Witches’ Kitchen

These crazy signs of witches’ craft repel me!I shall recover, dost thou tell me,Through this insane, chaotic play?From an old hag shall I demand assistance?And will her foul mess take awayFull thirty years from my existence?Woe’s me, canst thou naught better find!Another baffled hope must be lamented:Has Nature, then, and has a noble mindNot any potent balsam yet invented?

Once more, my friend, thou talkest sensibly.There is, to make thee young, a simpler mode and apter;But in another book ’tis writ for thee,And is a most eccentric chapter.

Good! the method is revealedWithout or gold or magic or physician.Betake thyself to yonder field,There hoe and dig, as thy condition;Restrain thyself, thy sense and willWithin a narrow sphere to flourish;With unmixed food thy body nourish;Live with the ox as ox, and think it not a theftThat thou manur’st the acre which thou reapest;—That, trust me, is the best mode left,Whereby for eighty years thy youth thou keepest!

I am not used to that; I cannot stoop to try it—To take the spade in hand, and ply it.The narrow being suits me not at all.

Wherefore the hag, and her alone?Canst thou thyself not brew the potion?

That were a charming sport, I own:I’d build a thousand bridges meanwhile, I’ve a notion.Not Art and Science serve, alone;Patience must in the work be shown.Long is the calm brain active in creation;Time, only, strengthens the fine fermentation.And all, belonging thereunto,Is rare and strange, howe’er you take it:The Devil taught the thing, ’tis true,And yet the Devil cannot make it.(Perceiving the Animals)See, what a delicate race they be!That is the maid! the man is he!(To the Animals)It seems the mistress has gone away?

Carousing, to-day!Off and about,By the chimney out!

Why, just such talk as this, for me,Is that which has the most attractive features!

But tell me now, ye cursed puppets,Why do ye stir the porridge so?

O cast thou the dice!Make me rich in a trice,Let me win in good season!Things are badly controlled,And had I but gold,So had I my reason.

How would the ape be sure his luck enhances.Could he but try the lottery’s chances!

The world’s the ball:Doth rise and fall,And roll incessant:Like glass doth ring,A hollow thing,—How soon will’t spring,And drop, quiescent?Here bright it gleams,Here brighter seems:I live at present!Dear son, I say,Keep thou away!Thy doom is spoken!’Tis made of clay,And will be broken.

Wert thou the thief,I’d know him and shame him.

Look through the sieve!Know’st thou the thief,And darest not name him?

The fool knows it not!He knows not the pot,He knows not the kettle!

Take the brush here, at least,And sit down on the settle!

What do I see? What heavenly form revealedShows through the glass from Magic’s fair dominions!O lend me, Love, the swiftest of thy pinions,And bear me to her beauteous field!Ah, if I leave this spot with fond designing,If I attempt to venture near,Dim, as through gathering mist, her charms appear!—A woman’s form, in beauty shining!Can woman, then, so lovely be?And must I find her body, there reclining,Of all the heavens the bright epitome?Can Earth with such a thing be mated?

Why, surely, if a God first plagues Himself six days,Then, self-contented, Bravo! says,Must something clever be created.This time, thine eyes be satiate!I’ll yet detect thy sweetheart and ensnare her,And blest is he, who has the lucky fate,Some day, as bridegroom, home to bear her.

So sit I, like the King upon his throne:I hold the sceptre, here,—and lack the crown alone.

O be thou so goodWith sweat and with bloodThe crown to belime!

’Tis done, let it be!We speak and we see,We hear and we rhyme!

If lucky our hits,And everything fits,’Tis thoughts, and we’re thinking!

My bosom burns with that sweet vision;Let us, with speed, away from here!

One must, at least, make this admission—They’re poets, genuine and sincere.

Ow! ow! ow! ow!The damnéd beast—the curséd sow!To leave the kettle, and singe the Frau!Accurséd fere!

What is that here?Who are you here?What want you thus?Who sneaks to us?The fire-painBurn bone and brain!

(She plunges the skimming-ladle into the caldron, and scattersflames towards FAUST, MEPHISTOPHELES, and the Animals.The Animals whimper.)

In two! in two!There lies the brew!There lies the glass!The joke will pass,As time, foul ass!To the singing of thy crew.

Ha! know’st thou me? Abomination, thou!Know’st thou, at last, thy Lord and Master?What hinders me from smiting nowThee and thy monkey-sprites with fell disaster?Hast for the scarlet coat no reverence?Dost recognize no more the tall cock’s-feather?Have I concealed this countenance?—Must tell my name, old face of leather?

O pardon, Sir, the rough salute!Yet I perceive no cloven foot;And both your ravens, where are they now?

This time, I’ll let thee ’scape the debt;For since we two together met,’Tis verily full many a day now.Culture, which smooth the whole world licks,Also unto the Devil sticks.The days of that old Northern phantom now are over:Where canst thou horns and tail and claws discover?And, as regards the foot, which I can’t spare, in truth,’Twould only make the people shun me;Therefore I’ve worn, like many a spindly youth,False calves these many years upon me.

Reason and sense forsake my brain,Since I behold Squire Satan here again!

It’s long been written in the Book of Fable;Yet, therefore, no whit better men we see:The Evil One has left, the evil ones are stable.Sir Baron call me thou, then is the matter good;A cavalier am I, like others in my bearing.Thou hast no doubt about my noble blood:See, here’s the coat-of-arms that I am wearing!

Ha! ha! That’s just your way, I know:A rogue you are, and you were always so.

My friend, take proper heed, I pray!To manage witches, this is just the way.

Give us a goblet of the well-known juice!But, I must beg you, of the oldest brewage;The years a double strength produce.

With all my heart! Now, here’s a bottle,Wherefrom, sometimes, I wet my throttle,Which, also, not the slightest, stinks;And willingly a glass I’ll fill him.

Yet, if this man without due preparation drinks,As well thou know’st, within an hour ’twill kill him.

He is a friend of mine, with whom it will agree,And he deserves thy kitchen’s best potation:Come, draw thy circle, speak thine adjuration,And fill thy goblet full and free!

Now, what shall come of this? the creatures antic,The crazy stuff, the gestures frantic,—All the repulsive cheats I view,—Are known to me, and hated, too.

O, nonsense! That’s a thing for laughter;Don’t be so terribly severe!She juggles you as doctor now, that, after,The beverage may work the proper cheer.

See, thus it’s done!Make ten of one,And two let be,Make even three,And rich thou ’It be.Cast o’er the four!From five and six(The witch’s tricks)Make seven and eight,’Tis finished straight!And nine is one,And ten is none.This is the witch’s once-one’s-one!

Thou’lt hear much more before we leave her.’Tis all the same: the book I can repeat,Such time I’ve squandered o’er the history:A contradiction thus completeIs always for the wise, no less than fools, a mystery.The art is old and new, for verilyAll ages have been taught the matter,—By Three and One, and One and Three,Error instead of Truth to scatter.They prate and teach, and no one interferes;All from the fellowship of fools are shrinking.Man usually believes, if only words he hears,That also with them goes material for thinking!

The lofty skillOf Science, stillFrom all men deeply hidden!Who takes no thought,To him ’tis brought,’Tis given unsought, unbidden!

What nonsense she declaims before us!My head is nigh to split, I fear:It seems to me as if I hearA hundred thousand fools in chorus.

O Sibyl excellent, enough of adjuration!But hither bring us thy potation,And quickly fill the beaker to the brim!This drink will bring my friend no injuries:He is a man of manifold degrees,And many draughts are known to him.

Down with it quickly! Drain it off!’Twill warm thy heart with new desire:Art with the Devil hand and glove,And wilt thou be afraid of fire?

Thy wish be on Walpurgis Night expressed;What boon I have, shall then be given unto thee.

Here is a song, which, if you sometimes sing,You’ll find it of peculiar operation.

Come, walk at once! A rapid occupationMust start the needful perspiration,And through thy frame the liquor’s potence fling.The noble indolence I’ll teach thee then to treasure,And soon thou’lt be aware, with keenest thrills of pleasure,How Cupid stirs and leaps, on light and restless wing.

One rapid glance within the mirror give me,How beautiful that woman-form!

No, no! The paragon of all, believe me,Thou soon shalt see, alive and warm.

Thou’lt find, this drink thy blood compelling,Each woman beautiful as Helen!