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 high-vaunted lore.

[He kisses her hand.

Margaret. O trouble not yourself! how could you kiss it so? It is so coarse, so rough! for I must go Through all the work above stairs and below, Mother will have it so.

[They pass on.

Martha. And you, sir, will it still Be your delight from place to place to roam?

Mephistopheles. In this our duty guides us, not our will. 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. I see ahead, and fear such wretched fate.

Martha. Then, sir, take warning ere it be too late!

[They pass on.

Margaret. Yes, out of sight, and out of mind! You see me now, and are so kind: But you have friends at home of station high, With far more wit and far more sense than I.

Faust. Their sense, dear girl, is often nothing more Than vain conceit of vain short-sighted lore.

Margaret. How mean you that?

Faust. Oh that the innocent heart And sweet simplicity, unspoiled by art, So seldom knows its own rare quality! That fair humility, the comeliest grace Which bounteous Nature sheds on blooming face—

Margaret. Do thou bestow a moment’s thought on me, I shall have time enough to think of 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 needs to pinch her household; we Might do much more than many others do: My father left a goodly sum, quite free From debt, with a neat house and garden too, Close by the town, just as you pass the gate; But we have lived retired enough of late. My brother is a soldier: he Is at the wars: my little sister’s dead: Poor thing! it caused me many an hour of pain To see it pine, and droop its little head, But gladly would I suffer all again, So much I loved 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 recovered slowly, day by day; And as she had not strength herself To suckle the poor helpless elf, She gave’t in charge to me, and I With milk and water nursed it carefully. Thus in my arm, and on my lap, it grew, And smiled and crowed, and flung its legs about, And called me mother too.

Faust. To thy pure heart the purest joy, no doubt.

Margaret. Ay! but full many an hour Heavy with sorrow, and with labor sour. The infant’s cradle stood beside My bed, and when it stirred or cried, 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 after that I must away To wash the clothes by break of day. I make the markets too, and keep house for my mother, One weary day just like another; Thus drudging on, the day might lack delights, But food went lightly down, and sleep was sweet o’ nights.

[They pass on.

Martha. A woman’s case is not much to be vaunted; A hardened bachelor is hard to mend.

Mephistopheles. A few apostles such as you were wanted, From evil ways their vagrant 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. My meaning still you strangely miss!

Mephistopheles. Alas, that I should be so blind! One thing I plainly see, that 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. Marked you it not?—You saw my downward look.

Faust. And you forgive the liberty I took, When from the minster you came out that day, And I, with forward boldness more than meet, Then ventured 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 favorable 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 harshlier 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? let me see!

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, so sweetly low?

Margaret. [half loud] He loves me, yes!—he loves me, no!

Faust. Thou sweet angelic face!

Margaret. [murmuring as before] He loves me, yes!—he loves me, no! [Pulling out the last petal with manifest delight.] He loves me, yes!

Faust. Yes, child! the fair flower-star hath answered Yes! In this the judgment of the gods approves 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! But let this look proclaim, This pressure of my hand declare What words can never name: To yield us to an ecstacy of joy, And feel this tranceful bliss must be Eternal! yes! its end would be despair! It hath no end! no end for thee and me!

[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 neighborhood, Where idle gossips find their only good, Their pleasure and their business too, In spying out all that their neighbors 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.