No More Learning

_Margaret_. But yet without desire.
Of mass and confession both thou'st long begun to tire.
Believest thou in God?

_Faust_. My. darling, who engages
To say, I do believe in God?
The question put to priests or sages:
Their answer seems as if it sought
To mock the asker.

_Margaret_. Then believ'st thou not?

_Faust_. Sweet face, do not misunderstand my thought!
Who dares express him?
And who confess him,
Saying, I do believe?
A man's heart bearing,
What man has the daring
To say: I acknowledge him not?
The All-enfolder,
The All-upholder,
Enfolds, upholds He not
Thee, me, Himself?
Upsprings not Heaven's blue arch high o'er thee?
Underneath thee does not earth stand fast?
See'st thou not, nightly climbing,
Tenderly glancing eternal stars?
Am I not gazing eye to eye on thee?
Through brain and bosom
Throngs not all life to thee,
Weaving in everlasting mystery
Obscurely, clearly, on all sides of thee?
Fill with it, to its utmost stretch, thy breast,
And in the consciousness when thou art wholly blest,
Then call it what thou wilt,
Joy! Heart! Love! God!
I have no name to give it!
All comes at last to feeling;
Name is but sound and smoke,
Beclouding Heaven's warm glow.

_Margaret_. That is all fine and good, I know;
And just as the priest has often spoke,
Only with somewhat different phrases.

_Faust_. All hearts, too, in all places,
Wherever Heaven pours down the day's broad blessing,
Each in its way the truth is confessing;
And why not I in mine, too?

_Margaret_. Well, all have a way that they incline to,
But still there is something wrong with thee;
Thou hast no Christianity.

_Faust_. Dear child!

_Margaret_. It long has troubled me
That thou shouldst keep such company.

_Faust_. How so?

_Margaret_. The man whom thou for crony hast,
Is one whom I with all my soul detest.
Nothing in all my life has ever
Stirred up in my heart such a deep disfavor
As the ugly face that man has got.

_Faust_. Sweet plaything; fear him not!

_Margaret_. His presence stirs my blood, I own.
I can love almost all men I've ever known;
But much as thy presence with pleasure thrills me,
That man with a secret horror fills me.
And then for a knave I've suspected him long!
God pardon me, if I do him wrong!

_Faust_. To make up a world such odd sticks are needed.

_Margaret_. Shouldn't like to live in the house where he did!
Whenever I see him coming in,
He always wears such a mocking grin.
Half cold, half grim;
One sees, that naught has interest for him;
'Tis writ on his brow and can't be mistaken,
No soul in him can love awaken.
I feel in thy arms so happy, so free,
I yield myself up so blissfully,
He comes, and all in me is closed and frozen now.

_Faust_. Ah, thou mistrustful angel, thou!

_Margaret_. This weighs on me so sore,
That when we meet, and he is by me,
I feel, as if I loved thee now no more.
Nor could I ever pray, if he were nigh me,
That eats the very heart in me;
Henry, it must be so with thee.

_Faust_. 'Tis an antipathy of thine!

_Margaret_. Farewell!

_Faust_. Ah, can I ne'er recline
One little hour upon thy bosom, pressing
My heart to thine and all my soul confessing?

_Margaret_. Ah, if my chamber were alone,
This night the bolt should give thee free admission;
But mother wakes at every tone,
And if she had the least suspicion,
Heavens! I should die upon the spot!

_Faust_. Thou angel, need of that there's not.
Here is a flask! Three drops alone
Mix with her drink, and nature
Into a deep and pleasant sleep is thrown.

_Margaret_. Refuse thee, what can I, poor creature?
I hope, of course, it will not harm her!

_Faust_. Would I advise it then, my charmer?

_Margaret_. Best man, when thou dost look at me,
I know not what, moves me to do thy will;
I have already done so much for thee,
Scarce any thing seems left me to fulfil.
[_Exit_. ]

Enter_ MEPHISTOPHELES.

_Mephtftopheles_. The monkey! is she gone?

_Faust_. Hast played the spy again?

_Mephistopheles_. I overheard it all quite fully.
The Doctor has been well catechized then?
Hope it will sit well on him truly.
The maidens won't rest till they know if the men
Believe as good old custom bids them do.
They think: if there he yields, he'll follow our will too.

_Faust_. Monster, thou wilt not, canst not see,
How this true soul that loves so dearly,
Yet hugs, at every cost,
The faith which she
Counts Heaven itself, is horror-struck sincerely
To think of giving up her dearest man for lost.

_Mephistopheles_. Thou supersensual, sensual wooer,
A girl by the nose is leading thee.

_Faust_. Abortion vile of fire and sewer!

_Mephistopheles_. In physiognomy, too, her skill is masterly.
When I am near she feels she knows not how,
My little mask some secret meaning shows;
She thinks, I'm certainly a genius, now,
Perhaps the very devil--who knows?
To-night then? --

_Faust_. Well, what's that to you?

_Mephistopheles_. I find my pleasure in it, too!




AT THE WELL.

MARGERY _and_ LIZZY _with Pitchers. _

_Lizzy_. Hast heard no news of Barbara to-day?

_Margery_. No, not a word. I've not been out much lately.

_Lizzy_. It came to me through Sybill very straightly.
She's made a fool of herself at last, they say.
That comes of taking airs!

_Margery_. What meanst thou?

_Lizzy_. Pah!
She daily eats and drinks for two now.

_Margery_. Ah!

_Lizzy_. It serves the jade right for being so callow.
How long she's been hanging upon the fellow!
Such a promenading!
To fair and dance parading!
Everywhere as first she must shine,
He was treating her always with tarts and wine;
She began to think herself something fine,
And let her vanity so degrade her
That she even accepted the presents he made her.
There was hugging and smacking, and so it went on--
And lo! and behold! the flower is gone!

_Margery_. Poor thing!

_Lizzy_. Canst any pity for her feel!
When such as we spun at the wheel,
Our mothers kept us in-doors after dark;
While she stood cozy with her spark,
Or sate on the door-bench, or sauntered round,
And never an hour too long they found.
But now her pride may let itself down,
To do penance at church in the sinner's gown!

_Margery_. He'll certainly take her for his wife.

_Lizzy_. He'd be a fool! A spruce young blade
Has room enough to ply his trade.
Besides, he's gone.

_Margery_. Now, that's not fair!

_Lizzy_. If she gets him, her lot'll be hard to bear.
The boys will tear up her wreath, and what's more,
We'll strew chopped straw before her door.

[_Exit. _]

_Margery [going home]_. Time was when I, too, instead of bewailing,
Could boldly jeer at a poor girl's failing!
When my scorn could scarcely find expression
At hearing of another's transgression!
How black it seemed! though black as could be,
It never was black enough for me.
I blessed my soul, and felt so high,
And now, myself, in sin I lie!
Yet--all that led me to it, sure,
O God! it was so dear, so pure!




DONJON. [27]

[_In a niche a devotional image of the Mater Dolorosa,
before it pots of flowers. _]

MARGERY [_puts fresh flowers into the pots_].
Ah, hear me,
Draw kindly near me,
Mother of sorrows, heal my woe!

Sword-pierced, and stricken
With pangs that sicken,
Thou seest thy son's last life-blood flow!

Thy look--thy sighing---
To God are crying,
Charged with a son's and mother's woe!

Sad mother!
What other
Knows the pangs that eat me to the bone?
What within my poor heart burneth,
How it trembleth, how it yearneth,
Thou canst feel and thou alone!

Go where I will, I never
Find peace or hope--forever
Woe, woe and misery!

Alone, when all are sleeping,
I'm weeping, weeping, weeping,
My heart is crushed in me.

The pots before my window,
In the early morning-hours,
Alas, my tears bedewed them,
As I plucked for thee these flowers,

When the bright sun good morrow
In at my window said,
Already, in my anguish,
I sate there in my bed.

From shame and death redeem me, oh!
Draw near me,
And, pitying, hear me,
Mother of sorrows, heal my woe!




NIGHT.

_Street before_ MARGERY'S _Door. _


VALENTINE [_soldier,_ MARGERY'S _brother_].

When at the mess I used to sit,
Where many a one will show his wit,
And heard my comrades one and all
The flower of the sex extol,
Drowning their praise with bumpers high,
Leaning upon my elbows, I
Would hear the braggadocios through,
And then, when it came my turn, too,
Would stroke my beard and, smiling, say,
A brimming bumper in my hand:
All very decent in their way!
But is there one, in all the land,
With my sweet Margy to compare,
A candle to hold to my sister fair?
Bravo! Kling! Klang! it echoed round!
One party cried: 'tis truth he speaks,
She is the jewel of the sex!
And the braggarts all in silence were bound.
And now! --one could pull out his hair with vexation,
And run up the walls for mortification! --
Every two-legged creature that goes in breeches
Can mock me with sneers and stinging speeches!
And I like a guilty debtor sitting,
For fear of each casual word am sweating!
And though I could smash them in my ire,
I dare not call a soul of them liar.

What's that comes yonder, sneaking along?
There are two of them there, if I see not wrong.
Is't he, I'll give him a dose that'll cure him,
He'll not leave the spot alive, I assure him!


FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES.

_Faust_. How from yon window of the sacristy
The ever-burning lamp sends up its glimmer,
And round the edge grows ever dimmer,
Till in the gloom its flickerings die!
So in my bosom all is nightlike.

_Mephistopheles_.
A starving tom-cat I feel quite like,
That o'er the fire ladders crawls
Then softly creeps, ground the walls.
My aim's quite virtuous ne'ertheless,
A bit of thievish lust, a bit of wantonness.
I feel it all my members haunting--
The glorious Walpurgis night.
One day--then comes the feast enchanting
That shall all pinings well requite.

_Faust_. Meanwhile can that the casket be, I wonder,
I see behind rise glittering yonder. [28]

_Mephistopheles_. Yes, and thou soon shalt have the pleasure
Of lifting out the precious treasure.
I lately 'neath the lid did squint,
Has piles of lion-dollars[29] in't.

_Faust_. But not a jewel? Not a ring?
To deck my mistress not a trinket?

_Mephistopheles_. I caught a glimpse of some such thing,
Sort of pearl bracelet I should think it.

_Faust_. That's well! I always like to bear
Some present when I visit my fair.

_Mephistopheles_. You should not murmur if your fate is,
To have a bit of pleasure gratis.
Now, as the stars fill heaven with their bright throng,
List a fine piece, artistic purely:
I sing her here a moral song,
To make a fool of her more surely.
[_Sings to the guitar_. ][30]
What dost thou here,
Katrina dear,
At daybreak drear,
Before thy lover's chamber?
Give o'er, give o'er!
The maid his door
Lets in, no more
Goes out a maid--remember!

Take heed! take heed!
Once done, the deed
Ye'll rue with speed--
And then--good night--poor thing--a!
Though ne'er so fair
His speech, beware,
Until you bear
His ring upon your finger.

_Valentine_ [_comes forward_].
Whom lur'ft thou here? what prey dost scent?
Rat-catching[81] offspring of perdition!
To hell goes first the instrument!
To hell then follows the musician!

_Mephistopheles_. He 's broken the guitar! to music, then, good-bye, now.

_Valentine_. A game of cracking skulls we'll try now!

_Mephistopbeles_ [_to Faust_]. Never you flinch, Sir Doctor! Brisk!
Mind every word I say---be wary!
Stand close by me, out with your whisk!
Thrust home upon the churl! I'll parry.

_Valentine_. Then parry that!

_Mephistopheles_. Be sure. Why not?

_Valentine_. And that!

_Mephistopheles_. With ease!

_Valentine_. The devil's aid he's got!
But what is this? My hand's already lame.

_Mephistopheles_ [_to Faust_]. Thrust home!

_Valentine_ [_falls_]. O woe!

_Mephistopheles_. Now is the lubber tame!
But come! We must be off. I hear a clatter;
And cries of murder, too, that fast increase.
I'm an old hand to manage the police,
But then the penal court's another matter.

_Martha_. Come out! Come out!

_Margery_ [_at the window_]. Bring on a light!

_Martha_ [_as above_]. They swear and scuffle, scream and fight.

_People_. There's one, has got's death-blow!

_Martha_ [_coming out_]. Where are the murderers, have they flown?

_Margery_ [_coming out_]. Who's lying here?

_People_. Thy mother's son.

_Margery_. Almighty God! What woe!

_Valentine_. I'm dying! that is quickly said,
And even quicklier done.
Women! Why howl, as if half-dead?
Come, hear me, every one!
[_All gather round him_. ]
My Margery, look! Young art thou still,
But managest thy matters ill,
Hast not learned out yet quite.
I say in confidence--think it o'er:
Thou art just once for all a whore;
Why, be one, then, outright.

_Margery_. My brother! God! What words to me!

_Valentine_. In this game let our Lord God be!
That which is done, alas! is done.
And every thing its course will run.
With one you secretly begin,
Presently more of them come in,
And when a dozen share in thee,
Thou art the whole town's property.

When shame is born to this world of sorrow,
The birth is carefully hid from sight,
And the mysterious veil of night
To cover her head they borrow;
Yes, they would gladly stifle the wearer;
But as she grows and holds herself high,
She walks uncovered in day's broad eye,
Though she has not become a whit fairer.
The uglier her face to sight,
The more she courts the noonday light.

Already I the time can see
When all good souls shall shrink from thee,
Thou prostitute, when thou go'st by them,
As if a tainted corpse were nigh them.
Thy heart within thy breast shall quake then,
When they look thee in the face.
Shalt wear no gold chain more on thy neck then!
Shalt stand no more in the holy place!
No pleasure in point-lace collars take then,
Nor for the dance thy person deck then!
But into some dark corner gliding,
'Mong beggars and cripples wilt be hiding;
And even should God thy sin forgive,
Wilt be curs'd on earth while thou shalt live!

_Martha_. Your soul to the mercy of God surrender!
Will you add to your load the sin of slander?

_Valentine_. Could I get at thy dried-up frame,
Vile bawd, so lost to all sense of shame!
Then might I hope, e'en this side Heaven,
Richly to find my sins forgiven.

_Margery_. My brother! This is hell to me!

_Valentine_. I tell thee, let these weak tears be!
When thy last hold of honor broke,
Thou gav'st my heart the heaviest stroke.
I'm going home now through the grave
To God, a soldier and a brave.
[_Dies_. ]




CATHEDRAL.

_Service, Organ, and Singing. _


[MARGERY _amidst a crowd of people. _ EVIL SPIRIT _behind_ MARGERY. ]

_Evil Spirit_. How different was it with thee, Margy,
When, innocent and artless,
Thou cam'st here to the altar,
From the well-thumbed little prayer-book,
Petitions lisping,
Half full of child's play,
Half full of Heaven!
Margy!
Where are thy thoughts?
What crime is buried
Deep within thy heart?
Prayest thou haply for thy mother, who
Slept over into long, long pain, on thy account?
Whose blood upon thy threshold lies?
--And stirs there not, already
Beneath thy heart a life
Tormenting itself and thee
With bodings of its coming hour?

_Margery_. Woe! Woe!
Could I rid me of the thoughts,
Still through my brain backward and forward flitting,
Against my will!

_Chorus_. Dies irae, dies illa
Solvet saeclum in favilla.

[_Organ plays_. ]

_Evil Spirit_. Wrath smites thee!
Hark! the trumpet sounds!
The graves are trembling!
And thy heart,
Made o'er again
For fiery torments,
Waking from its ashes
Starts up!

_Margery_. Would I were hence!
I feel as if the organ's peal
My breath were stifling,
The choral chant
My heart were melting.

_Chorus_. Judex ergo cum sedebit,
Quidquid latet apparebit.
Nil inultum remanebit.

_Margery_. How cramped it feels!
The walls and pillars
Imprison me!
And the arches
Crush me! --Air!

_Evil Spirit_. What! hide thee! sin and shame
Will not be hidden!
Air? Light?
Woe's thee!

_Chorus_. Quid sum miser tunc dicturus?
Quem patronum rogaturus?
Cum vix justus sit securus.

_Evil Spirit_. They turn their faces,
The glorified, from thee.
To take thy hand, the pure ones
Shudder with horror.
Woe!

_Chorus_. Quid sum miser tunc dicturus?

_Margery_. Neighbor! your phial! --
[_She swoons. _]




WALPURGIS NIGHT. [32]

_Harz Mountains. _

_District of Schirke and Elend. _


FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES.

_Mephistopheles_. Wouldst thou not like a broomstick, now, to ride on?
At this rate we are, still, a long way off;
I'd rather have a good tough goat, by half,
Than the best legs a man e'er set his pride on.

_Faust_. So long as I've a pair of good fresh legs to stride on,
Enough for me this knotty staff.
What use of shortening the way!
Following the valley's labyrinthine winding,
Then up this rock a pathway finding,
From which the spring leaps down in bubbling play,
That is what spices such a walk, I say!
Spring through the birch-tree's veins is flowing,
The very pine is feeling it;
Should not its influence set our limbs a-glowing?

_Mephistopheles_.