Martha’s Garden.

Margaret on Faust’s arm; Martha with Mephistopheles, walking up and down.

Margaret.

I feel it well, ’tis from pure condescension

You pay to one like me so much attention.

With travellers ’tis a thing of course,

To be contented with the best they find;

For sure a man of cultivated mind

Can have small pleasure in my poor discourse.

Faust.

One look from thee, one word, delights me more

Than all the world’s high-vaunted lore.

[He kisses her hand.

Margaret.

O trouble not yourself! how could you kiss it so?

It is so coarse, so rough! for I must go

Through all the work above stairs and below,

Mother will have it so.

[They pass on.

Martha.

And you, sir, will it still

Be your delight from place to place to roam?

Mephistopheles.

In this our duty guides us, not our will.

With what sad hearts from many a place we go,

Where we had almost learned to be at home!

Martha.

When one is young it seems a harmless gambol,

Thus round and round through the wide world to ramble:

But soon the evil day comes on,

And as a stiff old bachelor to die

Has never yet done good to any one.

Mephistopheles.

I see ahead, and fear such wretched fate.

Martha.

Then, sir, take warning ere it be too late!

[They pass on.

Margaret.

Yes, out of sight, and out of mind!

You see me now, and are so kind:

But you have friends at home of station high,

With far more wit and far more sense than I.

Faust.

Their sense, dear girl, is often nothing more

Than vain conceit of vain short-sighted lore.

Margaret.

How mean you that?

Faust.

Oh that the innocent heart

And sweet simplicity, unspoiled by art,

So seldom knows its own rare quality!

That fair humility, the comeliest grace

Which bounteous Nature sheds on blooming face—

Margaret.

Do thou bestow a moment’s thought on me,

I shall have time enough to think of thee.

Faust.

You are then much alone?

Margaret.

Our household is but small, I own,

And yet must be attended to.

We keep no maid; I have the whole to do,

Must wash and brush, and sew and knit,

And cook, and early run and late;

And then my mother is, in every whit,

So accurate!

Not that she needs to pinch her household; we

Might do much more than many others do:

My father left a goodly sum, quite free

From debt, with a neat house and garden too,

Close by the town, just as you pass the gate;

But we have lived retired enough of late.

My brother is a soldier: he

Is at the wars: my little sister’s dead:

Poor thing! it caused me many an hour of pain

To see it pine, and droop its little head,

But gladly would I suffer all again,

So much I loved the child!

Faust.

An angel, if like thee!

Margaret.

I nursed it, and it loved me heartily.

My father died before it saw the light,

My mother was despaired of quite,

So miserably weak she lay.

Yet she recovered slowly, day by day;

And as she had not strength herself

To suckle the poor helpless elf,

She gave’t in charge to me, and I

With milk and water nursed it carefully.

Thus in my arm, and on my lap, it grew,

And smiled and crowed, and flung its legs about,

And called me mother too.

Faust.

To thy pure heart the purest joy, no doubt.

Margaret.

Ay! but full many an hour

Heavy with sorrow, and with labor sour.

The infant’s cradle stood beside

My bed, and when it stirred or cried,

I must awake;

Sometimes to give it drink, sometimes to take

It with me to my bed, and fondle it:

And when all this its fretting might not stay,

I rose, and danced about, and dandled it;

And after that I must away

To wash the clothes by break of day.

I make the markets too, and keep house for my mother,

One weary day just like another;

Thus drudging on, the day might lack delights,

But food went lightly down, and sleep was sweet o’ nights.

[They pass on.

Martha.

A woman’s case is not much to be vaunted;

A hardened bachelor is hard to mend.

Mephistopheles.

A few apostles such as you were wanted,

From evil ways their vagrant steps to bend.

Martha.

Speak plainly, sir, have you found nothing yet?

Are you quite disentangled from the net?

Mephistopheles.

A house and hearth, we have been often told,

With a good wife, is worth its weight in gold.

Martha.

I mean, sir, have you never felt the want?

Mephistopheles.

A good reception I have always found.

Martha.

I mean to say, did your heart never pant?

Mephistopheles.

For ladies my respect is too profound

To jest on such a serious theme as this.

Martha.

My meaning still you strangely miss!

Mephistopheles.

Alas, that I should be so blind!

One thing I plainly see, that you are very kind!

[They pass on.

Faust.

You knew me, then, you little angel! straight,

When you beheld me at the garden-gate?

Margaret.

Marked you it not?—You saw my downward look.

Faust.

And you forgive the liberty I took,

When from the minster you came out that day,

And I, with forward boldness more than meet,

Then ventured to address you on the street?

Margaret.

I was surprised, I knew not what to say;

No one could speak an evil word of me.

Did he, perchance, in my comportment see

Aught careless or improper on that day,

That he should take me for a worthless girl,

Whom round his little finger he might twirl?

Not yet the favorable thoughts I knew,

That even then were rising here for you;

One thing I know, myself I sharply chid,

That I could treat you then no harshlier than I did.

Faust.

Sweet love!

Margaret.

Let go!

[She plucks a star-flower, and pulls the petals off one after another.

Faust.

What’s that? a nosegay? let me see!

Margaret.

’Tis but a game.

Faust.

How so?

Margaret.

Go! you would laugh at me.

[She continues pulling the petals, and murmuring to herself.

Faust.

What are you murmuring now, so sweetly low?

Margaret. [half loud]

He loves me, yes!—he loves me, no!

Faust.

Thou sweet angelic face!

Margaret. [murmuring as before]

He loves me, yes!—he loves me, no!

[Pulling out the last petal with manifest delight.]

He loves me, yes!

Faust.

Yes, child! the fair flower-star hath answered Yes!

In this the judgment of the gods approves thee;

He loves thee! know’st thou what it means?—He loves thee!

[He seizes her by both hands.

Margaret.

I scarce can speak for joy!

Faust.

Fear thee not, love! But let this look proclaim,

This pressure of my hand declare

What words can never name:

To yield us to an ecstacy of joy,

And feel this tranceful bliss must be

Eternal! yes! its end would be despair!

It hath no end! no end for thee and me!

[Margaret presses his hands, makes herself free, and runs away. He stands still for a moment thoughtfully, then follows her.

Martha. [coming up]

’Tis getting late.

Mephistopheles.

Yes, and we must away.

Martha.

I fain would have you stay;

But ’tis an evil neighborhood,

Where idle gossips find their only good,

Their pleasure and their business too,

In spying out all that their neighbors do.

And thus, the whole town in a moment knows

The veriest trifle. But where is our young pair?

Mephistopheles.

Like wanton birds of summer, through the air

I saw them dart away.

Martha.

He seems well pleased with her.

Mephistopheles.

And she with him. ’Tis thus the world goes.

Scene II.

A Summer-house in the Garden.

[Margaret comes springing in, and hides herself behind the door. She places the point of her finger on her lips, and looks through a rent.

Margaret.

He comes!

Faust. [coming up]

Ha! ha! thou cunning soul, and thou

Would’st trick me thus; but I have caught thee now!

[He kisses her.

Margaret. [clasping him and returning the kiss]

Thou best of men, with my whole heart I love thee!

[Mephistopheles heard knocking.

Faust. [stamping]

Who’s there?

Mephistopheles.

A friend!

Faust.

A beast!

Mephistopheles.

’Tis time now to remove thee.

Martha. [coming up]

Yes, sir, ’tis getting late.

Faust.

May I not take you home?

Margaret.

My mother would—farewell!

Faust.

And must I leave you then?

Farewell!

Martha.

Adieu!

Margaret.

Right soon to meet again!

[Exeunt Faust and Mephistopheles.

Margaret. [alone]

Dear God! what such a man as this

Can think on all and everything!

I stand ashamed, and simple yes

Is the one answer I can bring.

I wonder what a man, so learned as he,

Can find in a poor simple girl like me. [Exit.

Scene III.

Wood and Cavern.

Faust. [alone]

Spirit Supreme! thou gav’st me—gav’st me all,

For which I asked thee. Not in vain hast thou

Turned toward me thy countenance in fire.

Thou gavest me wide Nature for my kingdom,

And power to feel it, to enjoy it. Not

Cold gaze of wonder gav’st thou me alone,

But even into her bosom’s depth to look,

As it might be the bosom of a friend.

The grand array of living things thou mad’st

To pass before me, mad’st me know my brothers

In silent bush, in water, and in air.

And when the straining storm loud roars, and raves

Through the dark forest, and the giant pine,

Root-wrenched, tears all the neighboring branches down

And neighboring stems, and strews the ground with wreck,

And to their fall the hollow mountain thunders;

Then dost thou guide me to the cave, where safe

I learn to know myself, and from my breast

Deep and mysterious wonders are unfolded.

Then mounts the pure white moon before mine eye

With mellow ray, and in her softening light,

From rocky wall, from humid brake, upfloat

The silvery shapes of times by-gone, and soothe

The painful pleasure of deep-brooding thought.

Alas! that man enjoys no perfect bliss,

I feel it now. Thou gav’st me with this joy,

Which brings me near and nearer to the gods,

A fellow, whom I cannot do without.

All cold and heartless, he debases me

Before myself, and, with a single breath,

Blows all the bounties of thy love to nought;

And fans within my breast a raging fire

For that fair image, busy to do ill.

Thus reel I from desire on to enjoyment,

And in enjoyment languish for desire.

Enter Mephistopheles.

Mephistopheles.

What! not yet tired of meditation?

Methinks this is a sorry recreation.

To try it once or twice might do;

But then, again to something new.

Faust.

You might employ your time some better way

Than thus to plague me on a happy day.

Mephistopheles.

Well, well! I do not grudge you quiet,

You need my aid, and you cannot deny it.

There is not much to lose, I trow,

With one so harsh, and gruff, and mad as thou.

Toil! moil! from morn to ev’n, so on it goes!

And what one should, and what one should not do,

One cannot always read it on your nose.

Faust.

This is the proper tone for you!

Annoy me first, and then my thanks are due.

Mephistopheles.

Poor son of Earth! without my timed assistance,

How had you ever dragged on your existence?

From freakish fancy’s fevered effervescence,

I have worked long ago your convalescence,

And, but for me, you would have marched away,

In your best youth, from the blest light of day.

What have you here, in caves and clefts, to do,

Like an old owl, screeching to-whit, to-whoo?

Or like a torpid toad, that sits alone

Sipping the oozing moss and dripping stone?

A precious condition to be in!

I see the Doctor sticks yet in your skin.

Faust.

Couldst thou but know what re-born vigor springs

From this lone wandering in the wilderness,

Couldst thou conceive what heavenly joy it brings,

Then wert thou fiend enough to envy me my bliss.

Mephistopheles.

A supermundane bliss!

In night and dew to lie upon the height,

And clasp the heaven and earth in wild delight,

To swell up to the godhead’s stature,

And pierce with clear miraculous sight

The inmost pith of central Nature,

To carry in your breast with strange elation,

The ferment of the whole six days’ creation,

With proud anticipation of—I know

Not what—to glow in rapturous overflow,

And melt into the universal mind,

Casting the paltry son of earth behind;

And then, the heaven-sprung intuition

[With a gesture.] To end—I shall not say in what—fruition.

Faust.

Shame on thee!

Mephistopheles.

Yes! that’s not quite to your mind.

You have a privilege to cry out shame,

When things are mentioned by their proper name.

Before chaste ears one may not dare to spout

What chastest hearts yet cannot do without.

I do not envy you the pleasure

Of palming lies upon yourself at leisure;

But long it cannot last, I warrant thee.

You are returned to your old whims, I see,

And, at this rate, you soon will wear

Your strength away, in madness and despair.

Of this enough! thy love sits waiting thee,

In doubt and darkness, cabined and confined.

By day, by night, she has thee in her mind;

I trow she loves thee in no common kind.

Thy raging passion ’gan to flow,

Like a torrent in spring from melted snow;

Into her heart thy tide gushed high,

Now is thy shallow streamlet dry.

Instead of standing here to overbrim

With fine ecstatic rapture to the trees,

Methinks the mighty gentleman might please

To drop some words of fond regard, to ease

The sweet young chick who droops and pines for him.

Poor thing, she is half dead of ennui,

And at the window stands whole hours, to see

The clouds pass by the old town-wall along.

Were I a little bird! so goes her song

The live-long day, and half the night to boot.

Sometimes she will be merry, mostly sad,

Now, like a child, weeping her sorrows out,

Now calm again to look at, never glad;

Always in love.

Faust.

Thou snake! thou snake!

Mephistopheles. [to himself]

So be it! that my guile thy stubborn will may break!

Faust.

Hence and begone, thou son of filth and fire!

Name not the lovely maid again!

Bring not that overmastering desire

Once more to tempt my poor bewildered brain!

Mephistopheles.

What then? she deems that you are gone forever;

And half and half methinks you are.

Faust.

No! I am nigh, and were I ne’er so far,

I could forget her, I could lose her never;

I envy ev’n the body of the Lord,

When on the sacred cake her lips she closes.

Mephistopheles.

Yes! to be honest, and confess my sins,

I oft have envied thee the lovely twins

That have their fragrant pasture among roses.

Faust.

Avaunt, thou pimp!

Mephistopheles.

Rail you, and I will laugh;

The God who made the human stuff

Both male and female, if the book don’t lie,

Himself the noblest trade knew well enough,

How to carve out an opportunity.

But come, why peak and pine you here?

I lead you to the chamber of your dear,

Not to the gallows.

Faust.

Ah! what were Heaven’s supremest blessedness

Within her arms, upon her breast, to me!

Must I not still be wrung with agony,

That I should plunge her into such distress?

I, the poor fugitive! outlaw from my kind,

Without a friend, without a home,

With restless heart, and aimless mind,

Unblest, unblessing, ever doomed to roam;

Who, like a waterfall, from rock to rock came roaring,

With greedy rage into the caldron pouring;

While she, a heedless infant, rears

Sidewards her hut upon the Alpine field,

With all her hopes, and all her fears,

Within this little world concealed.

And I—the God-detested—not content

To seize the rocks, and in my headlong bent

To shatter them to dust, with ruthless tide

Her little shielding on the mountain side

Bore down, and wrecked her life’s sweet peace with mine.

And such an offering, Hell, must it be thine?

Help, Devil, to cut short the hour of ill!

What happen must, may happen when it will!

May her sad fate my crashing fall attend,

And she with me be ruined in the end!

Mephistopheles.

Lo! how it boils again and blows

Like furnace, wherefore no man knows.

Go in, thou fool, and let her borrow

From thee, sweet solace to her sorrow!

When such a brainsick dreamer sees

No road, where he to walk may please,

He stands and stares like Balaam’s ass,

As if a god did block the pass.

A man’s a man who does and dares!

In other points you’re spiced not scantly with the devil;

Nothing more silly moves on earth’s wide level,

Than is a devil who despairs.

Scene IV.

Margaret’s Room.

Margaret alone, at a Spinning-wheel.

Margaret.

My rest is gone,

My heart is sore;

Peace find I never,

And nevermore.

Where he is not

Life is the tomb,

The world is bitterness

And gloom.

Crazed is my poor

Distracted brain,

My thread of thought

Is rent in twain.

My rest is gone,

My heart is sore;

Peace find I never,

And never more.

I look from the window

For none but him,

I go abroad

For only him.

His noble air,

His bearing high,

The smile of his mouth,

The might of his eye,

And, when he speaks,

What flow of bliss!

The clasp of his hand,

And ah! his kiss!

My rest is gone,

My heart is sore;

Peace find I never,

And nevermore.

My bosom swells,

And pants for him,

O that I might clasp him,

And cling to him!

And kiss him, and kiss him

The live-long day,

And on his kisses

Melt away!

Scene V.

Martha’s Garden.

Margaret and Faust.

Margaret.

Promise me, Henry!

Faust.

What I can.

Margaret.

Of your religion I am fain to hear;

I know thou art a most kind-hearted man,

But as to thy belief I fear—

Faust.

Fear not! thou know’st I love thee well: and know

For whom I love my life’s last drop shall flow!

For other men, I have nor wish nor need

To rob them of their church, or of their creed.

Margaret.

That’s not enough; you must believe it too!

Faust.

Must I?

Margaret.

Alas! that I might work some change on you!

Not even the holy mass do you revere.

Faust.

I do revere ’t.

Margaret.

Yes, but without desire.

At mass and at confession, too, I fear,

Thou hast not shown thyself this many a year.

Dost thou believe in God?

Faust.

My love, who dares aspire

To say he doth believe in God?

May’st ask thy priests and sages all,

Their answer seems like mockery to fall

Upon the asker’s ear.

Margaret.

Then thou dost not believe?

Faust.

Misunderstand me not, thou sweet, angelic face!

Who dares pronounce His name?

And who proclaim—

I do believe in Him?

And who dares presume

To utter—I believe Him not?

The All-embracer,

The All-upholder,

Grasps and upholds He not

Thee, me, Himself?

Vaults not the Heaven his vasty dome above thee?

Stand not the earth’s foundations firm beneath thee?

And climb not, with benignant beaming,

Up heaven’s slope the eternal stars?

Looks not mine eye now into thine?

And feel’st thou not an innate force propelling

Thy tide of life to head and heart,

A power that, in eternal mystery dwelling,

Invisible visible moves beside thee?

Go, fill thy heart therewith, in all its greatness,

And when thy heart brims with this feeling,

Then call it what thou wilt,

Heart! Happiness! Love! God!

I have no name for that which passes all revealing!

Feeling is all in all;

Name is but smoke and sound,

Enshrouding heaven’s pure glow.

Margaret.

All that appears most pious and profound;

Much of the same our parson says,

Only he clothes it in a different phrase.

Faust.

All places speak it forth;

All hearts, from farthest South to farthest North,

Proclaim the tale divine,

Each in its proper speech;

Wherefore not I in mine?

Margaret.

When thus you speak it does not seem so bad,

And yet is your condition still most sad:

Unless you are a Christian, all is vain.

Faust.

Sweet love!

Margaret.

Henry, it gives me pain,

More than my lips can speak, to see

Thee joined to such strange company.

Faust.

How so?

Margaret.

The man whom thou hast made thy mate,

Deep in my inmost soul I hate;

Nothing in all my life hath made me smart

So much as his disgusting leer.

His face stabs like a dagger through my heart!

Faust.

Sweet doll! thou hast no cause to fear.

Margaret.

It makes my blood to freeze when he comes near.

To other men I have no lack

Of kindly thoughts; but as I long

To see thy face, I shudder back

From him. That he’s a knave I make no doubt;

May God forgive me, if I do him wrong!

Faust.

Such grim old owls must be; without

Their help the world could not get on, I fear.

Margaret.

With men like him I would have nought to do!

As often as he shows him here,

He looks in at the door with such a scornful leer,

Half angry too;

Whate’er is done, he takes no kindly part;

And one can see it written on his face,

He never loved a son of Adam’s race.

Henry, within thy loving arm

I feel so free, so trustful-warm;

But when his foot comes near, I start,

And feel a freezing grip tie up my heart.

Faust.

O thou prophetic angel, thou!

Margaret.

This overpowers me so

That, when his icy foot may cross the door,

I feel as if I could not love thee more.

When he is here, too, I could never pray;

This eats my very heart. Now say,

Henry, is’t not the same with thee?

Faust.

Nay now, this is mere blind antipathy!

Margaret.

I must be gone.

Faust.

Oh! may it never be

That I shall spend one quiet hour with thee,

One single little hour, and breast on breast,

And soul on soul, with panting love, be pressed?

Margaret.

Alas! did I but sleep alone, this night

The door unbarred thy coming should invite;

But my good mother has but broken sleep;

And, if her ears an inkling got,

Then were I dead upon the spot!

Faust.

Sweet angel! that’s an easy fence to leap.

Here is a juice, whose grateful power can steep

Her senses in a slumber soft and deep;

Three drops mixed with her evening draught will do.

Margaret.

I would adventure this and more for you.

Of course, there’s nothing hurtful in the phial?

Faust.

If so, would I advise the trial?

Margaret.

Thou best of men, if I but look on thee,

All will deserts me to thy wish untrue;

So much already have I done for thee

That now scarce aught remains for me to do. [Exit.

Enter Mephistopheles.

Mephistopheles.

Well, is the monkey gone?

Faust.

And you—must I

Submit again to see you play the spy?

Mephistopheles.

I have been duly advertised

How Doctor Faust was catechised:

I hope it will agree with you.

The girls are wont—they have their reasons too—

To see that one, in every point, believes

The faith, that from his fathers he receives.

They think, if little mettle here he shows,

We too may lead him by the nose.

Faust.

Thou monster! dost not know how this fond soul,

Who yields her being’s whole

To God, and feels and knows

That from such faith alone her own salvation flows,

With many an anxious holy fear is tossed,

Lest he, whom best she loves, should be forever lost?

Mephistopheles.

Thou super-sensual sensual fool,

A silly girl takes thee to school!

Faust.

Thou son of filth and fire, thou monster, thou!

Mephistopheles.

And then her skill in reading faces

Is not the least of all her graces!

When I come near, she feels, she knows not how,

And through my mask can read it on my brow

That I must be, if not the very Devil,

A genius far above the common level.

And now to-night—

Faust.

What’s that to thee?

Mephistopheles.

What brings my master joy, brings joy to me.

Scene VI.

At the Well.

Margaret and Eliza, with water-pitchers.

Eliza.

Have you heard nought of Barbara?

Margaret.

Nothing at all. I seldom stray

From home, to hear of other folk’s affairs.

Eliza.

You may believe me every whit;

Sibylla told it me to-day.

She too has been befooled: that comes of it,

When people give themselves such airs!

Margaret.

How so?

Eliza.

’Tis rank!

She eats and drinks for two, not now for one.

Margaret.

Poor girl!

Eliza.

Well, well! she has herself to thank.

How long did she not hang upon

The fellow!—Yes! that was a parading,

A dancing and a promenading!

Must always be before the rest!

And to wines and pasties be pressed;

Began then to be proud of her beauty,

And was so reckless of her duty

As to take presents from him too.

That was a cooing and a caressing!

No wonder if the flower too be amissing!

Margaret.

I pity her.

Eliza.

Methinks you have not much to do.

When we were not allowed to venture o’er

The threshold, night and day kept close at spinning,

There stood she, with her paramour,

Upon the bench, before the door,

Or in the lane, and hour for hour

Scarce knew the end from the beginning.

’Tis time that she should go to school

And learn—on the repentance-stool!

Margaret.

But he will take her for his wife.

Eliza.

He marry her! not for his life!

An active youth like him can find,

Where’er he pleases, quarters to his mind.

Besides, he’s gone!

Margaret.

That was not fair.

Eliza.

And if he should come back, she’ll not enjoy him more.

Her marriage wreath the boys will tear,

And we will strew chopped straw before the door.[n9] [Exit.

Margaret. [going homewards]

How could I once so boldly chide

When a poor maiden stepped aside,

And scarce found words enough to name

The measure of a sister’s shame!

If it was black, I blackened it yet more,

And with that blackness not content,

More thickly still laid on the paint,

And blessed my stars, as cased in mail,

Against all frailties of the frail;

And now myself am what I chid before!—

Yet was each step that lured my slippery feet

So good, so lovely, so enticing sweet!

Scene VII.

An enclosed Area.

(In a niche of the wall an image of the Mater dolorosa, with flower-jugs before it.)

Margaret. [placing fresh flowers in the jugs]

O mother rich in sorrows,

Bend down to hear my cry!

O bend thee, gracious mother,

To my sore agony!

Thy heart with swords is piercÈd,

And tears are in thine eye,

Because they made thy dear Son

A cruel death to die.

Thou lookest up to heaven,

And deeply thou dost sigh;

His God and thine beholds thee,

And heals thine agony.

Oh! who can know

What bitter woe

Doth pierce me through and through?

The fear, the anguish of my heart,

Its every pang, its every smart,

Know’st thou, and only thou.

And wheresoe’er I wend me,

What woes, what woes attend me,

And how my bosom quakes!

And in my chamber lonely,

With weeping, weeping only,

My heart for sorrow breaks.

These flower-pots on the window

I wet with tears, ah me!

When with the early morning,

I plucked these flowers for thee.

And when the morn’s first sunbeam

Into my room was shed,

I sat, in deepest anguish,

And watched it on my bed.

O save me, Mother of Sorrows!

Unto my prayer give heed,

By all the swords that pierced thee,

O save me in my need!

Scene VIII.

Night. Street before Margaret’s door.

Enter Valentin.

Valentin.

When I sat with our merry men,

At a carousal, now and then,

Where one may be allowed a boast,

And my messmates gave toast for toast

To the girl they prized the most,

And with a bumper then swilled o’er

Their praise, when they could praise no more;

I’d sit at ease, and lean upon

My elbow, while they prated on,

Till all the swaggerers had done,

And smile and stroke my beard, and fill

The goodly rummer to my hand,

And say, All that is very well!

But is there one, in all the land,

That with my Margaret may compare,

Or even tie the shoe to her?

Rap, rap! cling, clang! so went it round!

From man to man, with gleesome sound,

And one cried out with lusty breath,

“Yes, Gretchen! Gretchen! she’s the girl,

Of womanhood the perfect pearl!”

And all the braggarts were dumb as death.

And now,—the devil’s in the matter!

It is enough to make one clatter,

Like a rat, along the walls!

Shall every boor, with gibe and jeer,

Turn up his nose when I appear?

And every pettiest word that falls

Me, like a purseless debtor, torture?

And though I bruised them in a mortar,

I could not say that they were wrong.

What comes apace?—what creeps along?

A pair of them comes slinking by.

If ’tis the man I look for, I

Will dust his coat so well he’ll not,

By Jove! go living from the spot! [Retires.

Enter Faust and Mephistopheles.

Faust.

As from the window of the vestry there,

The light of the undying lamp doth glare,

And sidewards gleameth, dimmer still and dimmer,

Till darkness closes round its fitful glimmer,

So murky is it in my soul.

Mephistopheles.

And I’ve a qualmish sort of feeling,

Like a cat on a rainy day,

Creeping round the wall, and stealing

Near the fireplace, if it may.

Yet am I in most virtuous trim

For a small turn at stealing, or at lechery;

So jumps already through my every limb

Walpurgis-Night, with all its glorious witchery.

The day after to-morrow brings again

The Feast, with fun and frolic in its train.

Faust.

Is it not time that you were raising

The treasure there in the distance blazing?

Mephistopheles.

Soon shall you sate your eyes with gazing,

And lift up from the urn yourself

A little mine of precious pelf.

I gave it a side-glance before—

Saw lion-dollars by the score.

Faust.

Is there no gaud?—no jewel at all?

To deck my sweet little mistress withal.

Mephistopheles.

O yes! I saw some trinkets for the girls,—

A sort of necklace strung with pearls.

Faust.

’Tis well that we have this to give her,

For empty-handed go I never.

Mephistopheles.

And yet a wise man ought to learn

To enjoy gratis, as well as to earn.

Now, that the stars are bright and clear the sky,

I’ll give you a touch of choicest melody;

A moral song—that, while we seem to school her,

With the more certainty we may befool her.

[Sings to the guitar.]

Why stands before

Her lover’s door,

Young Catherine here,

At early break of day?

Beware, beware!

He lets thee in,

A maiden in,

A maiden not away!

When full it blows,

He breaks the rose,

And leaves thee then,

A wretched outcast thing!

Take warning, then,

And yield to none

But who hath shown,

And changed with thee the ring.

Valentin. [advancing]

Ho, serenaders! by the Element!

You whoreson rascals! you rat-catchers, you!

First, to the devil with the instrument,

And, after it, the harper too!

Mephistopheles.

Donner and blitz! my good guitar is broken!

Valentin.

And your skull, too, anon: by this sure token!

Mephistopheles.

Quick, Doctor! here’s no time to tarry!

Keep close, as I shall lead the way.

Out with your goosewing![2] out, I say!

Make you the thrusts, and I will parry.

Valentin.

Then parry that!

Mephistopheles.

Why not?

Valentin.

And that!

Mephistopheles.

Of course!

Valentin.

I deem the devil is here, or something worse.

Good God! what’s this?—my arm is lamed!

Mephistopheles. [to Faust]

Have at him there!

Valentin. [falls]

O woe!

Mephistopheles.

Now is the lubber tamed!

But let’s be gone! why stand you gaping there?

They’ll raise a cry of murder! I can play

A game with the policeman, any day;

But blood spilt is a dangerous affair.

[Exeunt Mephistopheles and Faust.

Martha. [at the window]

Ho! murder, ho!

Margaret. [at the window]

A light! a light!

Martha. [as above]

They bawl, they brawl, they strike, they fight.

The People.

And here lies one already dead!

Martha. [appearing below]

Where are the murderers? are they fled?

Margaret. [below]

Who’s this lies here?

The People.

Thy mother’s son.

Margaret.

Almighty God! my brother dead!

Valentin.

I die! I die!—’tis quickly said,

And yet more quickly done.

Why stand you, women, and weep and wail?

Draw near, and listen to my tale!

[They all come round him.]

My Margaret, mark me, you are young,

And in sense not overstrong;

You manage matters ill.

I tell thee in thine ear, that thou

Art, once for all, a strumpet,—now

Mayst go and take thy fill.

Margaret.

My brother! God! what do you mean?

Valentin.

Leave the Lord God out of the jest;

Said is said, and done is done;

Now you may manage, as you best

Know how to help the matter on.

You commenced the trade with one,

We shall have two, three, four, anon,

Next a dozen, and next a score,

And then the whole town at your door.

When sin is born it shuns the light

(For conscience guilt may not abide it),

And they draw the veil of night

Over head and ears, to hide it;

Yea, they would murder it, if they might.

But anon it waxes bolder,

And walks about in broad day-light,

And, uglier still as it grows older,

The less it offers to invite,

The more it courts the public sight.

Even now, methinks, I see the day,

When every honest citizen,

As from a corpse of tainted clay,

From thee, thou whore! will turn away.

Thy very heart shall fail thee then,

When they shall look thee in the face!

No more shall golden chain thee grace!

The Church shall spurn thee from its door!

The altar shall not own thee more!

Nor longer, with thy spruce lace-tippet,

Where the dance wheels, shalt thou trip it!

In some vile den of want and woe,

With beggars and cripples thou shalt bed;

And, if from Heaven forgiveness flow,

Earth shall rain curses on thy head!

Martha.

Speak softly, and prepare thy soul for death,

Nor mingle slander with thy parting breath!

Valentin.

Could I but reach thy withered skin,

Thou hag, thou bawd, so vile and shameless!

For such fair deed I might pass blameless,

To score the black mark from my blackest sin.

Margaret.

Brother, thou mak’st me feel a hell of pain!

Valentin.

I tell thee, all thy tears are vain!

When with thy honor thou didst part,

Thou dealt the blow that pierced my heart.

I go through death, with fearless mood,

To meet my God, as a soldier should. [Dies.

Scene IX.

A Cathedral.

Mass, Organ, and Song. Margaret amid a crowd of people, Evil Spirit behind her.

Evil Spirit.

How different, Margaret, was thy case,

When, in thine innocence, thou didst kneel

Before the altar,

And from the well-worn book

Didst lisp thy prayers,

Half childish play,

Half God in thy heart!

Margaret!

Where is thy head?

Within thy heart

What dire misdeed?

Prayest thou for thy mother’s soul, whom thou

Didst make to sleep a long, long sleep of sorrow?

Whose blood is on thy threshold?

—And, underneath thy heart,

Moves not the swelling germ of life already,

And, with its boding presence

Thee tortures, and itself?

Margaret.

Woe, woe!

That I might shake away the thoughts,

That hither flit and thither,

Against me!

Quire.

Dies irÆ, dies illa,

Solvet saeclum in favilla.

[The organ sounds.

Evil Spirit.

Terror doth seize thee!

The trumpet sounds!

The graves quake!

And thy heart,

From its rest of ashes,

To fiery pain

Created again,

Quivers to life!

Margaret.

Would I were hence!

I feel as if the organ stopped

My breath,

And, at the hymn,

My inmost heart

Melted away!

Quire.

Judex ergo cum sedebit,

Quidquid latet adparebit,

Nil inultum remanebit.

Margaret.

I feel so straitened!

The pillar shafts

Enclasp me round!

The vault

Is closing o’er me!—Air!

Evil Spirit.

Yea! let them hide thee! but thy sin and shame

No vault can hide!

Air? Light? No!

Woe on thee! woe!

Quire.

Quid sum miser tunc dicturus?

Quem patronum rogaturus?

Cum vix justus sit securus.

Evil Spirit.

The blessÈd turn

Their looks away,

And the pure shudder

From touch of thee!

Woe!

Margaret.

Neighbor, help! help! I faint!

[She falls down in a swoon.

end of act fourth.