he! suffer him not! What does he want in this holy spot? He seeks me!
FAUST
Thou shalt live.
MARGARET
Judgment of God! myself to thee I give.
MEPHISTOPHELES [_to Faust_]
Come! or I'll leave her in the lurch, and thee!
MARGARET
Thine am I, Father! rescue me! Ye angels, holy cohorts, guard me, Camp around, and from evil ward me! Henry! I shudder to think of thee.
MEPHISTOPHELES
She is judged!
VOICE [_from above_]
She is saved!
MEPHISTOPHELES [_to Faust_]
Hither to me! [_He disappears with Faust._
VOICE [_from within, dying away_]
Henry! Henry!
THE DEATH OF FOUST
LEMURES [_Digging with mocking gestures_]
In youth when I did love, did love, Methought it was very sweet; When 'twas jolly and merry every way, And I blithely moved my feet.
But now old Age, with his stealing steps, Hath clawed me with his crutch: I stumbled over the door of a grave; Why leave they open such?
FAUST [_Comes forth from the palace, groping his way along the door-posts_]
How I rejoice to hear the clattering spade! It is the crowd, for me in service moiling, Till Earth be reconciled to toiling, Till the proud waves be stayed, And the sea girded with a rigid zone.
MEPHISTOPHELES [_aside_]
And yet thou'rt laboring for us alone, With all thy dikes and bulwarks daring; Since thou for Neptune art preparing-- The Ocean Devil--carousal great. In every way shall ye be stranded; The elements with us are banded, And ruin is the certain fate.
FAUST
Overseer!
MEPHISTOPHELES
Here!
FAUST
However possible, Collect a crowd of men with vigor, Spur by indulgence, praise, or rigor,-- Reward, allure, conscript, compel! Each day report me, and correctly note How grows in length the undertaken moat.
MEPHISTOPHELES [_half aloud_]
When they to me the information gave, They spake not of a moat, but of--_a grave_.
FAUST
Below the hills a marshy plain Infects what I so long have been retrieving; This stagnant pool likewise to drain Were now my latest and my best achieving. To many millions let me furnish soil, Though not secure, yet free to active toil; Green, fertile fields, where men and herds go forth At once, with comfort, on the newest earth, And swiftly settled on the hill's firm base, Created by the bold, industrious race. A land like Paradise here, round about; Up to the brink the tide may roar without, And though it gnaw, to burst with force the limit, By common impulse all unite to hem it. Yes! to this thought I hold with firm persistence; The last result of wisdom stamps it true: He only earns his freedom and existence Who daily conquers them anew. Thus here, by dangers girt, shall glide away Of childhood, manhood, age, the vigorous day: And such a throng I fain would see,-- Stand on free soil among a people free! Then dared I hail the Moment fleeing: "_Ah, still delay--thou art so fair!_" The traces cannot, of mine earthly being, In aeons perish,--they are there! In proud fore-feeling of such lofty bliss, I now enjoy the highest Moment,--this! [_Faust sinks back: the Lemures take him and lay him upon the ground._]
MEPHISTOPHELES
No joy could sate him, and suffice no bliss! To catch but shifting shapes was his endeavor: The latest, poorest, emptiest Moment--this,-- He wished to hold it fast forever. Me he resisted in such vigorous wise, But Time is lord, on earth the old man lies. The clock stands still--
CHORUS
Stands still! silent as midnight, now! The index falls.
MEPHISTOPHELES
It falls; and it is finished, here!
CHORUS
'Tis past!
MEPHISTOPHELES
Past! a stupid word. If past, then why? Past and pure Naught, complete monotony! What good for us, this endlessly creating?-- What is created then annihilating? "And now it's past!" Why read a page so twisted? 'Tis just the same as if it ne'er existed, Yet goes in circles round as if it had, however: I'd rather choose, instead, the Void forever.
THE SALVATION OF FAUST
ANGELS [_Soaring in the higher atmosphere, bearing the immortal part of Faust_]
The noble spirit now is free, And saved from evil scheming: Whoe'er aspires unweariedly Is not beyond redeeming. And if he feels the grace of love That from on high is given, The blessed hosts, that wait above, Shall welcome him to heaven!
THE YOUNGER ANGELS
They, the roses, freely spended By the penitent, the glorious, Helped to make the fight victorious, And the lofty work is ended. We this precious soul have won us; Evil ones we forced to shun us; Devils fled us when we hit them: 'Stead of pangs of hell, that bit them, Love pangs felt they, sharper, vaster: Even he, old Satan Master, Pierced with keenest pain retreated. Now rejoice! The work's completed!
THE MORE PERFECT ANGELS
Earth's residue to bear Hath sorely pressed us; It were not pure and fair, Though 'twere asbestus. When every element The mind's high forces Have seized, subdued, and blent, No angel divorces Twin natures single grown, That inly mate them: Eternal love alone Can separate them.
THE YOUNGER ANGELS
Mist-like on heights above, We now are seeing Nearer and nearer move Spiritual Being. The clouds are growing clear; And moving throngs appear Of blessed boys, Free from the earthly gloom, In circling poise, Who taste the cheer Of the new springtime bloom Of the upper sphere. Let them inaugurate Him to the perfect state, Now, as their peer!
THE BLESSED BOYS
Gladly receive we now Him, as a chrysalis: Therefore achieve we now Pledge of our bliss. The earth-flakes dissipate That cling around him! See, he is fair and great! Divine Life hath crowned him.
DOCTOR MARIANUS [_In the highest, purest cell_]
Free is the view at last, The spirit lifted: There women, floating past, Are upward drifted: The Glorious One therein, With star-crown tender,-- The pure, the Heavenly Queen, I know her splendor.
[_Enraptured_]
Highest Mistress of the World! Let me in the azure Tent of Heaven, in light unfurled, Here thy Mystery measure! Justify sweet thoughts that move Breast of man to meet thee, And with holy bliss of love Bear him up to greet thee! With unconquered courage we Do thy bidding highest; But at once shall gentle be, When thou pacifiest. Virgin, pure in brightest sheen, Mother sweet, supernal,-- Unto us Elected Queen, Peer of Gods Eternal! Light clouds are circling Around her splendor,-- Penitent women Of natures tender, Her knees embracing, Ether respiring, Mercy requiring! Thou, in immaculate ray, Mercy not leavest, And the lightly led astray, Who trust thee, receivest! In their weakness fallen at length, Hard it is to save them: Who can crush, by native strength, Vices that enslave them? Whose the foot that may not slip On the surface slanting? Whom befool not eye and lip, Breath and voice enchanting?
_The_ Mater Gloriosa _soars into the space_
CHORUS OF WOMEN PENITENTS
To heights thou'rt speeding Of endless Eden: Receive our pleading, Transcendent Maiden, With mercy laden!
MAGNA PECCATRIX [_St. Luke_, vii. 36]
By the love before him kneeling,-- Him, thy Son, a Godlike vision; By the tears like balsam stealing, Spite of Pharisees' derision; By the box, whose ointment precious Shed its spice and odors cheery; By the locks, whose softest meshes Dried the holy feet and weary!--
MULIER SAMARITANA [_St. John_, iv.]
By that well, the ancient station Whither Abram's flocks were driven; By the jar, whose restoration To the Savior's lips was given; By the fountain pure and vernal, Thence its present bounty spending,-- Overflowing, bright, eternal, Watering the worlds unending!--
MARIA AEGYPTIACA [_Acta Sanctorum_]
By the place where the immortal Body of the Lord hath lain; By the arm which, from the portal, Warning, thrust me back again; By the forty years' repentance In the lonely desert land; By the blissful farewell sentence Which I wrote upon the sand!--
THE THREE
Thou thy presence not deniest Unto sinful women ever,-- Liftest them to win the highest Gain of penitent endeavor,-- So, from this good soul withdraw not-- Who but once forgot, transgressing, Who her loving error saw not-- Pardon adequate, and blessing!
UNA POENITENTIUM [_Formerly named Margaret, stealing closer_]
Incline, O Maiden, With mercy laden, In light unfading, Thy gracious countenance upon my bliss! My loved, my lover, His trials over In yonder world, returns to me in this!
BLESSED BOYS [_Approaching in hovering circles_]
With mighty limbs he towers Already above us; He, for this love of ours, Will richlier love us. Early were we removed, Ere Life could reach us; Yet he hath learned and proved, And he will teach us.
THE PENITENT [_Formerly named Margaret_]
The spirit choir around him seeing, New to himself, he scarce divines His heritage of new-born Being, When like the Holy Host he shines. Behold, how he each band hath cloven The earthly life had round him thrown, And through his garb, of ether woven, The early force of youth is shown! Vouchsafe to me that I instruct him! Still dazzles him the Day's new glare.
MATER GLORIOSA
Rise thou to higher spheres! Conduct him, Who, feeling thee, shall follow there!
DOCTOR MARIANUS [_Prostrate, adoring_]
Penitents, look up, elate. Where she beams salvation; Gratefully to blessed fate Grow, in re-creation! Be our souls, as they have been, Dedicate to thee! Virgin Holy, Mother, Queen, Goddess, gracious be!
CHORUS MYSTICUS
All things transitory But as symbols are sent: Earth's insufficiency Here grows to Event: The Indescribable, Here it is done: The Woman Soul leadeth us Upward and on!
MIGNON'S LOVE AND LONGING
From 'Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship.' Carlyle's Translation
Nothing is more touching than the first disclosure of a love which has been nursed in silence; of a faith grown strong in secret, and which at last comes forth in the hour of need and reveals itself to him who formerly has reckoned it of small account. The bud which had been closed so long and firmly was now ripe to burst its swathings, and Wilhelm's heart could never have been readier to welcome the impressions of affection.
She stood before him, and noticed his disquietude. "Master!" she cried, "if thou art unhappy, what will become of Mignon?" "Dear little creature," said he, taking her hands, "thou too art part of my anxieties. I must go hence." She looked at his eyes, glistening with restrained tears, and knelt down with vehemence before him. He kept her hands; she laid her head upon his knees, and remained quite still. He played with her hair, patted her, and spoke kindly to her. She continued motionless for a considerable time. At last he felt a sort of palpitating movement in her, which began very softly, and then by degrees, with increasing violence, diffused itself over all her frame. "What ails thee, Mignon?" cried he; "what ails thee?" She raised her little head, looked at him, and all at once laid her hand upon her heart, with the countenance of one repressing the utterance of pain. He raised her up, and she fell upon his breast; he pressed her towards him, and kissed her. She replied not by any pressure of the hand, by any motion whatever. She held firmly against her heart; and all at once gave a cry, which was accompanied by spasmodic movements of the body. She started up, and immediately fell down before him, as if broken in every joint. It was an excruciating moment! "My child!" cried he, raising her up and clasping her fast,--"my child, what ails thee?" The palpitations continued, spreading from the heart over all the lax and powerless limbs; she was merely hanging in his arms. All at once she again became quite stiff, like one enduring the sharpest corporeal agony; and soon with a new vehemence all her frame once more became alive, and she threw herself about his neck, like a bent spring that is closing; while in her soul, as it were, a strong rent took place, and at the same moment a stream of tears flowed from her shut eyes into his bosom. He held her fast. She wept, and no tongue can express the force of these tears. Her long hair had loosened, and was hanging down before her; it seemed as if her whole being was melting incessantly into a brook of tears. Her rigid limbs were again become relaxed; her inmost soul was pouring itself forth; in the wild confusion of the moment, Wilhelm was afraid she would dissolve in his arms, and leave nothing there for him to grasp. He held her faster and faster. "My child!" cried he, "my child! thou art indeed mine, if that word can comfort thee. Thou art mine! I will keep thee, I will never forsake thee!" Her tears continued flowing. At last she raised herself; a faint gladness shone upon her face. "My father!" cried she, "thou wilt not forsake me? Wilt be my father? I am thy child!"
Softly, at this moment, the harp began to sound before the door; the old man brought his most affecting songs as an evening offering to our friend, who, holding his child ever faster in his arms, enjoyed the most pure and undescribable felicity.
* * * * *
Know'st thou the land where citron-apples bloom, And oranges like gold in leafy gloom, A gentle wind from deep-blue heaven blows, The myrtle thick, and high the laurel grows? Know'st thou it then? 'Tis there! Tis there, O my true loved one, thou with me must go!
Know'st thou the house, its porch with pillars tall? The rooms do glitter, glitters bright the hall, And marble statues stand, and look each one: What's this, poor child, to thee they've done? Know'st thou it then? 'Tis there! 'Tis there, O my protector, thou with me must go!
"Know'st thou the hill, the bridge that hangs on cloud? The mules in mist grope o'er the torrent loud, In caves lie coiled the dragon's ancient brood, The crag leaps down, and over it the flood: Know'st thou it then? 'Tis there! 'Tis there Our way runs: O my father, wilt thou go?"
Next morning, on looking for Mignon about the house, Wilhelm did not find her, but was informed that she had gone out early with Melina, who had risen betimes to receive the wardrobe and other apparatus of his theatre.
After the space of some hours, Wilhelm heard the sound of music before his door. At first he thought it was the harper come again to visit him; but he soon distinguished the tones of a cithern, and the voice which began to sing was Mignon's. Wilhelm opened the door; the child came in, and sang him the song we have just given above.
The music and general expression of it pleased our friend extremely, though he could not understand all the words. He made her once more repeat the stanzas, and explain them; he wrote them down, and translated them into his native language. But the originality of its turns he could imitate only from afar: its childlike innocence of expression vanished from it in the process of reducing its broken phraseology to uniformity, and combining its disjointed parts. The charm of the tune, moreover, was entirely incomparable.
She began every verse in a stately and solemn manner, as if she wished to draw attention towards something wonderful, as if she had something weighty to communicate. In the third line, her tones became deeper and gloomier; the "Know'st thou it then?" was uttered with a show of mystery and eager circumspectness; in the "'Tis there! 'Tis there!" lay a boundless longing; and her "With me must go!" she modified at each repetition, so that now it appeared to entreat and implore, now to impel and persuade.
On finishing her song for the second time, she stood silent for a moment, looked keenly at Wilhelm, and asked him, "_Know'st_ thou the land?" "It must mean Italy," said Wilhelm: "where didst thou get the little song?" "Italy!" said Mignon, with an earnest air. "If thou go to Italy, take me along with thee; for I am too cold here." "Hast thou been there already, little dear?" said Wilhelm. But the child was silent, and nothing more could be got out of her.
WILHELM MEISTER'S INTRODUCTION TO SHAKESPEARE
From 'Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship.' Carlyle's Translation
"Have you never," said Jarno, taking him aside, "read one of Shakespeare's plays?"
"No," replied Wilhelm: "since the time when they became more known in Germany, I have myself grown unacquainted with the theatre; and I know not whether I should now rejoice that an old taste and occupation of my youth, has been by chance renewed. In the mean time, all that I have heard of these plays has excited little wish to become acquainted with such extraordinary monsters, which appear to set probability and dignity alike at defiance."
"I would advise you," said the other, "to make a trial, notwithstanding: it can do one no harm to look at what is extraordinary with one's own eyes. I will lend you a volume or two; and you cannot better spend your time than by casting everything aside, and retiring to the solitude of your old habitation, to look into the magic lantern of that unknown world. It is sinful of you to waste your hours in dressing out these apes to look more human, and teaching dogs to dance. One thing only I require,--you must not cavil at the form; the rest I can leave to your own good sense and feeling."
The horses were standing at the door; and Jarno mounted with some other cavaliers, to go and hunt. Wilhelm looked after him with sadness. He would fain have spoken much with this man who though in a harsh, unfriendly way, gave him new ideas,--ideas that he had need of.
Oftentimes a man, when approaching some development of his powers, capacities, and conceptions, gets into a perplexity from which a prudent friend might easily deliver him. He resembles a traveler, who, at but a short distance from the inn he is to rest at, falls into the water: were any one to catch him then and pull him to the bank, with one good wetting it were over; whereas, though he struggles out himself, it is often at the side where he tumbled in, and he has to make a wide and weary circuit before reaching his appointed object.
Wilhelm now began to have an inkling that things went forward in the world differently from what he had supposed. He now viewed close at hand the solemn and imposing life of the great and distinguished, and wondered at the easy dignity which they contrived to give it. An army on its march, a princely hero at the head of it, such a multitude of co-operating warriors, such a multitude of crowding worshipers, exalted his imagination. In this mood he received the promised books; and ere long, as may be easily supposed, the stream of that mighty genius laid hold of him and led him down to a shoreless ocean, where he soon completely forgot and lost himself....
Wilhelm had scarcely read one or two of Shakespeare's plays, till their effect on him became so strong that he could go no further. His whole soul was in commotion. He sought an opportunity to speak with Jarno; to whom, on meeting with him, he expressed his boundless gratitude for such delicious entertainment.
"I clearly enough foresaw," said Jarno, "that you would not remain insensible to the charms of the most extraordinary and most admirable of all writers."
"Yes!" exclaimed our friend: "I cannot recollect that any book, any man, any incident of my life, has produced such important effects on me, as the precious works to which by your kindness I have been directed. They seem as if they were performances of some celestial genius descending among men, to make them by the mildest instructions acquainted with themselves. They are no fictions! You would think, while reading them, you stood before the inclosed awful Books of Fate, while the whirlwind of most impassioned life was howling through the leaves, and tossing them fiercely to and fro. The strength and tenderness, the power and peacefulness of this man, have so astonished and transported me, that I long vehemently for the time when I shall have it in my power to read further."
"Bravo!" said Jarno, holding out his hand, and squeezing our friend's. "This is as it should be! And the consequences which I hope for will likewise surely follow."