University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Scene.—A glade. On the right a precipitous descent through the stage at the back; on the left an avenue of trees.
Barbara, Bessie, and others discovered; to them enters Agatha.
Aga.
Oh, Bessie—Barbara! Such dreadful news!

Bess.
News!

Bar.
Quick! What is it?

Aga.
Lisa has returned!
Lisa, who ran away with the rich merchant
A year ago!

Bar.
A wicked, wicked girl!
I hope she won't come here!

Bess.
And have you seen her?

Aga.
I met her only half an hour ago
Upon the Leipzic road!

Bess.
Is she much changed?

Aga.
Changed! Why, at first I couldn't trust my eyes.
You know how jauntily she bore herself—
How daintily she dressed? Well—that's all changed!
Pale, wasted to a shadow—draggletailed—
Dressed in torn rags—bare-footed, and bare-headed!
A beggar!

Bar.
I remember how she sneered
At my blue gown trimmed with peach-coloured ribbon.
Well, Heaven has punished her for that.

Bess.
But say—
Did she address you?

Aga.
Yes, she spoke my name.
I started, and I recognized her. Well,
I mumbled forth some words—I scarce know what—
And, all a-fluster, gathered up my skirts,
And ran as though a ghost were at my heels.

Bar.
And you did wisely. Honest working girls
Should shun such brazen creatures!

Bess.
Soft—she's here!

[Lisa comes down avenue; she is dressed in torn and travel-stained rags, as described. As she comes down the girls turn away from her.
Lisa.
Well, girls,
Do you not know me, that you turn from me?
Or has the misery of twelve black months
So sadly changed me?

Bess.
(sighing).
Yes, we know you well!

Bar.
(spitefully).
Too well!

Lisa.
Is there no pity for me in your hearts?
Is there no pardon for such sin as mine?
See—I am cold and hungry—travel-worn—
Broken in spirit, humbled and forsaken.
Oh, I have paid a penalty!

Bar.
No doubt.
We knew you would.

Bess.
(aside to Barbara).
I'm sorry for the girl;
We've known her all our lives. With all her faults,
We loved her well, when she was one of us.

Bar.
When she was one of us? Of course—because
She then was one of us. But when a man—
A married man—elopes with one of us
(Which happens sometimes), why, that one of us
No longer claims to rank as one of us;
And so the cause of love exists no longer.

Aga.
That's true, indeed!

Lisa.
Have you no charity?
Is there no eloquence to touch your hearts
In this wan, wasted form—these wretched rags?
Why, look at me!

Bar.
There is a certain frock,
Blue, trimmed with peach—not much the worse for wear—
That's humbly at your service. (Curtsying mockingly.)


Bess.
Spare her, pray!

Lisa.
Ay, spare me, bitter hearts! Who can foresee?
A year ago, I was as one of you!
Another year, and you may be as I!
So, better spare me, lest it come to pass
That you have judged yourselves in judging me.
Well, well, the river's near!

Enter Gretchen.
Gret.
Why, who is this?
Lisa! (Taking her hand.)


Lisa.
Hold! Ere you take my hand in yours,
Remember what I am and what I've done.
I am an outcast, cheated and betrayed.
He swore to marry me—well, I believed him,
And when I looked to him to keep his promise,
He told me of his wife. There, that's my story.
Go wash your hand!

Gret.
Poor bruised and broken heart—
Be comforted. Why, I have prayed and prayed
For thy return—and see, my prayer is heard!
Poor wanderer! Our hearts were sore for thee,
Ay, very sore—and I remember well
How Barbara wept when the sad tidings came,
And vowed she'd rather lose her best ten years
Than this had happened.

Bar.
Yes, and so I would,
But it has happened—and the mischief's done.

Bess.
(crying).
I'm sure I loved her dearly!

Aga.
So did I!
One can't forget old times!

Gret.
Why, then be brave,
And prove that thine was no fine-weather love,
Poor penitent! Oh, sisters, is it fit
That we should judge our sister, or withhold
The mercy that we pray for, day by day?

Lisa
(surprised).
Oh, Gretchen, Gretchen!

Gret.
Come, poor broken heart,
Look up—we are thy sisters as of old.

Bess.
(half sobbing).
If Gretchen can forgive thee, who are we
That we should hold aloof? We spake in haste;
Our hearts were turned to thee, despite our words.

[Bessie kisses her and exit.
Bar.
You told me once that I'd a bitter tongue,
D'ye recollect it? Lisa, you were right.
Forgive me, please; there! (Kissing her.)
Never mind the frock,
Though bear in mind (to Agatha)
I still maintain my point,
That blue and peach go very well together!

[Exeunt Barbara and Agatha.
Gret.
Come, dry your eyes, and take good heart again.

Lisa.
Oh, Gretchen, Gretchen! let me weep awhile:
In truth I looked for pity and for help
From them, for they and I had much in common;
But thou, so good in all, so pure, so true—

Gret.
If it be good and true to close one's heart
To sorrow such as thine, why, Heaven help me,
For then I have no title to the words!
See, Martha comes. She has an angry tongue,
Although her heart is kindly. Get thee hence
Till I have spoken to her. Here is money;
Go, get thee food, and then come back to me.
Take courage—Martha can refuse me nothing.
It shall go hard but when thou comest back
She'll welcome thee as I do. Fare thee well.

Lisa.
Those who would pray for thee have but one prayer,
That earth be kind to thee, for heaven is thine,
Ay, surely, surely thine.

[Exit.
Enter Martha, with basket.
Mar.
Drudge, drudge, drudge, drudge! To market seven miles,
And seven home again! It's a hard life,
And tells upon me sorely! All this comes
Of marrying a bad man—a bad, poor man.
But there, he's at the wars—God keep him there!
Ah, Gretchen, Gretchen, be advised by me;
And promise me that when thy heart's in danger,
Thou'lt come to me, that I may counsel thee
Out of the wealth of my experience—
The only wealth I have. Come, promise me.

Gret.
I do. (Pauses; then timidly)
In proof of my sincerity
I will begin to-day. I have seen one
Whom I could love.

Mar.
(amazed).
Why, Gretchen, what's all this?
Doth he love thee?

Gret.
Ay, for he told me so.

Mar.
He told thee so! And when?

Gret.
Last night.

Mar.
Last night!

Gret.
Or stay—it might have been betimes this morning.

Mar.
Last night! This morning! Gretchen! Where was thou
Last night—this morning?

Gret.
Why, within thy house.

Mar.
And there thy lover saw thee—spake to thee,
Within my house—alone—at dead of night!
Gretchen, for shame! Art thou as other girls?
Who is the reprobate?

Gret.
I cannot say.
I do not think he is a reprobate.

Mar.
His name?

Gret.
I do not know.

Mar.
His rank—his calling?

Gret.
I cannot tell.

Mar.
Why, Gretchen, I'm aghast!

Gret.
Nay, I'll not plague thee with half-hidden truths,
I'll tell thee all, and thou shalt counsel me.
Last night I slept—it might have been this morning,
I cannot tell—and, as I slept, methought
That as I wandered all alone, amid
The moonlight tombs of some old cloistered square,
I saw a man, arrayed in monkish frock,
And yet (so much at variance with themselves
Are sleeping fantasies) he was no monk,
But some young errant knight of noble rank,
The very flower of gentle chivalry!
Entranced, I gazed upon him, marvelling much
That aught of mortal mould could be so fair;
('Twas but a dream—we cannot frame our dreams)
And as I gazed, methought he knelt him down,
And vowed himself to me, for evermore!
There—read me that!

Mar.
I will. Now, mark my words,
The lover whom thou seest in a dream
Will, in due season, court thee—in a dream.
And, if the courtship prosper, as it will,
Some day, perhaps, he'll wed thee—in a dream.
Then after many long and life-like dreams
Of married misery, black looks, rough words,
Hard blows and mutual discontent, thou'lt wake
And bless thy lucky stars it was a dream!
Dream on, my child, pray thou mayst never wake,
As I have done. Come, there is work to do.

[Exeunt together.
Enter Faustus and Mephisto.
Faus.
At last, at last—unless my heart deceives me,
Here is the glade, and that should be her house.

Meph.
Ay, that's the house that holds the guardian maid
Who is to lead you whither you should go,
And save your lordship from yourself—and me.
Henceforth that hovel is to be your church,
With savoury fumes of roast and boiled for incense;
The dim recesses of the chimney corner
Will serve you as a snug confessional.
How say you? Will you enter? If you do,
You'll find the fair high priestess of the shrine
Intent upon the secular employ
Of hanging clothes to dry. Or will you wait
Until my pretty enemy is free
To enter on her spiritual functions?

Faus.
Peace! mocking spirit. Stay thy ribald tongue.
Dost thou, whom none believe, believe in none?

Meph.
Nay, I'm the most confiding soul alive.
I credit all I'm told. Not by the tongue—
Men do not speak to me with tongues. No, no.
Man keeps his words and deeds for man's behoof.
They speak a language that I cannot fathom.
I read the heart and brain, and all they tell me,
With childlike faith, I readily accept.

Faus.
I would my heart were as an open book,
That all might read therein! But who comes here?
By all the powers that rule mischance, 'tis Gottfried!
What shall I do? How justify myself
In my old comrade's eyes?

Meph.
Leave that to me.
Bear yourself boldly; put a good face on't,
And I will frame excuses that will serve.

Enter Gottfried.
Gott.
Here is the well-loved home! Ah, Gretchen, Gretchen!
When shall we meet again? Or shall we meet?
God knows! I go where death is freely dealt,
And I may fall—Well, she will weep for me. (Sees Faustus.)

Whom have we here? Either my senses cheat me,
Or this is Faustus! Faustus, as I live!
Faustus unfrocked! Faustus unsanctified!
Faustus re-butterflied in bravery!

Faus.
Ay, Gottfried, I am Faustus—in the flesh.

Gott.
Now here's a riddle, and I wait the answer.
But yesterday thou wast a hooded monk,
A pale, cold, stern, and sour Dominican;
A human tombstone, sculptured by thyself,
In honour of thy dead and buried follies.
To-day I find the tombstone taken down,
And all the follies risen from the dead!

Meph.
He was misled—his follies cheated him.
Believing they were dead, to all intent,
In decency he raised a monument;
But finding them alive beneath his gown,
In decency he took the tombstone down.

Gott.
It is enough for me that thou art free.
Welcome once more to life and liberty!
(To Mephisto.)
Sir, in the name of all good fellowship,
I thank you for your charitable office.

Faus.
Now tell me, Gottfried, wherefore art thou here?

Gott.
I come, as yesterday I said I should,
To bid a long farewell to cousin Gretchen.

Faus.
To Gretchen?

Gott.
Ay, the maid of whom I spake.

Faus.
Is her name Gretchen?

Gott.
Yes—she lives hard by,
With Mistress Martha. Faustus, thou shalt see her,
And join with me in worship at her shrine.

Faus.
(confused).
I understand—my words have weighed with thee,
And thou hast come to tell her of thy love.

Gott.
Not I, indeed; despite thine eloquence,
I'm going from her for a weary while,
Maybe for ever. That will give her sorrow,
Sorrow enough. I would not add to it
By telling her of such poor love as mine
For all the world holds dear. Some day, please Heaven,
I shall return with honours to my name
(If honours lie within my grasp, I'll grasp them),
And then, if I've a name worth offering,
Maybe I'll pluck up heart. Not now, not now.
But hush, she comes.
Enter Gretchen.
Gretchen, my sister Gretchen!

Gret.
Gottfried! I am right glad to welcome thee,
My dear, dear brother! Art thou come for long?

Gott.
Nay, Gretchen, I am with my troop of horse.
We march to Dettingen, and being here
I stole a brief half hour to say farewell.

Gret.
(alarmed).
Thou art not going to the war?

Gott.
No, no!
Mere frontier duty, Gretchen; nothing more.
(Aside.)
May Heaven forgive me—that's a downright lie!

Gret.
I breathe again. (Sees Faustus.)
Who is this gentleman? (With intense surprise.)


Gott.
This is my very dear and tried friend, Faustus,
The truest fellow that the wide world holds.
Faustus, this is my gentle cousin Gretchen.

Gret.
(agitated).
Surely I dream again! Oh, marvellous!
The very face and form!

Gott.
Come, Gretchen, speak.

Gret.
(much agitated).
I give you honest welcome, noble sir;
As you are Gottfried's friend, so are you ours.

Faus.
I thank you, lady.

Gott.
Well, and is that all?
“I thank you, lady!” Come, thou shamefaced knight,
Where are thy words? Gretchen, be not deceived—
He hath a tongue—a very fluent tongue,
And one that serves him well, when he so pleases.

Faus.
I am not dumb from lack of gratitude.
Much as I owe to Gottfried's well-tried love,
My heavy debt is multiplied tenfold.

Gott.
(aside to Faustus).
Then, debtor, pay the tenfold debt tenfold.
Watch over her when I am far away—
Shield her from harm as though she were thy sister,
And we'll cry quits. Thou wilt? I thank thee, Faustus;
I go with lighter heart! (Aloud to Gretchen.)
Now, fare thee well.
God keep thee safe and sound till I return.

Gret.
Farewell, dear Gottfried—think of me at times.
My heart is full—then read it in my eyes.
May Heaven shield thee from all harm!

Gott.
Amen.
And now to horse—nay, not another word,
Or I shall lack the heart to go at all.
Farewell—once more and only once—farewel!

[Exit Gottfried.
Gret.
(timidly).
Sir, will you enter? Our poor home is near,
And Mistress Martha will be glad to greet you.
You are an old friend of my cousin Gottfried?

Faus.
Ay, lady.

Gret.
Nay, you must not call me “lady;”
I am a peasant girl—my name is Gretchen.

Faus.
And may I call thee Gretchen?

Gret.
Willingly.
All call me Gretchen.

Faus.
Gottfried calls thee Gretchen.
I thought he claimed a cousin's privilege.

Gret.
Does Gottfried speak of me?

Faus.
He does indeed,
And in such terms of glowing eulogy
I almost feared that he had gained thy heart.

Gret.
Feared!

Faus.
Pardon me. I spake unwittingly.
His welfare should be very dear to me,
And, therefore, I should rather hope than fear.

Gret.
Gottfried has been my brother all my life.
I would not own another man as brother:
Nor would I have him aught but honest “brother.”
I love him dearly—dearly. Twice a day
I say a prayer for him, and he for me.
He is my brother. Every hope of his
Is hope of mine. When trouble falls on him
It falls alike on me—he is my brother.
And when he comes—as one day he will come—
To tell me of some good and gentle girl
Who worthily has won his honest heart,
I'll throw my loving arms around her neck,
And call her “sister,” as I call him “brother.”

Faus.
Now Heaven forgive me, but those words of thine
Have freed my bosom from a load of care!

Gret.
Didst thou then think I loved him not?

Faus.
Nay, nay.
I feared thy love was more than sister-love.

Gret.
Dost thou then fear the love that tends to wedlock?

Meph.
(aside).
Not he!

Faus.
I hold that truest happiness
Is born of wedlock.

Meph.
(aside).
Bravo, celibate!

Gret.
And yet it much rejoiceth thee to know
That cousin Gottfried hath no thought of wedlock?

Faus.
Nay, maiden, it rejoiceth me to know
That cousin Gretchen hath no thought of wedlock.

Gret.
Thou dost not wish me happy, then?

Faus.
My heart!
I would it were my care to make thee happy!

Gret.
Now I am sorely puzzled!

Meph.
(aside).
And no wonder!

Gret.
Thou wishest Gottfried happy, and me happy;
In wedlock, only, is true happiness;
And yet, forsooth, it much rejoiceth thee
To know that he and I are not to wed!

Meph.
(aside).
Pretty logician! A dilemma, truly!

Faus.
Nay, Gretchen, better let the riddle rest
Till time shall solve it!

Gret.
Pray forgive me, sir.
I do not doubt thy words are learned words.
Small wonder that I cannot fathom them.

Mar.
(without).
Come, Gretchen! Gretchen!

Meph.
(aside).
Bah! she'll ruin all!
How these old ladies always interfere!

Enter Martha.
Mar.
Why, who is this?

Gret.
A friend of cousin Gottfried,
A very old and very trusty friend;
And so, a very trusty friend of ours.

Mar.
We give you welcome, sir. Our home is poor,
But wholly at your service. (Aside.)
By the mass,
A very straight, and well-favoured gentleman!

Meph.
(aside).
She'll never leave him. I must interfere.
(Coming forward.)
Pray pardon this intrusion—

Mar.
Who is this?

Meph.
(to Gretchen).
Do I address Dame Martha?

Gret.
No, indeed,
My name is Gretchen—this is Mistress Martha.

Meph.
A thousand pardons for my clumsy error.
Misled by a description—“tall and fair,
Eighteen, and very beautiful.” The words
Apply, with equal truth, to both the ladies.

Mar.
You're vastly civil, sir! (Aside.)
Upon my word,
It rains well-spoken, proper gentlemen!

Meph.
Sisters, of course?

Mar.
Nay, she's my sister's child
(Hastily.)
My sister was, by many years, my senior!

Meph.
That's evident. I bring you doleful news—
Yet news not altogether dolorous;
There is a certain spice of comfort in't—
Yet not so much of comfort, I'm afraid,
As to disguise its not unpleasant bitter.

Mar.
Your words alarm me! Pray forgive me, sir,
Are you a lawyer?

Meph.
I'm the prince of lawyers,

Mar.
I am your servant, sir! (Curtsying.)


Meph.
I'm glad to hear it!
But pardon me, the news I have to tell
Is for your ears alone.

Mar.
(to Gretchen, who is conversing with Faustus).
Go, Gretchen dear,
And show the gentleman the Lover's Glen.

Meph.
Take heed—the path is dangerously steep—
Be sure you do not trip, my pretty maid.

Gret.
I thank you, sir. I know its pitfalls well,
And how to pass them safely. (To Faustus.)
Wilt thou come?

Faus.
To the world's end, fair maiden, an thou wilt.

Gret.
(laughing).
Nay, I'll not pledge thee to so long a journey,
The road is short.

Mar.
But very perilous.

Meph.
It is, indeed!

Faus.
Wilt trust thy hand in mine?

Mar.
Ay, take his hand—you will be safer so.

Meph.
(aside).
I doubt it much.

[Faustus and Gretchen go down incline.
Mar.
Now we are quite alone.

Meph.
The news I bring you is about your husband.

Mar.
My husband! he's not coming back!

Meph.
No, no—
It's not as bad as that.

Mar.
(relieved).
You frightened me!

Meph.
(with emotion).
He never will come back.

Mar.
What mean you, sir?

Meph.
I mean that, fighting bravely 'gainst the Turks,
An arrow struck him—and— (Faltering.)


Mar.
(affected).
I guess your meaning!
This is sad news, indeed! Alack-a-day,
I never wished his death! With all his faults,
He was no worse than other husbands are!

Meph.
A most affecting tribute to his worth.
Pray pardon my emotion; I've a heart
That melts at weeping women.

Mar.
Pray go on;
I'll try to stem my tears. Left he a will?

Meph.
He did—a very good and Christian will.

Mar.
He was a Christian!

Meph.
(sighing).
Ah! His will directs
That you shall spend on masses for his soul,
Five hundred marks.

Mar.
(indignantly).
Five hundred fiddlesticks!
A wicked waste!

Meph.
Well, knowing all I know
About his mode of life, I must admit
It is a waste; but so his will directs.

Mar.
And is that all? Left he no parting words
Of penitence?

Meph.
Oh yes; as death drew near,
He much bewailed his manifold transgressions
And said that he could die more tranquilly
Had he his wife's forgiveness.

Mar.
Poor dear soul!
I could forgive him, freely, everything,
Except those masses!

Meph.
“Though it's true,” said he,
“In all our quarrels, and we'd many quarrels,
She was invariably to blame.”

Mar.
A lie!
A most observable and shameless lie!

Meph.
Alas! I fear that, as a rule, his words
Were not distinguished by that love of truth
That you and I deem indispensable.
For instance, he declared that earning bread
To feed so many mouths took all his time,
And left no moment he could call his own!

Mar.
Again, a lie! I drudged from morn to night
To feed and clothe his famished family,
While he sat all day fuddling at the ale-house!
Alas, he never cared for wife or child!

Meph.
Nay, there you wrong him. Give the deuce his due.
Before he sailed he prayed to all the saints
To bless his arms with full prosperity;
So that, if he in battle should be slain,
His widow yet might live in luxury.

Mar.
Poor soul! poor soul! Did Heaven so bless them?

Meph.
Yes.
His prayer was heard. Some seven months ago
He helped to take a Turkish galley, fraught
With countless treasure.

Mar.
Why, that was well done.
Brave man!

Meph.
Brave man!

Mar.
And what got he by that?

Meph.
His share of prize-money—twelve thousand marks!

Mar.
Twelve thousand marks! a fortune in itself!
May Heaven forgive me all my angry words!
He had a brave good heart. Where is the money?

Meph.
Ask his good heart. He never could resist
A tale of sorrow eloquently told.

Mar.
(alarmed).
What mean you?

Meph.
When at Naples, shortly after,
He saw a girl—young, beautiful, but poor—
A very child, scarce seventeen years old.
His tender heart gave way; she was so poor,
And then so very young—scarce seventeen!
He gave it all to her.

Mar.
All!

Meph.
Every florin.
But then, she was so young—scarce seventeen—

Mar.
At his old tricks! Then there is nothing left?

Meph.
You wrong him there; he left a priceless treasure,
Compared with which his other paltry gains
Sink into nothingness—a charming widow!

Mar.
You're very good.

Meph.
I speak the simple truth.
Come, take good heart. You waste your tears upon
A man who priced you far below your worth.
You're young, and (pardon me) attractive still.
Spend one chaste year of lonely widowhood,
Then seek a better husband.

Mar.
As for that,
With all his faults, I might wed worse than he.
(Sobbing.)
He was a kindly fool!

Meph.
Forgiving soul!
Angelic tolerance! Ah, were I sure
That you would treat my faults as leniently,
I should be almost tempted to—

Mar.
To what?
Oh, sir, you're surely jesting!

Meph.
Not at all.
(Aside.)
I'd better change the subject. This old girl
Would take the very devil at his word.
They're coming back. (Aloud.)
We'll talk of this anon—
After a year—or two—or three—

Mar.
We will!

[Exeunt together, as Faustus and Gretchen appear at back.
Faus.
That, Gretchen, was my dream.

Gret.
Oh, marvellous!
That thou and I—each stranger to the other—
Should thus have peopled each the other's vision!
I tremble when I think on't.

Faus.
Wherefore so?
Was then the vision so distasteful?

Gret.
Nay,
I said not so; but that we two should dream
As we have dreamt—'tis not in nature!

Faus.
Promise
That if again thou seest me in a dream
Thou'lt tell me all—the part I play therein—
The words I speak to thee, and thou to me.

Gret.
(confused).
Perhaps. It may be so. I will not promise.

Faus.
Tell me again—Gottfried—thou dost not love him?

Gret.
He is my brother, sir!

Faus.
So he be alway!
There is, perchance, some other envied man
To whom the flower of thine heart is given?

Gret.
Indeed, I have no lover, sir.

Faus.
None?

Gret.
None.

Faus.
Thy time will come!

Gret.
Perhaps!

Faus.
Give me thy hand—
I'll read thy fortune, Gretchen.

Gret.
Wonderful!
Canst thou read fortunes? (Giving her hand.)


Faus.
Ay, indifferent well. (Playing with her hand.)


Gret.
Speak, sir; I listen.

Faus.
(still playing with her hand).
'Tis a soft white hand!

Gret.
(demurely).
My fortune, sir.

Faus.
(recollecting himself).
True, true, thy fortune! Come. (Looking at her palm.)

Ah, Gretchen, Gretchen, be thou on thy guard!
There cometh one to woo thee. Oh, beware,
Take heed of him—he is no honest man!

Gret.
And do I know him, sir?

Faus.
Ay, in some sort,
Thou knowest his smooth face, his specious tongue;
But there is that within his evil heart
Of which thou knowest little! Oh, my child,
Beware of him! My child, beware of him!

Gret.
Why comes this wicked man to such as I?
I would not aid him in his wickedness.

Faus.
In sad and sorrowing heart he comes to thee,
That he may learn the lesson of thy life.
He comes to thee in the fond, foolish hope
That the pure influence of such love as thine
May quell the evil angel at his side;
For wicked as he is, he loveth thee,
With all his poor frail heart he loveth thee!

Gret.
'Tis a strange fortune! I, an untaught girl,
Can teach but little. But if such a one
Come to me sorrowing for his bygone sins,
E'en though I loved him not,
In pity I would strive, with all my heart,
To help him, even as I pray for help.
I do not know why I should fear this man.

Faus.
(earnestly).
Because, with all his sorrow, he is false—
False to himself, and, maybe, false to thee.
Oh, Gretchen, deal not lightly with my words;
Weigh them, and weigh them, o'er and o'er again.
And when thou kneelest by thy bed to-night,
Pray thou for strength as thou hast never prayed;
Pray for a brave and staunch and steadfast heart—
Steadfast to aid this poor weak wanderer
Upon the holy path that thou hast chosen.
But above all, beyond all, and before all,
Steadfast to pluck the traitor from thine
If, in the depth of his mortality,
He strive to gain thee by unholy means!

Gret.
(quietly).
I will take heed, sir. (Rising and going.)


Faus.
Gretchen—leave me not.

Gret.
I go to seek a poor lost, friendless girl,
Who waits for me hard by. I thank you, sir—
I take your kindly counsel in good part.
Thou dost not know the sad and solemn lesson
That her poor blighted heart hath taught us all.
For she was wont to laugh as the birds sing,
From very wealth of idle happiness!
It seems so strange that she should not have died.

Faus.
God save thee from such harm! (Releasing her.)


Gret.
Amen! amen!

[Exit.
Faus.
(stands as if entranced for a moment; then suddenly)
Why, whither am I going? Grace of Heaven!
Have I been blind? Fool! poor, self-cheating fool!
Stop, while thou mayst—thine eyes are open now!
What seest thou?
Hell against heaven—and thou allied with hell!
[Mephisto appears and listens.
What seest thou? A pure and blameless child,
Trustful as innocence—her gentle soul,
Calm as a lake in heaven—her angel face,
God's work,
Untainted by man's desecrating touch!
And, at her side,
A scheming mummer, tricked in godly garb—
His tongue all plausible, his heart all false—
His lying manhood traitor to itself!
Faustus, mine enemy, I know thee now!
Faustus, mine enemy, I know thee now!

Meph.
Shake off thy Churchman's qualms. Thou art a man,
Wast once a soldier ere thou wast a priest.
Has monkish milk so curdled the hot blood
That bore thee ever where the fight was thickest,
That this raw girl—this butter-churning doll,
Hath turned thee chicken-hearted?

Faus.
Hold thy peace,
Accursed fiend, nor dare to breathe her name.
Deal thou with me—let Heaven deal with heaven,
I go from her—God shield her from all harm!

Meph.
Hush, not so loud, she'll hear you. See, she comes!

[Gretchen appears at back, picking petals from a daisy as she advances.
Gret.
He loves me—he loves me not!
He loves me—he loves me not!

Meph.
(aside to Faustus).
Too late, too late! her heart is given to thee;
Her love is not as other women's love.
Take thyself hence and she will surely die!

[Faustus watches her, entranced.
Gret.
(with increased anxiety).
He loves me—he loves me not!
He loves me—he loves me not!

Meph.
See how she trembles as the petals fall.
Poor child, poor child!
She trusts her simple charm, and should it fail,
Her heart will break! Have pity on her, Faustus!

Gret.
He loves me—he loves me not!
He loves me—he loves me not!
(She picks the last petal.)
Oh, Heaven, have mercy!

Faus.
(breaking from Mephisto, and rushing to her).
Gretchen, dearly loved!
Mistrust thy charm! By Heaven that hears me now,
He loves thee, Gretchen! loves thee, loves thee, loves thee!

[Gretchen gives a cry of joy and surprise, then falls weeping on his neck. Mephisto at back, laughing cynically.