University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

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 vain boasted lore.

(He kisses her hand.)
MARGARET.
O trouble not yourself! how could you kiss it so?
It is so coarse, it is so rough!
My mother makes me work and fag enough;
With her must all things neat and trimly show.

(They pass on.)
MARTHA.
And you, Sir, do you still intend to roam?

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Alas! that trade and duty make it so!
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.
The distant danger trembling I descry.

MARTHA.
Then, Sir, take my advice, and ere it be too late,
Seek to avoid such miserable fate.

(They pass on.)
MARGARET.
Yes, from your speech, and from your eye,
Native politeness seems to flow;
But you have other friends enow,
They are more sensible than I.

FAUST.
Their sense, sweet love, is often nothing more
Than vain conceit of vain short-sighted lore.

MARGARET.
How mean you that?

FAUST.
Oh that simplicity and innocence
Its own unvalued worth so seldom knows!
That lowliness of heart, the highest boon
That loving Nature's bounteous hand bestows!

MARGARET.
Canst thou afford a single thought on me,
I shall have time enough to think on 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 feels herself at all confined.
We might do more than many others do!
My father left a goodly sum behind,
With a neat house, and garden too,
Before the gate.
Yet have we liv'd retired enough of late;
My brother chose the soldier's trade,
My little sister dear is dead;
Poor thing! it caus'd me many an hour of pain,
But gladly would I suffer all again,
So much I lov'd 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 recover'd slowly, day by day;
And as she had not strength herself
To suckle the poor helpless elf,
She gave the charge to me, and I
With milk and water nursed it carefully.
Thus in my arm, and on my lap, it grew,
And smil'd and play'd, and called me mother too.

FAUST.
This must have yielded thee the purest bliss.

MARGARET.
But many a day and night of heaviness.
The infant's cradle stood beside my bed,
And when it cried, or the least motion made,
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 washed it at the well, by break of day.
I made the markets too, and kept house for my mother,
One weary day just like another;
Thus drudging on the heart may sometimes sink,
But one can relish better meat and drink.

(They pass on.)
MARTHA.
We women surely are much to be pitied;
A hardened bachelor will seldom mend.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
A few apostles such as you are needed,
From evil ways their thoughtless 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.
I see we still are at cross purposes.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Alas, that I should be so blind!
But one thing is not cross—for 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.
Mark'd you it not?—You saw my downward look.

FAUST.
And you forgive the liberty I took,
When, with a boldness more than meet,
I ventur'd 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 favourable 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 harsher 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? shew it me.

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?

MARGARET.
(half loud.)
He loves me, yes,—he loves me, no.

FAUST.
Thou sweet angelic face!

MARGARET.
(murmuring as before.)
He loves, yes,—he loves me, no.
(pulling out the last petal with manifest satisfaction.)
He loves me, yes!

FAUST.
Yes, my child! let this language of the flowers
Be as the judgment of the Gods to 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! let mine eye's-look proclaim,
This pressure of my hand, proclaim to thee
What words can never tell:
To yield us to an ecstasy of joy,
And feel that this joy must eternal be!
Eternal! yes! its end would be despair!
It hath no end!—it cannot have an end!

(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 neighbourhood,
Where idle gossips find their only good,
Their pleasure and their business too,
In spying out all that their neighbours 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.