No More Learning

that is only done to smoke us;
Don't be so serious, my man!
She must, as Doctor, play her hocus-pocus
To make the dose work better, that's the plan.
[_He constrains_ FAUST _to step into the circle_. ]

THE WITCH
[_beginning with great emphasis to declaim out of the book_]

Remember then!
Of One make Ten,
The Two let be,
Make even Three,
There's wealth for thee.
The Four pass o'er!
Of Five and Six,
(The witch so speaks,)
Make Seven and Eight,
The thing is straight:
And Nine is One
And Ten is none--
This is the witch's one-time-one! [24]

_Faust_. The old hag talks like one delirious.

_Mephistopheles_. There's much more still, no less mysterious,
I know it well, the whole book sounds just so!
I've lost full many a year in poring o'er it,
For perfect contradiction, you must know,
A mystery stands, and fools and wise men bow before it,
The art is old and new, my son.
Men, in all times, by craft and terror,
With One and Three, and Three and One,
For truth have propagated error.
They've gone on gabbling so a thousand years;
Who on the fools would waste a minute?
Man generally thinks, if words he only hears,
Articulated noise must have some meaning in it.

_The witch [goes on_]. Deep wisdom's power
Has, to this hour,
From all the world been hidden!
Whoso thinks not,
To him 'tis brought,
To him it comes unbidden.

_Faust_. What nonsense is she talking here?
My heart is on the point of cracking.
In one great choir I seem to hear
A hundred thousand ninnies clacking.

_Mephistopheles_. Enough, enough, rare Sibyl, sing us
These runes no more, thy beverage bring us,
And quickly fill the goblet to the brim;
This drink may by my friend be safely taken:
Full many grades the man can reckon,
Many good swigs have entered him.

[_The_ WITCH, _with many ceremonies, pours the drink into a cup;
as she puts it to_ FAUST'S _lips, there rises a light flame_. ]

_Mephistopheles_. Down with it! Gulp it down! 'Twill prove
All that thy heart's wild wants desire.
Thou, with the devil, hand and glove,[25]
And yet wilt be afraid of fire?

[_The_ WITCH _breaks the circle_; FAUST _steps out_. ]

_Mephistopheles_. Now briskly forth! No rest for thee!

_The witch_. Much comfort may the drink afford you!

_Mephistopheles [to the witch_]. And any favor you may ask of me,
I'll gladly on Walpurgis' night accord you.

_The witch_. Here is a song, which if you sometimes sing,
'Twill stir up in your heart a special fire.

_Mephistopheles [to Faust_]. Only make haste; and even shouldst thou tire,
Still follow me; one must perspire,
That it may set his nerves all quivering.
I'll teach thee by and bye to prize a noble leisure,
And soon, too, shalt thou feel with hearty pleasure,
How busy Cupid stirs, and shakes his nimble wing.

_Faust_. But first one look in yonder glass, I pray thee!
Such beauty I no more may find!

_Mephistopheles_. Nay! in the flesh thine eyes shall soon display thee
The model of all woman-kind.
[_Softly_. ]
Soon will, when once this drink shall heat thee,
In every girl a Helen meet thee!




A STREET.

FAUST. MARGARET [_passing over_].

_Faust_. My fair young lady, will it offend her
If I offer my arm and escort to lend her?

_Margaret_. Am neither lady, nor yet am fair!
Can find my way home without any one's care.
[_Disengages herself and exit_. ]

_Faust_. By heavens, but then the child _is_ fair!
I've never seen the like, I swear.
So modest is she and so pure,
And somewhat saucy, too, to be sure.
The light of the cheek, the lip's red bloom,
I shall never forget to the day of doom!
How me cast down her lovely eyes,
Deep in my soul imprinted lies;
How she spoke up, so curt and tart,
Ah, that went right to my ravished heart!
[_Enter_ MEPHISTOPHELES. ]

_Faust_. Hark, thou shalt find me a way to address her!

_Mephistopheles_. Which one?

_Faust_. She just went by.

_Mephistopheles_. What! She?
She came just now from her father confessor,
Who from all sins pronounced her free;
I stole behind her noiselessly,
'Tis an innocent thing, who, for nothing at all,
Must go to the confessional;
O'er such as she no power I hold!

_Faust_. But then she's over fourteen years old.

_Mephistopheles_. Thou speak'st exactly like Jack Rake,
Who every fair flower his own would make.
And thinks there can be no favor nor fame,
But one may straightway pluck the same.
But 'twill not always do, we see.

_Faust_. My worthy Master Gravity,
Let not a word of the Law be spoken!
One thing be clearly understood,--
Unless I clasp the sweet, young blood
This night in my arms--then, well and good:
When midnight strikes, our bond is broken.

_Mephistopheles_. Reflect on all that lies in the way!
I need a fortnight, at least, to a day,
For finding so much as a way to reach her.

_Faust_. Had I seven hours, to call my own,
Without the devil's aid, alone
I'd snare with ease so young a creature.

_Mephistopheles_. You talk quite Frenchman-like to-day;
But don't be vexed beyond all measure.
What boots it thus to snatch at pleasure?
'Tis not so great, by a long way,
As if you first, with tender twaddle,
And every sort of fiddle-faddle,
Your little doll should mould and knead,
As one in French romances may read.

_Faust_. My appetite needs no such spur.

_Mephistopheles_. Now, then, without a jest or slur,
I tell you, once for all, such speed
With the fair creature won't succeed.
Nothing will here by storm be taken;
We must perforce on intrigue reckon.

_Faust_. Get me some trinket the angel has blest!
Lead me to her chamber of rest!
Get me a 'kerchief from her neck,
A garter get me for love's sweet sake!

_Mephistopheles_. To prove to you my willingness
To aid and serve you in this distress;
You shall visit her chamber, by me attended,
Before the passing day is ended.

_Faust_. And see her, too? and have her?

_Mephistopheles_. Nay!
She will to a neighbor's have gone away.
Meanwhile alone by yourself you may,
There in her atmosphere, feast at leisure
And revel in dreams of future pleasure.

_Faust_. Shall we start at once?

_Mephistopheles_. 'Tis too early yet.

_Faust_. Some present to take her for me you must get.

[_Exit_. ]

_Mephistopheles_. Presents already! Brave! He's on the right foundation!
Full many a noble place I know,
And treasure buried long ago;
Must make a bit of exploration.

[_Exit_. ]




EVENING.

_A little cleanly Chamber_.

MARGARET [_braiding and tying up her hair_. ]
I'd give a penny just to say
What gentleman that was to-day!
How very gallant he seemed to be,
He's of a noble family;
That I could read from his brow and bearing--
And he would not have otherwise been so daring.
[_Exit_. ]

FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES.

_Mephistopheles_. Come in, step softly, do not fear!

_Faust [after a pause_]. Leave me alone, I prithee, here!

_Mephistopheles [peering round_]. Not every maiden keeps so neat.
[_Exit_. ]

_Faust [gazing round_]. Welcome this hallowed still retreat!
Where twilight weaves its magic glow.
Seize on my heart, love-longing, sad and sweet,
That on the dew of hope dost feed thy woe!
How breathes around the sense of stillness,
Of quiet, order, and content!
In all this poverty what fulness!
What blessedness within this prison pent!
[_He throws himself into a leathern chair by the bed_. ]
Take me, too! as thou hast, in years long flown,
In joy and grief, so many a generation!
Ah me! how oft, on this ancestral throne,
Have troops of children climbed with exultation!
Perhaps, when Christmas brought the Holy Guest,
My love has here, in grateful veneration
The grandsire's withered hand with child-lips prest.
I feel, O maiden, circling me,
Thy spirit of grace and fulness hover,
Which daily like a mother teaches thee
The table-cloth to spread in snowy purity,
And even, with crinkled sand the floor to cover.
Dear, godlike hand! a touch of thine
Makes this low house a heavenly kingdom slime!
And here!
[_He lifts a bed-curtain_. ]
What blissful awe my heart thrills through!
Here for long hours could I linger.
Here, Nature! in light dreams, thy airy finger
The inborn angel's features drew!
Here lay the child, when life's fresh heavings
Its tender bosom first made warm,
And here with pure, mysterious weavings
The spirit wrought its godlike form!
And thou! What brought thee here? what power
Stirs in my deepest soul this hour?
What wouldst thou here? What makes thy heart so sore?
Unhappy Faust! I know thee thus no more.
Breathe I a magic atmosphere?
The will to enjoy how strong I felt it,--
And in a dream of love am now all melted!
Are we the sport of every puff of air?
And if she suddenly should enter now,
How would she thy presumptuous folly humble!
Big John-o'dreams! ah, how wouldst thou
Sink at her feet, collapse and crumble!

_Mephistopheles_. Quick, now! She comes! I'm looking at her.

_Faust_. Away! Away! O cruel fate!

_Mephistopheles_. Here is a box of moderate weight;
I got it somewhere else--no matter!
Just shut it up, here, in the press,
I swear to you, 'twill turn her senses;
I meant the trifles, I confess,
To scale another fair one's fences.
True, child is child and play is play.

_Faust_. Shall I? I know not.

_Mephistopheles_. Why delay?
You mean perhaps to keep the bauble?
If so, I counsel you to spare
From idle passion hours so fair,
And me, henceforth, all further trouble.
I hope you are not avaricious!
I rub my hands, I scratch my head--
[_He places the casket in the press and locks it up again_. ]
(Quick! Time we sped!
)--
That the dear creature may be led
And moulded by your will and wishes;
And you stand here as glum,
As one at the door of the auditorium,
As if before your eyes you saw
In bodily shape, with breathless awe,
Metaphysics and physics, grim and gray!
Away!
[_Exit_. ]

_Margaret [with a lamp_]. It seems so close, so sultry here.
[_She opens the window_. ]
Yet it isn't so very warm out there,
I feel--I know not how--oh dear!
I wish my mother 'ld come home, I declare!
I feel a shudder all over me crawl--
I'm a silly, timid thing, that's all!
[_She begins to sing, while undressing_. ]
There was a king in Thule,
To whom, when near her grave,
The mistress he loved so truly
A golden goblet gave.

He cherished it as a lover,
He drained it, every bout;
His eyes with tears ran over,
As oft as he drank thereout.

And when he found himself dying,
His towns and cities he told;
Naught else to his heir denying
Save only the goblet of gold.

His knights he straightway gathers
And in the midst sate he,
In the banquet hall of the fathers
In the castle over the sea.

There stood th' old knight of liquor,
And drank the last life-glow,
Then flung the holy beaker
Into the flood below.

He saw it plunging, drinking
And sinking in the roar,
His eyes in death were sinking,
He never drank one drop more.
[_She opens the press, to put away her clothes,
and discovers the casket_. ]

How in the world came this fine casket here?
I locked the press, I'm very clear.
I wonder what's inside! Dear me! it's very queer!
Perhaps 'twas brought here as a pawn,
In place of something mother lent.
Here is a little key hung on,
A single peep I shan't repent!
What's here? Good gracious! only see!
I never saw the like in my born days!
On some chief festival such finery
Might on some noble lady blaze.
How would this chain become my neck!
Whose may this splendor be, so lonely?
[_She arrays herself in it, and steps before the glass_. ]
Could I but claim the ear-rings only!
A different figure one would make.
What's beauty worth to thee, young blood!
May all be very well and good;
What then? 'Tis half for pity's sake
They praise your pretty features.
Each burns for gold,
All turns on gold,--
Alas for us! poor creatures!




PROMENADE.


FAUST [_going up and down in thought_. ] MEPHISTOPHELES _to him_.

_Mephistopheles_. By all that ever was jilted! By all the infernal fires!
I wish I knew something worse, to curse as my heart desires!

_Faust_. What griping pain has hold of thee?
Such grins ne'er saw I in the worst stage-ranter!

_Mephistopheles_. Oh, to the devil I'd give myself instanter,
If I were not already he!

_Faust_. Some pin's loose in your head, old fellow!
That fits you, like a madman thus to bellow!

_Mephistopheles_. Just think, the pretty toy we got for Peg,
A priest has hooked, the cursed plague I--
The thing came under the eye of the mother,
And caused her a dreadful internal pother:
The woman's scent is fine and strong;
Snuffles over her prayer-book all day long,
And knows, by the smell of an article, plain,
Whether the thing is holy or profane;
And as to the box she was soon aware
There could not be much blessing there.
"My child," she cried, "unrighteous gains
Ensnare the soul, dry up the veins.
We'll consecrate it to God's mother,
She'll give us some heavenly manna or other! "
Little Margaret made a wry face; "I see
'Tis, after all, a gift horse," said she;
"And sure, no godless one is he
Who brought it here so handsomely. "
The mother sent for a priest (they're cunning);
Who scarce had found what game was running,
When he rolled his greedy eyes like a lizard,
And, "all is rightly disposed," said he,
"Who conquers wins, for a certainty.
The church has of old a famous gizzard,
She calls it little whole lands to devour,
Yet never a surfeit got to this hour;
The church alone, dear ladies; _sans_ question,
Can give unrighteous gains digestion. "

_Faust_. That is a general pratice, too,
Common alike with king and Jew.

_Mephistopheles_. Then pocketed bracelets and chains and rings
As if they were mushrooms or some such things,
With no more thanks, (the greedy-guts! )
Than if it had been a basket of nuts,
Promised them all sorts of heavenly pay--
And greatly edified were they.

_Faust_. And Margery?

_Mephistopheles_. Sits there in distress,
And what to do she cannot guess,
The jewels her daily and nightly thought,
And he still more by whom they were brought.

_Faust. _ My heart is troubled for my pet.
Get her at once another set!
The first were no great things in their way.

_Mephistopheles. _ O yes, my gentleman finds all child's play!

_Faust. _ And what I wish, that mind and do!
Stick closely to her neighbor, too.
Don't be a devil soft as pap,
And fetch me some new jewels, old chap!

_Mephistopheles. _ Yes, gracious Sir, I will with pleasure.
[_Exit_ FAUST. ]
Such love-sick fools will puff away
Sun, moon, and stars, and all in the azure,
To please a maiden's whimsies, any day.
[_Exit. _]




THE NEIGHBOR'S HOUSE.


MARTHA [_alone]. _
My dear good man--whom God forgive!
He has not treated me well, as I live!
Right off into the world he's gone
And left me on the straw alone.
I never did vex him, I say it sincerely,
I always loved him, God knows how dearly.
[_She weeps_. ]
Perhaps he's dead! --O cruel fate! --
If I only had a certificate!

_Enter_ MARGARET.
Dame Martha!

_Martha_. What now, Margery?

_Margaret_. I scarce can keep my knees from sinking!
Within my press, again, not thinking,
I find a box of ebony,
With things--can't tell how grand they are,--
More splendid than the first by far.

_Martha_. You must not tell it to your mother,
She'd serve it as she did the other.

_Margaret_. Ah, only look! Behold and see!

_Martha [puts them on her_]. Fortunate thing! I envy thee!

_Margaret. _ Alas, in the street or at church I never
Could be seen on any account whatever.

_Martha. _ Come here as often as you've leisure,
And prink yourself quite privately;
Before the looking-glass walk up and down at pleasure,
Fine times for both us 'twill be;
Then, on occasions, say at some great feast,
Can show them to the world, one at a time, at least.
A chain, and then an ear-pearl comes to view;
Your mother may not see, we'll make some pretext, too.

_Margaret. _ Who could have brought both caskets in succession?
There's something here for just suspicion!
[_A knock. _ ]
Ah, God! If that's my mother--then!

_Martha_ [_peeping through the blind_].
'Tis a strange gentleman--come in!

[_Enter_ MEPHISTOPHELES. ]
Must, ladies, on your kindness reckon
To excuse the freedom I have taken;
[_Steps back with profound respect at seeing_ MARGARET. ]
I would for Dame Martha Schwerdtlein inquire!

_Martha. _ I'm she, what, sir, is your desire?

_Mephistopheles_ [_aside to her_]. I know your face, for now 'twill do;
A distinguished lady is visiting you.
For a call so abrupt be pardon meted,
This afternoon it shall be repeated.

_Martha [aloud]. _ For all the world, think, child! my sakes!
The gentleman you for a lady takes.

_Margaret_. Ah, God! I am a poor young blood;
The gentleman is quite too good;
The jewels and trinkets are none of my own.

_Mephistopheles_. Ah, 'tis not the jewels and trinkets alone;
Her look is so piercing, so _distingue_!
How glad I am to be suffered to stay.

_Martha_. What bring you, sir? I long to hear--

_Mephistopheles_. Would I'd a happier tale for your ear!
I hope you'll forgive me this one for repeating:
Your husband is dead and sends you a greeting.

_Martha_. Is dead? the faithful heart! Woe! Woe!
My husband dead! I, too, shall go!

_Margaret_. Ah, dearest Dame, despair not thou!

_Mephistopheles_ Then, hear the mournful story now!

_Margaret_. Ah, keep me free from love forever,
I should never survive such a loss, no, never!

_Mephistopheles_. Joy and woe, woe and joy, must have each other.

_Martha_. Describe his closing hours to me!

_Mephistopheles_. In Padua lies our departed brother,
In the churchyard of St. Anthony,
In a cool and quiet bed lies sleeping,
In a sacred spot's eternal keeping.

_Martha_. And this was all you had to bring me?

_Mephistopheles_. All but one weighty, grave request!
"Bid her, when I am dead, three hundred masses sing me! "
With this I have made a clean pocket and breast.

_Martha_. What! not a medal, pin nor stone?
Such as, for memory's sake, no journeyman will lack,
Saved in the bottom of his sack,
And sooner would hunger, be a pauper--

_Mephistopheles_. Madam, your case is hard, I own!
But blame him not, he squandered ne'er a copper.
He too bewailed his faults with penance sore,
Ay, and his wretched luck bemoaned a great deal more.

_Margaret_. Alas! that mortals so unhappy prove!
I surely will for him pray many a requiem duly.

_Mephistopheles_. You're worthy of a spouse this moment; truly
You are a child a man might love.

_Margaret_. It's not yet time for that, ah no!

_Mephistopheles_. If not a husband, say, meanwhile a beau.
It is a choice and heavenly blessing,
Such a dear thing to one's bosom pressing.

_Margaret_. With us the custom is not so.

_Mephistopheles_. Custom or not! It happens, though.

_Martha_. Tell on!

_Mephistopheles_. I slood beside his bed, as he lay dying,
Better than dung it was somewhat,--
Half-rotten straw; but then, he died as Christian ought,
And found an unpaid score, on Heaven's account-book lying.
"How must I hate myself," he cried, "inhuman!
So to forsake my business and my woman!
Oh!