 | Faust |  |
SCENE V.
A small neat Chamber.MARGARET.
(plaiting and putting up her hair.)
I wonder who the gentleman could be,
That on the street accosted me to-day!
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And must be of a noble family.
That I could read upon his brow—
Else had he never been so free.
(Exit.)
Enter Faust and Mephistopheles.
MEPHISTOPHELES.
Come in—but softly—we are landed now!
FAUST.
(after a pause.)
Leave me alone a minute, I entreat!
MEPHISTOPHELES.
(looking round about.)
Not every maiden keeps her room so neat.
(Exit.)
FAUST.
(looking round.)
I welcome thee, thou sweetest twilight-shine!
That dost this holy sanctuary pervade.
O seize my heart, sweet pains of love divine,
That on the languid dew of hope are fed!
What placid bliss in this abode is found!
What order, what contentment breathes around!
Amid this poverty what riches dwell!
What fulness teems within this narrow cell!
(He throws himself on the old leathern arm-chair beside the bed.)
Receive thou me! thou, who, in ages gone,
In joy and grief hast welcomed sire and son.
How often hath, on this paternal throne,
A clambering host of playful children hung!
Perhaps that here my lov'd one too hath clung
Around her grandsire's neck, with childish joy
Thankful received the yearly Christmas toy,
And with the full red cheeks of childhood press'd
Upon his withered hand a pious kiss.
I feel, sweet maid, mine inmost soul possess'd
By thy calm spirit of order and of bliss,
That motherly doth teach thee day by day:
That bids thee deck the table clean and neat,
And crisps the very sand strewn at thy feet.
Sweet hand! sweet, lovely hand! where thou dost sway,
The meanest hut is deck'd in heaven's array.
And here!
(He lifts up the bed-curtain.)
What impulse seizes me of wild delight!
Here might I gaze unwearied day and night.
Nature! in airy dreams here didst thou build
The mortal tent of the angelic child;
Here she reposed! her tender bosom teeming
With warmest life, in buoyant fulness streaming,
And here the bud of purest heavenly mould
The blossoms of its beauty did unfold!
That dost this holy sanctuary pervade.
O seize my heart, sweet pains of love divine,
That on the languid dew of hope are fed!
What placid bliss in this abode is found!
What order, what contentment breathes around!
Amid this poverty what riches dwell!
What fulness teems within this narrow cell!
(He throws himself on the old leathern arm-chair beside the bed.)
Receive thou me! thou, who, in ages gone,
In joy and grief hast welcomed sire and son.
How often hath, on this paternal throne,
A clambering host of playful children hung!
Perhaps that here my lov'd one too hath clung
Around her grandsire's neck, with childish joy
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And with the full red cheeks of childhood press'd
Upon his withered hand a pious kiss.
I feel, sweet maid, mine inmost soul possess'd
By thy calm spirit of order and of bliss,
That motherly doth teach thee day by day:
That bids thee deck the table clean and neat,
And crisps the very sand strewn at thy feet.
Sweet hand! sweet, lovely hand! where thou dost sway,
The meanest hut is deck'd in heaven's array.
And here!
(He lifts up the bed-curtain.)
What impulse seizes me of wild delight!
Here might I gaze unwearied day and night.
Nature! in airy dreams here didst thou build
The mortal tent of the angelic child;
Here she reposed! her tender bosom teeming
With warmest life, in buoyant fulness streaming,
And here the bud of purest heavenly mould
The blossoms of its beauty did unfold!
And thou? what brought thee here? why now back-shrinks
Thy courage from the prize it sought before?
What wouldst thou have? thy heart within thee sinks;
Poor wretched Faust! thou know'st thyself no more.
Thy courage from the prize it sought before?
What wouldst thou have? thy heart within thee sinks;
Poor wretched Faust! thou know'st thyself no more.
Do I then breathe a magic atmosphere?
I sought immediate enjoyment here,
And into viewless dreams my passion flows!
Are we the sport of every breath that blows?
And came she now, and found me gazing here,
How for my reckless boldness must I pay!
The mighty man, how small would he appear,
And at her feet, a suppliant, sink away!
I sought immediate enjoyment here,
And into viewless dreams my passion flows!
Are we the sport of every breath that blows?
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How for my reckless boldness must I pay!
The mighty man, how small would he appear,
And at her feet, a suppliant, sink away!
MEPHISTOPHELES.
(coming back.)
Quick! quick! I see her—she'll be here anon.
FAUST.
Yes, let's be gone! for once and all be gone!
MEPHISTOPHELES.
Here is a casket, of a goodly weight;
Its former lord, I ween, bewails its fate.
Come put it in the press. I swear
She'll lose her senses, when she sees it here.
The trinkets, that I stow'd within it
Were bait meant for a nobler prey:
But child is child, and play is play.
FAUST.
I know not—shall I?
MEPHISTOPHELES.
Can you doubt a minute?
Would you then keep the dainty pelf,
Like an old miser, to yourself?
If so, I would advise you, sir,
All further trouble me to spare,
And better pastimes for yourself prepare
Then looking lustfully at her.
I scratch my head and rub my hands that you—
(He puts the casket into the press and locks the door again.)
Come let's away!
With this sweet piece of womanhood may do,
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And you stand there,
And gape and stare,
As if you looked into a lecture-room,
And there the twin grey spectres saw,
Physic and Metaphysica!
Come! come!—
(Exeunt.)
(Enter Margaret, with a lamp.)
MARGARET.
It is so sultry here, so hot!
(She opens the window.)
And yet so warm without 'tis not.
I feel—I know not how—oppress'd;
Would to God that my mother came!
A shivering cold runs o'er my frame—
I am but a poor timid girl at best!
(While taking off her clothes, she sings.)
(She opens the window.)
And yet so warm without 'tis not.
I feel—I know not how—oppress'd;
Would to God that my mother came!
A shivering cold runs o'er my frame—
I am but a poor timid girl at best!
There was a king in Thule,
True-hearted to his grave;
To him his dying mistress
A golden goblet gave.
True-hearted to his grave;
To him his dying mistress
A golden goblet gave.
He prized it more than rubies;
At every drinking-bout
His eyes they swam in Heaven,
When he did drink it out.
At every drinking-bout
His eyes they swam in Heaven,
When he did drink it out.
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And when he came to die, he
Divided all his lands,
But still the golden goblet
He kept in his own hands.
Divided all his lands,
But still the golden goblet
He kept in his own hands.
He sat amid his barons,
And feasted merrily,
Within his father's castle,
That beetles o'er the sea.
And feasted merrily,
Within his father's castle,
That beetles o'er the sea.
There stood the ancient toper,
And drank his life's last glow,
Then threw the goblet over
Into the sea below.
And drank his life's last glow,
Then threw the goblet over
Into the sea below.
He saw it fall, and splashing
Sink deep into the sea;
His eyes they sank for ever,
No bumper more drank he.
Sink deep into the sea;
His eyes they sank for ever,
No bumper more drank he.
How came the pretty casket here? no doubt
I locked the press when I went out.
'Tis really strange!—Belike that it was sent
A pledge for money that my mother lent.
Here hangs the key; sure there can be no sin
In only looking what may be within.
What have we here? good heavens! see!
What a display of finery!
Here is a dress in which a queen
Might on a gala-day be seen.
I wonder how the necklace would suit me!
Who may the lord of all this splendour be?
(She puts on the necklace, and looks at herself in the glass.)
Were but the ear-rings mine to wear!
It gives one such a different air.
What helps the beauty of the poor?
'Tis very beautiful to be sure,
But without riches little weighs;
They praise you, but half pity while they praise.
Gold is the pole,
Where points the whole,
On gold all hangs. Alas we poor!
I locked the press when I went out.
'Tis really strange!—Belike that it was sent
A pledge for money that my mother lent.
Here hangs the key; sure there can be no sin
In only looking what may be within.
What have we here? good heavens! see!
What a display of finery!
Here is a dress in which a queen
Might on a gala-day be seen.
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Who may the lord of all this splendour be?
(She puts on the necklace, and looks at herself in the glass.)
Were but the ear-rings mine to wear!
It gives one such a different air.
What helps the beauty of the poor?
'Tis very beautiful to be sure,
But without riches little weighs;
They praise you, but half pity while they praise.
Gold is the pole,
Where points the whole,
On gold all hangs. Alas we poor!
| Faust | |