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Indian Fok Theatres Theatres of the World 1st Edition
Juli Hollander Digital Instant Download
Author(s): Juli Hollander
ISBN(s): 9780415304559, 0415304555
Edition: 1
File Details: PDF, 5.20 MB
Year: 2007
Language: english
1111
2 Indian Folk Theatres
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3111 Indian Folk Theatres is theatre anthropology as a lived experience,
4 containing detailed accounts of recent folk theatre shows, as well as
5 historical and cultural context. It looks at folk theatre forms from three
6 corners of the Indian sub-continent:
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8 • Tamasha, song and dance entertainments from Maharastra;
9 • Chhau, the lyrical dance theatre of Bihar; and
20111 • Therukoothu, satirical, ritualised epics from Tamil Nadu.
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2 The contrasting styles and contents are depicted with a strongly practical
3 bias, harnessing expertise from practitioners, anthropologists and theatre
4 scholars in India. The book examines how folk performances have
5 influenced ‘modern’ work in the cosmopolitan urban theatres, and the
6 manner in which folk and modern theatres intersect. Keeping a firm focus
7 on the legacy of East–West theatre interactions, Hollander places her
8 subject in its ever-widening contemporary setting.
9 Indian Folk Theatres makes these exceptionally versatile and upbeat
30111 contemporary theatre forms accessible to students and practitioners
1 everywhere, and considers the ways in which theatre artists worldwide can
2 enjoy and understand one another’s work.
3
4 Julia Hollander is a British theatre director, teacher and writer. She
5 has staged operas all over the world, including three acclaimed pro-
6 ductions for English National Opera in London. Her study and artistic
7 collaboration with Indian folk theatre practitioners began in the early
8 1990s.
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3 Series editor: John Russell Brown
4 Series advisors: Alison Hodge, Royal Holloway, University
5 of London; Osita Okagbue, Goldsmiths College, University of
6 London
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2 Theatres of the World is a series that will bring close and instructive
3111 contact with makers of performances from around the world. Each book
4 looks at the performance traditions and current practices of a specific
5 region, focusing on a small number of individual theatrical events. Mixing
6 first-hand observation, interviews with performance makers and in-depth
7 analyses, these books show how performance practices are expressive of
8 their social, historical and cultural contexts. They consider the ways in
9 which theatre artists worldwide can enjoy and understand one another's
20111 work.
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2 Volumes currently available in the series are:
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4 African Theatres and Performances
5 Osita Okagbue
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7 Indian Folk Theatres
8 Julia Hollander
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30111 Future volumes will include:
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2 Performance in Bali
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4 Indian Popular Theatres
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6 Indigenous Australian Theatre Practices
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8 Polish Ensemble Theatre
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40111 Shamans in Contemporary Korean Theatre
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3111 First published 2007
1 by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN
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Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada
1011 by Routledge
4 270 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016
5 This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2007.
6 “To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s
70111 collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk.”
8 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business
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© 2007 Julia Hollander
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced
1 or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means,
2 now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording,
3 or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in
writing from the publishers.
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5 British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data
30111
7 Hollander, Julia.
8 Indian folk theatres / by Julia Hollander.
9 p. cm. – (Theatres of the world)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
1. Performing arts – India. 2. Folk drama, Indic – History and criticism. I. Title.
1 PN2881.5.H65 2007
2 792v.0954 – dc22 2007005427
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4 ISBN 0-203-94528-X Master e-book ISBN
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6 ISBN 10: 0–415–30455–5 (hbk)
7 ISBN 10: 0–203–94528–X (ebk)
8 ISBN 13: 978–0–415–30455–9 (hbk)
9 ISBN 13: 978–0–203–94528–5 (ebk)
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2 Contents
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3111 List of illustrations viii
4 Acknowledgements x
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Introduction: first encounters 1
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8 1 Seraikella Chhau: competing spaces 22
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20111 2 Expanding Chhau: beyond masks and Maharajas 56
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2 3 Rediscovering folk theatre 65
3 4 Tamasha: escape 75
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5 5 Re-working Tamasha: from socialism to social
6 mobility 111
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8 6 More discoveries 125
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30111 7 Therukoothu: coalescing worlds 132
1 8 Modern Therukoothu: survival 163
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3 9 The global village 181
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Therukoothu appendix 192
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Postscript 193
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8 Glossary of terms 194
9 Notes 197
40111 Bibliography 206
1 Index 211
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3111 0.1 Tamil crowd gathered for the battle between Duryodhana
4 and Bhima 5
5 0.2 Suddhendra dancing in the corridor 8
6 0.3 Ima Manimacha 16
7 1.1 Prasanna Mahapatra making a mask 27
8 1.2 The Chhau Mahotsav site by day 30
9 1.3 The Kharkai river by day 32
20111 1.4 Bhaktas and jarjara pole on the rock 33
1 1.5 Chhau Mahotsav musicians 37
2 1.6 Tapan Pattanayak plays Ratri 40
3 1.7 Tapan Pattanayak coaches two girls 45
4 1.8 Krishna and his gopis in street parade 47
5 1.9 Chandrabhaga (performer unknown) 48
6 1.10 Seraikella palace crowd 50
7 1.11 Krishna and Radha (performers unknown) 52
8 1.12 Moon (performer unknown) 53
9 2.1 Ileana Citaristi performs Echo and Narcissus 63
30111 3.1 Tamil village street 69
1 4.1 Tamasha singer (performer unknown) 78
2 4.2 Vijay Borgaonkar and colleagues 89
3 4.3 Borgaonkar company technicians unload 91
4 4.4 Lata putting on ghungroos 94
5 4.5 The author, making prasad, with Narayangaon officials 96
6 4.6 Maushi and Tamasha girls 98
7 4.7 Tamasha dancers 100
8 4.8 Baburao salutes his father 102
9 4.9 Technicians strike the set 108
40111 5.1 Meena Nerurkar and company 123
1 6.1 Paddy fields 129
21111 7.1 Kulamanthai villagers listen to storytelling 135
 Illustrations ix
1111 7.2 Thevarasan 137
2 7.3 Potters at their Duryodhana statue 139
3 7.4 Therukoothu stage at Kulamanthai 140
4 7.5 Subramaniya plays Krishna 143
5 7.6 Female roles prepare 145
6 7.7 Draupadi Kuravanchi (ensemble) 150
7 7.8 Jothi plays Duryodhana 155
8 7.9 Kanniyappan as Draupadi with Meghanattan as
9 Kattiayankaran 159
1011 7.10 Villagers and cattle wait for action 160
1 7.11 Running over hot coals 162
2 8.1 Sambandhan performs Arjunan Thapasu 164
3111 8.2 Sambandhan performs Panchali Sabadam 170
4 8.3 Koothu-p-Pattarai ensemble in England 173
5 9.1 The author and Prince Braj Bhanu Singh Deo,
6 Seraikella Palace 183
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8 All photographs © Julia Hollander
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3111 This book would not have been possible without the generous colla-
4 boration of numerous individuals in both India and the UK. As I reveal
5 in the introduction, my own experiences as a theatre director colla-
6 borating with folk theatre artists in India needed support and sub-
7 stantiation from those based in the field. Over the years, it has been my
8 privilege to come in contact with countless gifted and dedicated people
9 – many more than can be mentioned in this brief homage to those who
20111 helped specifically with the book.
1 In Orissa, dancer Ileana Citaristi catalysed my initial study of Chhau,
2 the way she balances practice and scholarship an inspiration; her ongoing
3 work accounts for itself in the contemporary Chhau chapter. Tapan
4 Pattanayak has been a very practical teacher, providing a fascinating
5 interface between the Chhau festival events and the inner workings of his
6 art, and helping to refine the book’s technical material. For historical and
7 socio/religious background in Seraikella the royal family have been
8 unstinting in their support – most significantly, scholar and practitioner
9 Prince Braj Bhanu Singh Deo.
30111 In Tamil Nadu, playwright Muthuswamy’s infectious enthusiasm was
1 the starting point for my Therukoothu work, and indeed for my love of
2 folk theatre in general. His intelligence and sensitivity have inspired
3
performers and writers from all over India and abroad. Tamil folklorist
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Muthukumaraswamy has been a strong influence throughout the book,
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especially in exploring the deepest areas of village beliefs and social mores.
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His analysis of the Draupadi Kuravanchi show was the basis for the first
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Therukoothu chapter (Chapter 7), and contacts made through his
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institution, the National Folklore Support Centre in Chennai, were
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extremely important for the book as a whole. I would also like to thank
40111
Muthuswamy’s son, M. Natesh, for all the help he has given me, espe-
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21111 cially in his account of Koothu-p-Pattarai’s work which forms the bulk
 Acknowledgements xi
1111 of the second Therukoothu chapter (Chapter 8). See also the appendix
2 on p. 192.
3 For Tamasha, British academic and theatre manager Nick Hill provided
4 generous up-to-the-minute information that enabled me to witness the
5 most interesting work in the most exciting conditions. His careful reading
6 of the Tamasha entries and guidance through extended research proved
7 invaluable. Meena Nerurkar in the USA has been a lively and efficient
8 correspondent. In Pune, two people with whom Nick put me in touch
9 were particularly important: journalist Gauri Warudi (an excellent
1011 translator and guide) and playwright Sushama Deshpande. I am glad that
1 our collaborations have been so mutually beneficial.
2 Institutions without whom writing and researching this book would
3111 have been impossible include the Indian Institute Library of Oxford
4 University, the District authorities in Seraikella-Kharsawan, Pune Uni-
5 versity Drama department and Sangeet Natak Academy in Delhi. The
6 Harold Hyam Wingate Foundation generously funded the writing and
7 research work. My travel was paid for by INTACH UK – the Inter-
8 national Council on Monuments and Sites, and the British Academy.
9 Thanks also to the Winston Churchill Memorial Trust and the Rajiv
20111 Gandhi Foundation, whose earlier research grants proved essential in
1 gathering such a body of knowledge.
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2 Introduction
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4 First encounters
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3111 If you go close to Indian theatre you may never return.
4 Edward Gordon Craig
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6 In 1991, when an invitation came to lead workshops for a small theatre
7 company in the metropolis of Mumbai, I eagerly accepted. Since leaving
8 university a passionate enthusiast for music theatre, in love with its
9 emotional expression, its vibrancy and its explosiveness, I had quickly
20111 grown disillusioned. After only three years directing operas in the UK,
1 professional work had expanded my knowledge of politics and money
2 and competition, but I had lost touch with any artistic vision. I cast my
3 mind back to Peter Brook’s epic production of Mahabharata, the
4 extreme reverence it had aroused in me and so many other young theatre
5 enthusiasts during the 1980s; I remembered reading about Edward
6 Gordon Craig’s visionary design innovations and his passion for Indian
7 theatre. So many dedicated and innovative British directors had found
8 inspiration in India. They had entered its mystical nature, its exotic,
9 seductive powers – qualities so opposite to the prosaic commerciality I
30111 had come to know as professional theatre in the UK. It was a simple
1 enough assumption that I might do the same.
2 Of course, it didn’t turn out like that. The theatre world in Mumbai
3 was disarmingly similar to my own; even smaller and more inward-
4 looking than the UK opera industry, it struggled with the same sorts of
5 political machinations and problems of cashflow. I soon found that its
6 aesthetic also resembled my own – hide-bound by the ‘well-made play’,
7 the actors were resorting to all the same clichés of naturalism to animate
8 the deadness of their scripts. The company’s director, Veenapani Chawla,
9 was feeling just as stuck, just as lost as me.
40111 But there was another Indian theatre scene, Veenapani explained. Away
1 from the cities, in the rural hinterland that makes up the major part of
21111 the sub-continent, there existed a radically different type of performance
 2 Introduction: first encounters
1111 art. In recent decades it had started disintegrating, threatened by the
2 accessibility of other entertainments and a general trend towards
3 Westernisation. But if I wanted inspiration, then I should go in search of
4 it. Soon.
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Therukoothu
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8 Inserted into my 1991 Mumbai diary is a letter from a playwright friend
9 of Veenapani’s based in the south-eastern state of Tamil Nadu. In his
1011 perfectly balanced calligraphy Muthuswamy writes to let me know that
1 the Draupadi Amman festival is currently taking place. ‘I can arrange for
2 you to go to a village and see a Therukoothu performance,’ he writes.
3111 ‘You will have to travel at least 110 kilometers from Chennai. It is a ten-
4 day, day-and-night ritual and performance of the whole Mahabharata.’
5 Veenapani warned me that the overnight train to Chennai followed by
6 the long journey across country by bus would be quite some undertaking.
7 Few people would speak English, and I would not be able to read even
8 the place names in their curly Tamil script. Some of her actors were
9 appalled at my plan to stay more than a week in a remote and doubtless
20111 dirty village, sleeping on the ground, eating off plates made of leaves. But
1 for me it was just the sort of adventure I craved.
2 I remember walking along the crowded street in central Chennai in
3 search of Muthuswamy’s office. I was so hot that sweat poured down the
4 backs of my legs as I climbed the steep dark staircase up to his room.
5 Muthuswamy sat cross-legged beside the desk, wearing a hand-woven
6 cotton shirt and twiddling his moustache distractedly. He was impatient
7 to reveal his plans for me – once it was a little cooler, he would accompany
8 me on the afternoon bus; we would arrive at the village after sunset, in
9 time to catch the second night of the festival. He needed to return to
30111 Chennai, but would leave me at the village with one of his actor
1 colleagues as translator and guide. The operation had clearly been
2 performed many times before – Muthuswamy had mediated for years
3 between eager outsiders (scholars and practitioners) and the village
4 performers.
5 I don’t remember what sort of payment I gave, but I’m sure I was
6 concerned about doing the right thing. It was awkward – my custom was
7 to pay to see a show, and I was acutely aware of my economic status – a
8 Westerner in a poor developing country. As a playwright living and
9 working in the city, Muthuswamy had access to funding for his theatre
40111 work from various foundations and sponsors, but the rural actors had
1 none. He was doing me a favour because he was friends with Veenapani
21111 (herself receiving at least some funding; her actors supporting themselves
 Introduction: first encounters 3
1111 with daytime jobs in their lucrative city). Yet the festival shows were free
2 of charge to anyone who happened to come to the village. The actors
3 would welcome me because that was their custom, and perhaps they
4 hoped that a British lady like me might find them work in her own
5 country. I was aware that the scholars and practitioners who preceded me
6 had come under the accusation of, at the very least, bad manners if not
7 out-and-out exploitation. At the same time, there was no obvious way
8 to recompense the villagers for my gate-crashing their festival. I think I
9 probably solved the problem on this occasion by paying Muthuswamy
1011 for the bus tickets and giving him a donation to pass on to the village
1 actors. On subsequent visits, when Muthuswamy’s theatre school1 had
2 become established, as payment for seeing the rural shows I offered free
3111 workshops to his young urban trainees, and brought books and videos
4 for their library. This form of barter seemed the best compromise in a
5 culture so in need of money and yet so generous in its artistic production.
6 My diary of those ten days in the Tamil countryside is full of visual
7 details – yellow and red stripes painted on the cottage doorpost; the
8 beautifully intricate kollam patterns squiggled in rice-flour at the
9 threshold of each hut; a huge silk loom strung up between two tamarind
20111 trees. Then there are descriptions of my life with the Therukoothu
1 company – I was their guest of honour, a white woman seldom seen in
2 these parts. The actors took me wherever they went – from house to
3 house on their social rounds, accepting cups of frothy coffee and delicious
4 little dosas,2 smoky and moist from the open fireplace. I quickly learnt the
5 Tamil words for essential food and drink, ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. Rather
6 than constantly call on Muthuswamy’s colleague to translate, I preferred
7 to communicate in a primitive mixture of sign language and repetition
8 of what was said to me. The actors were amused at my parroting. They
9 sat me in the front row for the evening shows, letting me snooze
30111 backstage on the straw when I was too tired to watch any more. During
1 the day I sat on the row of mats side by side with them as our hostesses
2 handed round the plates made of dried leaves – beautiful artefacts sewn
3 together with tiny cotton stitches. We were served mounds of tasty food
4 from great steel buckets of dhal and rice, and when we could consume
5 no more, our plates were crumpled up and thrown outside to rot. Then
6 we would lie stretched out on the mats, comatose, coping with the
7 midday heat.
8 I still have the photos taken by a village boy who shinned three metres
9 up the striped pole in the middle of the village square (erected especially
40111 for the performance rituals). The pictures show a huge crowd gathered
1 for the final day’s thrill of a dramatisation of the battle between
21111 Duryodhana and Bhima3 that is the climax of Mahabharata. In the
 4 Introduction: first encounters
1111 background, hundreds of bicycles are propped against one another in
2 the shade of a tree. Whole families had arrived across country since early
3 morning – dad on the bike seat, a couple of children propped on the
4 cross-bar, wives side-saddle clutching babies on the rack behind. The
5 Hindu priest is in the middle of the photo, seated next to the garlanded
6 little god statues beneath a fringed parasol, laughing up at the camera.
7 Others who push forward against the rope will later go into what I
8 remember thinking was an epileptic fit – frothing at the mouth and
9 flailing in the dust. The first was a middle-aged woman just behind me
1011 in the crowd – supported around her waist by a young man (her son,
1 perhaps), she shuddered and screamed out her ecstasy. Then people
2 across the square began to do the same, and even one of the actors had
3111 to be held down as his violent possession took hold. The crowd cheered
4 in support. Later photos show an evening crowd gathered in a haze of
5 smoke, the low angle of the sun lighting up the bright green branches
6 they hold above their heads. They are waiting for the coals to heat up
7 before running over them, again in ecstasy.
8 It is these scenes, fixed by my camera, that I relive most vividly as my
9 introduction to folk theatre. I was there to watch the actors perform, and
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 Introduction: first encounters 5
1111 I am sure they did so most brilliantly, with all their slapstick virtuosity.
2 The female impersonators must have strutted and pouted; the male
3 characters roared and stamped. The ensemble sang at the top of their
4 voices, hour after hour. But mainly I remember the whole community
5 throbbing with excitement – children and dogs, old and young, men and
6 women, all milling around while performers sang and danced and
7 shouted, at a party dedicated to the gods. There was such elasticity in the
8 people’s relationship with their shows, such ebullience in their inter-
9 actions. I could hardly bear to cast my mind back to uptight audiences
1011 back home. This audience would never accept the formalities and
1 coldness of my modern theatre; they wanted their drama to be
2 rumbustuous, accessible for all the family and foreigners too. Through
3111 it, they were celebrating throbbing, kicking, laughing life.
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6 Chhau
7 Back in the UK, I went around telling anyone who would listen about
8 the thrill of the Therukoothu shows, and plotting ways to return to it.
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In a second-hand book shop near the British Library in London, I
20111
discovered Balwant Gargi’s Folk Theatre of India (written in the 1950s).
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The book describes numerous local folk theatres across the whole of
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India. I was particularly drawn to the black and white photos and
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descriptions of Seraikella Chhau, a dance form from an area near Orissa
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in the east of the sub-continent. I was attracted to the beauty of the masks
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6 – something esoteric and dreamy about their staring eyes and arched
7 brows, the brush lines reminiscent of a Beardsley ink drawing. Effeminate,
8 elusive, this type of indigenous Indian theatre reeked of Orientalist
9 romance, and I was smitten. Back to India I went, this time to Kolkata
30111 in order to meet theatre scholar Rustom Bharucha. He recommended
1 that I visit a dancer in Bhubaneswar (capital of Orissa) – Ileana Citaristi,
2 an Italian Philosophy graduate who had been embroiled in theatre and
3 dance in the north-east region for many years. She sent me to visit the
4 royal Chhau expert living in the little state of Seraikella.
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6 The early morning bus dumped me in the main street and I made straight
7 for the shabby palace gates. In the courtyard I called out, hopeful that
8 a servant might respond, but nothing. So, choosing left rather than
9 right probably because of some now-ingrained habit of circling temples
40111 clockwise, I came to the front door of Rajkumar Suddhendra Singh
1 Deo, the last surviving royal proponent of Chhau. There he stood,
21111 wrapped in an old Kashmiri shawl, his willowy figure still recognisable
 6 Introduction: first encounters
1111 from Gargi’s photos of fifty years ago. Suddhendra was charmed that I
2 recognised him, and moreover that for the sake of Chhau I had crossed
3 the notoriously dangerous state of Bihar by night. He gave me a cup of
4 tea warmed at a little gas stove in the corridor, and reassured me that his
5 ‘boy’ would be along later to cook chapattis. We would start work right
6 away – he would teach me out here in the corridor, and I could sleep in
7 the living room. There were no other areas of the palace available to us,
8 the rooms being either occupied by other family members or completely
9 uninhabitable. The grandeur was more than faded; it had well-nigh
1011 disintegrated. At night rats rampaged all over the furniture around my
1 bed, enjoying mite-infested flour and shredded papers left strewn around
2 the room. Black dust melded their food with undecipherable rags and
3111 discarded old gadgets. On the living room wall hung an out-of-date
4 calendar picturing a fat, white baby Krishna and next to it two heraldic
5 shields that Suddhendra proudly pronounced had been given to his family
6 on their visit to England before the war.
7 Had I gone anticlockwise around the building I would have arrived at
8 a slightly smarter section of the palace, home to the other side of the
9 family – a cousin who wrote about Chhau and was researching a book
20111 on its heritage. Instead, I found myself guest of honour to an elegant and
1 really rather charming dance master. He called me ‘the Angel’: ‘You have
2 come to save us,’ he said. ‘You will take news of our work to England and
3 tell them the royal Chhau dance is still in existence.’ He used to tour
4 abroad with his Chhau company, and remembered his trip to London in
5 1938 very clearly – a private council with the king, transport around the
6 capital in glistening Morris cars and, most memorable of all, the deepest,
7 warmest baths in the world. He regarded the British as highly civilised –
8 able to appreciate the finer things in life, including his beloved Chhau.
9 And as for me – a Londoner, I could pay the boy a few rupees per day
30111 and he would drum out the talas in order for Suddhendra to coach me
1 in the footwork for Ratri – the dance of the Moon. And then we would
2 dance together in the palace grounds – he as Night and me as Moon. No
3 matter that the tradition was exclusively for men, times were changing
4 and with modern Western interest they could no longer keep it pure.
5 Anyone who felt the spirit of Chhau should be initiated in its disciplines.
6 We would have a mask made especially for me, and a suitable costume
7 could easily be found in his collection.
8 Despite my inhibitions about performing, I was caught up in the
9 romance of having discovered the ultimate proponent of a dying art. I
40111 remembered Veenapani’s advice about catching the folk forms soon,
1 before they were lost forever on the tide of Westernisation. Perhaps I was
21111 flattered that Suddhendra thought I might be capable of dancing his
 Introduction: first encounters 7
1111 lissom steps. Perhaps the unanticipated opportunity of becoming his
2 pupil, offered after such effort in getting here, was reason enough. I was
3 prepared to jettison my cerebral director persona and give myself to the
4 rigours of practise. For a week I did not leave the palace grounds, and
5 every day I practised the stamps and kicks and punishingly balletic
6 movements. By no means a trained dancer, I felt more confident about
7 my musical training and so concentrated on the talas, trying to master
8 the complicated rhythmic structures. The patterns made by my feet
9 should correspond to what the drummer was doing. I would complete
1011 one short phrase and then retreat to my notebook to write down the
1 ‘script’ in my own phonetic form – a series of sounds that my muscle
2 memory should then translate into footwork. I felt heavy and clumsy
3111 opposite my seventy-something teacher who sat patiently waiting for me
4 to master just a little of his art. My greatest fear was the encroaching day
5 when I would have to don my mask and dance with my guru.
6 Fortunately, my manifest limitations as a dancer put paid to the
7 performance idea. It soon became clear that this British Angel was not
8 going to make the necessary performing grade. Without discussion, the
9 pattern of my days changed. The mornings were still for coaching, but
20111 in the afternoon Suddhendra sent me on visits to interesting Seraikella
1 sites – the temples, the holy river, the homes of Chhau dancers and
2 martial artists. As the day of my departure came closer he handed over
3 papers – his biography and publicity leaflets, articles about Chhau, and
4 some names and addresses of old English friends he would like me to
5 contact (Lady this and Lord that). On my final evening Suddhendra
6 agreed to dance.
7 There in the corridor, without mask or costume, accompanied by the
8 bald thud of the drum, he lifted his tall body upwards and outwards,
9 dancing the Peacock dance with supreme lightness. There they were, the
30111 beautifully balanced poses I had seen in Balwant Gargi’s photos, bent
1 limbs creating perfect right angles as they depicted the haughty majesty
2 of the bird. The joy of this elegant man performing sinewy, delicate
3 movements took us far away from the grime of our surroundings. His
4 peacock transported us to some magical place, some Golden Age, a time
5 of innocence and dreaming, of polished cars and enamel baths and Great
6 British gentlemen. I wonder if Edward Gordon Craig ever saw him
7 dance.
8
9
Sankirtana
40111
1 Northwards, towards the Himalayas, I wanted to experience the
21111 Sankirtana of Manipur because it was performed not by men but by
Other documents randomly have
different content
 ACT V.
Scene I.
Walpurgis-Night.
The Hartz Mountains. Neighbourhood 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 stone 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 vapours 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.
Honour to him to whom honour 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 humours 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 labour, 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 honour 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!

Pedlar-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,
Am 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.

Falling 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 favourite 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 for ever!

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
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