University of Virginia Library

SCENE VII.

Martha's House.
Martha alone.
MARTHA.
In honest truth, it was not nobly done,
In my good spouse to leave me here alone!
May God forgive him! while he roams at large,
O'er the wide world, I live at my own charge.
Sure he could have no reason to complain,
So good a wife he'll not find soon again.
(She weeps.)
He may be dead!—Ah me!—could I but know,
By a certificate, if it be so!

Enter Margaret.
MARGARET.
Martha!

MARTHA.
What wouldst thou, dear?

MARGARET.
My knees can scarcely bear me!—only hear!
I found a second box to-day
Of ebon-wood, just where the first one lay,
All full of jewels passing rare,
And richer than the former were.

MARTHA.
You must not tell this to your mother—
'Twould fare no better than the other.

MARGARET.
Only come near, and see! look here!

MARTHA.
(decking her with the jewels.)
Thou art a lucky little dear!

MARGARET.
And yet I dare not thus be seen
In church, or on the public green.

MARTHA.
Come over here when thou hast time to spare,
And deck thee with the jewels secretly;
Then promenade an hour before the mirror there,
It is a joy at least to thee and me.
Then on a Sunday, on a holiday,
Our riches by degrees we can display,
A necklace first, the drops then in your ear;
Your mother sees it not, and should she hear,
'Tis easy to invent some fair pretence or other.

MARGARET.
But whence the pretty caskets came? I fear
There's something in it not right altogether.
(knocking.)
Good God!—I hear a step—is it my mother?

MARTHA.
(looking through the casement.)
'Tis a strange gentleman.—Come in!

Enter Mephistopheles.
MEPHISTOPHELES.
I hope the ladies will not think me rude,
That uninvited thus I here intrude.
(Observing Margaret, he draws back respectfully.)
I have commands for Mistress Martha Schwerdtlein!

MARTHA.
'Tis here! what has the gentleman to say?

MEPHISTOPHELES.
(softly to her.)
Excuse my freedom. I perceive that you
Have visitors of rank to-day;
For this time I shall bid adieu,
And after dinner do myself the pleasure
To wait upon you, when you're more at leisure.

MARTHA.
(aloud.)
Think, child! of all things in the world the last!
My Margaret for a lady should have pass'd!

MARGARET.
The gentleman is far too good;
I am a simple girl—boast neither wealth nor blood.
This dress, these jewels, are not mine.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
'Tis not the dress alone that I admire,
She has a mien, a gait, a look so fine,
That speak the lady more than costliest attire.

MARTHA.
And now your business, sir? I much desire—

MEPHISTOPHELES.
I would I had a better tale to tell!
Small thanks I should receive, I knew it well.
Your man is dead—his compliments I bear.

MARTHA.
Is dead! the good fond soul! O woe!
My man is dead! what shall I do?

MARGARET.
Beseech thee, dearest Martha, don't despair.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Now hear my mournful story to the end.

MARGARET.
I would not love a man on earth, to rend
Me thus with grief, when he should chance to die.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Joy hath its sorrow, sorrow hath its joy;
Twin sisters are they, as the proverb saith.

MARTHA.
Now let me hear the manner of his death.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Where Padua's holy turrets rise,
Above the grave of Antony,
On consecrated ground he lies,
And slumbers for eternity.

MARTHA.
No further message then he gave thee?

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Yes! one request, both great and heavy.
For his soul's peace, your husband wanted
Three hundred masses to be chanted!
This is the whole of my commission.

MARTHA.
What! not a jewel? not a coin?
No journeyman, however poor,
However wild, could make such an omission;
But in the bottom of his pouch is sure
To keep some small memorial for his wife,
And rather beg, and rather pine
Away the remnant of his life—

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Madam! though I am loath, the truth must be confess'd,
Your worthy husband had no gold to waste.
His grievous errors he lamented sore—
Yes! and bewailed his own mishap much more.

MARGARET.
Alas for all the miseries of mankind!
He shall not want my oft-repeated prayer.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Thou gentle heart dost well deserve to find
A husband worthy of a prize so fair.

MARGARET.
Ah no!—for that, it is too soon.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
A lover then might in the mean time do.
'Tis bounteous Heaven's choicest boon
To fondle in one's arm so sweet a thing as you.

MARGARET.
Such things are never done with us.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Done or not done!—It may be managed thus:—

MARTHA.
Now let me hear!

MEPHISTOPHELES.
By his death-bed I stood.
It was a little better than of dung,
Of mouldy straw; there, as a Christian should,
With many a sin repented on his tongue,
He died.—Oh! how must I detest
Myself, he said, my substance thus to waste,
And my dear wife abandon so!
It kills me with the simple memory,
Oh that she might forgive me ere I die!

MARTHA.
(weeping.)
Good soul! I have forgiven him long ago.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
(continuing his interrupted narrative.)
And yet was she, God knows, much more to blame than I.

MARTHA.
What! did he lie?—on the grave's brink to lie!

MEPHISTOPHELES.
He fabled to the last, be sure,
If I am half a connoisseur.
In sooth, I had no time to gape, he said,
First to get children, then to get them bread,
To clothe them, and to put them to a trade,
From toil and labour I had no release,
And could not even eat my own small share in peace.

MARTHA.
Can it then be? has he forgotten quite
My fag and drudgery, by day and night?

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Not quite! he thought on you, and kindly too.
When last we sailed from Malta—so he said,
For wife and children fervently I prayed,
And Heaven a favourable gale then blew.
We came across a Turkish ship that bore
Home bullion, to increase the Sultan's store,
And, with our wonted valour, we
Gained a triumphant victory.
The precious spoil was shared among the crew,
And I received the part that was my due.

MARTHA.
But where and how?—has he then buried it?

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Who knows where the four winds have hurried it!
A lady took him under her protection
At Naples, as he wandered to and fro;
She left him many a mark of her affection,
As he to his life's end had cause to know.

MARTHA.
The knave to treat his helpless orphans so!
To all our misery and all our need,
Amid his reckless life he gave no heed!

MEPHISTOPHELES.
And, as you see, he suffers for it now.
Were I in your place, mark what I would do;
I'd mourn him one chaste year, and, at my leisure,
I'd look about me for a second treasure.

MARTHA.
Alas! God knows it would be hard to find
Another so completely to my mind.
A better-hearted fool you never knew,
A love of roving was his only vice;
And foreign wine, and foreign women too,
And the accursed gambling dice.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Such marriage-articles were most convenient,
Had he to you been only half so lenient.
On terms like these myself had no objection,
To change with you the ring of conjugal affection.

MARTHA.
The gentleman seems fond of pleasantry!

MEPHISTOPHELES.
(to himself.)
Now I'll be off, for if I longer tarry here,
'Tis like she'd nail the devil himself to marry her!
(To Margaret.)
How stands it with your heart then?—is it free?

MARGARET.
I scarce know what you mean.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Sweet guileless heart!
Ladies, farewell!

MARGARET.
Farewell!

MARTHA.
One word before we part!
I fain would have it solemnly averred,
How my dear husband died, and where he was interred;
A friend to order I have always been,
His death must in the newspapers be seen.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Yes, mistress! when two witnesses attest,
As Scripture saith, the truth is manifest;
I have a friend, who, at your requisition,
Before the judge will make a deposition.
I'll bring him here.

MARTHA.
Yes, bring him with you.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
And we shall meet your fair young lady too?
(To Margaret.)
A gallant youth!—has been abroad, and seen
The world—a perfect cavalier, I trow.

MARGARET.
'Twould make me blush, should he bestow
A single look on one so mean.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
You have no cause to be asham'd before
The proudest king, that ever sceptre bore.

MARTHA.
This evening we expect you in the garden.