No More Learning

Gav'st me majestic nature for a realm,
The power to feel, enjoy her. Not alone
A freezing, formal visit didst thou grant;
Deep down into her breast invitedst me
To look, as if she were a bosom-friend.
The series of animated things
Thou bidst pass by me, teaching me to know
My brothers in the waters, woods, and air.
And when the storm-swept forest creaks and groans,
The giant pine-tree crashes, rending off
The neighboring boughs and limbs, and with deep roar
The thundering mountain echoes to its fall,
To a safe cavern then thou leadest me,
Showst me myself; and my own bosom's deep
Mysterious wonders open on my view.
And when before my sight the moon comes up
With soft effulgence; from the walls of rock,
From the damp thicket, slowly float around
The silvery shadows of a world gone by,
And temper meditation's sterner joy.
O! nothing perfect is vouchsafed to man:
I feel it now! Attendant on this bliss,
Which brings me ever nearer to the Gods,
Thou gav'st me the companion, whom I now
No more can spare, though cold and insolent;
He makes me hate, despise myself, and turns
Thy gifts to nothing with a word--a breath.
He kindles up a wild-fire in my breast,
Of restless longing for that lovely form.
Thus from desire I hurry to enjoyment,
And in enjoyment languish for desire.

_Enter_ MEPHISTOPHELES.

_Mephistopheles_. Will not this life have tired you by and bye?
I wonder it so long delights you?
'Tis well enough for once the thing to try;
Then off to where a new invites you!

_Faust_. Would thou hadst something else to do,
That thus to spoil my joy thou burnest.

_Mephistopheles_. Well! well! I'll leave thee, gladly too! --
Thou dar'st not tell me that in earnest!
'Twere no great loss, a fellow such as you,
So crazy, snappish, and uncivil.
One has, all day, his hands full, and more too;
To worm out from him what he'd have one do,
Or not do, puzzles e'en the very devil.

_Faust_. Now, that I like! That's just the tone!
Wants thanks for boring me till I'm half dead!

_Mephistopheles_. Poor son of earth, if left alone,
What sort of life wouldst thou have led?
How oft, by methods all my own,
I've chased the cobweb fancies from thy head!
And but for me, to parts unknown
Thou from this earth hadst long since fled.
What dost thou here through cave and crevice groping?
Why like a horned owl sit moping?
And why from dripping stone, damp moss, and rotten wood
Here, like a toad, suck in thy food?
Delicious pastime! Ah, I see,
Somewhat of Doctor sticks to thee.

_Faust_. What new life-power it gives me, canst thou guess--
This conversation with the wilderness?
Ay, couldst thou dream how sweet the employment,
Thou wouldst be devil enough to grudge me my enjoyment.

_Mephistopheles_. Ay, joy from super-earthly fountains!
By night and day to lie upon the mountains,
To clasp in ecstasy both earth and heaven,
Swelled to a deity by fancy's leaven,
Pierce, like a nervous thrill, earth's very marrow,
Feel the whole six days' work for thee too narrow,
To enjoy, I know not what, in blest elation,
Then with thy lavish love o'erflow the whole creation.
Below thy sight the mortal cast,
And to the glorious vision give at last--
[_with a gesture_]
I must not say what termination!

_Faust_. Shame on thee!

_Mephistopheles_. This displeases thee; well, surely,
Thou hast a right to say "for shame" demurely.
One must not mention that to chaste ears--never,
Which chaste hearts cannot do without, however.
And, in one word, I grudge you not the pleasure
Of lying to yourself in moderate measure;
But 'twill not hold out long, I know;
Already thou art fast recoiling,
And soon, at this rate, wilt be boiling
With madness or despair and woe.
Enough of this! Thy sweetheart sits there lonely,
And all to her is close and drear.
Her thoughts are on thy image only,
She holds thee, past all utterance, dear.
At first thy passion came bounding and rushing
Like a brooklet o'erflowing with melted snow and rain;
Into her heart thou hast poured it gushing:
And now thy brooklet's dry again.
Methinks, thy woodland throne resigning,
'Twould better suit so great a lord
The poor young monkey to reward
For all the love with which she's pining.
She finds the time dismally long;
Stands at the window, sees the clouds on high
Over the old town-wall go by.
"Were I a little bird! "[26] so runneth her song
All the day, half the night long.
At times she'll be laughing, seldom smile,
At times wept-out she'll seem,
Then again tranquil, you'd deem,--
Lovesick all the while.

_Faust_. Viper! Viper!

_Mephistopheles_ [_aside_]. Ay! and the prey grows riper!

_Faust_. Reprobate! take thee far behind me!
No more that lovely woman name!
Bid not desire for her sweet person flame
Through each half-maddened sense, again to blind me!

_Mephistopheles_. What then's to do? She fancies thou hast flown,
And more than half she's right, I own.

_Faust_. I'm near her, and, though far away, my word,
I'd not forget her, lose her; never fear it!
I envy e'en the body of the Lord,
Oft as those precious lips of hers draw near it.

_Mephistopheles_. No doubt; and oft my envious thought reposes
On the twin-pair that feed among the roses.

_Faust_. Out, pimp!

_Mephistopheles_. Well done! Your jeers I find fair game for laughter.
The God, who made both lad and lass,
Unwilling for a bungling hand to pass,
Made opportunity right after.
But come! fine cause for lamentation!
Her chamber is your destination,
And not the grave, I guess.

_Faust_. What are the joys of heaven while her fond arms enfold me?
O let her kindling bosom hold me!
Feel I not always her distress?
The houseless am I not? the unbefriended?
The monster without aim or rest?
That, like a cataract, from rock to rock descended
To the abyss, with maddening greed possest:
She, on its brink, with childlike thoughts and lowly,--
Perched on the little Alpine field her cot,--
This narrow world, so still and holy
Ensphering, like a heaven, her lot.
And I, God's hatred daring,
Could not be content
The rocks all headlong bearing,
By me to ruins rent,--
Her, yea her peace, must I o'erwhelm and bury!
This victim, hell, to thee was necessary!
Help me, thou fiend, the pang soon ending!
What must be, let it quickly be!
And let her fate upon my head descending,
Crush, at one blow, both her and me.

_Mephistopheles_. Ha! how it seethes again and glows!
Go in and comfort her, thou dunce!
Where such a dolt no outlet sees or knows,
He thinks he's reached the end at once.
None but the brave deserve the fair!
Thou _hast_ had devil enough to make a decent show of.
For all the world a devil in despair
Is just the insipidest thing I know of.




MARGERY'S ROOM.

MARGERY [_at the spinning-wheel alone_].
My heart is heavy,
My peace is o'er;
I never--ah! never--
Shall find it more.
While him I crave,
Each place is the grave,
The world is all
Turned into gall.
My wretched brain
Has lost its wits,
My wretched sense
Is all in bits.
My heart is heavy,
My peace is o'er;
I never--ah! never--
Shall find it more.
Him only to greet, I
The street look down,
Him only to meet, I
Roam through town.
His lofty step,
His noble height,
His smile of sweetness,
His eye of might,
His words of magic,
Breathing bliss,
His hand's warm pressure
And ah! his kiss.
My heart is heavy,
My peace is o'er,
I never--ah! never--
Shall find it more.
My bosom yearns
To behold him again.
Ah, could I find him
That best of men!
I'd tell him then
How I did miss him,
And kiss him
As much as I could,
Die on his kisses
I surely should!




MARTHA'S GARDEN.

MARGARET. FAUST.

_Margaret_. Promise me, Henry.

_Faust_. What I can.

_Margaret_. How is it now with thy religion, say?
I know thou art a dear good man,
But fear thy thoughts do not run much that way.

_Faust_. Leave that, my child! Enough, thou hast my heart;
For those I love with life I'd freely part;
I would not harm a soul, nor of its faith bereave it.

_Margaret_. That's wrong, there's one true faith--one must believe it?

_Faust_. Must one?

_Margaret_. Ah, could I influence thee, dearest!
The holy sacraments thou scarce reverest.

_Faust_. I honor them.

_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_.