University of Virginia Library

SCENE XII.

Martha's Garden.
Margaret on Faust's arm, Martha with Mephistopheles walking up and down.
Margaret.
I feel it well. You make excuse for me,
Stoop to me, make me blush for shame.
A traveller is used, you see,
Kindly to pardon talk so tame:
I know too well your wise, experienced mind
In my poor prattle no interest can find.

Faust.
A glance from thee, a word interests me more
Than all this wide world's sagest lore.

(He kisses her hand.)
Margaret.
Don't incommode yourself! How can you kiss my hand?
It is so coarse, so grimy too!
What have I not about the house to do!
Mother's so strict in all she has planned.

(They pass on.)
Martha.
You, Sir, are always travelling, are you not?

Mephistopheles.
Ah! business, duties, drive us ever away!
With how much pain one leaves each pleasant spot
And here, once more, we cannot stay.

Martha.
In one's brisk years 'tis blithely done,
Free, round and round the world to sweep;
But the bad time must come anon,
When the old bachelor alone to his grave must creep,
That ne'er did good to anyone.

Mephistopheles.
Shuddering I see it far away.

Martha.
Then, my dear sir, be advised in time, I say.

(They pass on.)
Margaret.
Yes, out of sight out of mind! I see
That you are used to courtly ways,
With heaps of friends you spend your days,
They are more sensible than I be.

Faust.
Ah, dearest! trust me, what common sense men call,
Is oft short-sighted vanity.

Margaret.
How so?

Faust.
Ah! that the simple, innocent never know
Themselves, their sacred value for us all!
Modesty, lowliness, gifts highest, these two,
That Nature's hand distributes lovingly,—

Margaret.
Do you think then one little minute of me,
I shall have time enough to think of you.

Faust.
Then thou art much alone?

Margaret.
Yes, our housekeeping's but small, I own,
Yet must be looked to, small or great.
We keep no maid; must cook, clean, knit, you see,
And sew and bustle, early and late
And then my Mother in everything will be
So accurate!
Not that she really needs to stint herself at all;
We might make a better show than others, you understand,
My Father left a tidyish bit of land,
A house and garden beyond the city wall.
But now I have some fairly quiet days;
My brother is a soldier tall
My little sister's dead,
I had my dearest cares by the child's little bed;
Yet undertook all trouble so willingly always,
The child was ah! so dear.

Faust.
An angel, if like thee.

Margaret.
I brought it up, and dearly it loved me.
'Twas born some time after my Father died;
We gave my Mother up beside,
In such deep misery she lay,
And she recovered slowly, picked up, just day by day.
She could not think, in her sad plight
Herself of nursing the poor wee mite,
And so I reared it all alone
On milk and water, so it grew my own.
Upon my arm, and on my lap,
It coo'd, throve, sprawled, grew by good hap.

Faust.
Then surely thou hast felt the purest bliss?

Margaret.
And many an hour of weary toil, I wis.
The wee-thing's cradle stood at night
Beside my bed; and if it moved or cried,
I woke outright.
Then I must feed it, cuddle it by my side
Then, if it was not quiet, from bed must rise,
And dance it round the room to still its cries;
And when day dawned must at the wash-tub stand;
Then tend the hearth, to market then away
And the same round run every day,
One's courage, Sir, fails one sometimes, at best,
Yet my food tasted sweet, 'twas sweet to rest.

(They pass on.)
[Exeunt]
Enter Martha and Mephistopheles.
Martha.
Poor women get the worst of it, these days:
'Twere hard to change a bachelor's habits, 'tis true.

Mephistopheles.
'Tis only given to women such as you
To train me now in better ways.

Martha.
Say frankly, Sir, have you yet nothing found?
Has your heart never anywhere been bound?

Mephistopheles.
The proverb says: “One's hearth, household,
And a good wife outvalue pearls and gold.”

Martha.
I mean, Sir, have you fancied someone, never?

Mephistopheles.
I have been received with courteous kindness ever.

Martha.
I would ask has your heart ne'er throbbed with real passion?

Mephistopheles.
One cannot dare to jest with women in idle fashion.

Martha.
Ah! you don't understand!

Mephistopheles.
That pains my heart to find!

Martha.
Yet I perceive—that you are very kind.

(They pass on.)
Faust.
Thou knewest me little Angel, didst recognise,
When I came through the garden, instantly?

Margaret.
Did you not see? I then cast down mine eyes.

Faust.
And thou didst pardon me the liberty
I took, my impudence, that day,
As from the church thou camest away?

Margaret.
I was amazed, that ne'er had hapt to me:
No one could say bad things about me never.
Ah! thought I, in my behaviour now whatever
Bold or improper could he see?
He thought he might come straightway to me,
Like any common wench pursue me.
But, I confess, I really did not know
What in your favour began to speak, 'tis true;
But with myself I was really angry, though,
That I could not be angrier with you.

Faust.
Sweet darling.

Margaret.
Wait awhile!

(She plucks a daisy, and picks off the petals one by one.)
Faust.
What's that for? A bouquet?

Margaret.
No, it is just a game.

Faust.
What?

Margaret.
You'd laugh at me. Go away!

(She plucks and murmurs.)
Faust.
What murmurest thou?

Margaret
(half-aloud.)
He loves me—loves me not.

Faust.
Thy sweet face light from Heaven has caught!

Margaret
(still picking off the petals.)
Loves me—Not—Loves me—Not—
(Picking off the last petal with innocent joy.)
He loves me!

Faust.
Yes, my child! Let this flower's sweet word
Be for thee God's decree. He loves thee!
(He seizes both her hands.)
Knowest thou what that means? He loves thee!

Margaret.
My joy o'erflows!

Faust.
Oh! tremble not! Let this fond glance,
Let this hand-clasping say to thee,
What words can ne'er express:
To give thyself wholly away, a bliss
To feel, that must eternal be!
Eternal!—Its end would be indeed despair.
Ne'er let it end! No, never end!

(Margaret presses his hands, and runs away. He stands for a moment in thought then follows her.)
Martha
(entering with Mephistopheles.)
The night draws on.

Mephistopheles.
Yes, off we must race.

Martha.
I'd ask you longer here to stay;
But 'tis too scandalous a place.
None seems to have either work or play,
Nothing to do in any shape,
Save at their neighbour's goings-on to gape,
Whate'er you do gossips must have their say.
And our sweet pair?

Mephistopheles.
Just now down yonder path have flown.
The wanton Summer-birds!

Martha.
He's sweet on her, you'll own.

Mephistopheles.
She too on him. That is the world's old way!