No More Learning

Now, hark to me--
This once, I pray, and spare my lungs, old fellow--
Whoever _will_ be right, and has a tongue to bellow,
Is sure to be.
But come, enough of swaggering, let's be quit,
For thou art right, because I must submit.




GARDEN.

MARGARET _on_ FAUST'S _arm_. MARTHA _with_ MEPHISTOPHELES.
[_Promenading up and down_. ]

_Margaret_. The gentleman but makes me more confused
With all his condescending goodness.
Men who have travelled wide are used
To bear with much from dread of rudeness;
I know too well, a man of so much mind
In my poor talk can little pleasure find.

_Faust_. One look from thee, one word, delights me more
Than this world's wisdom o'er and o'er.
[_Kisses her hand_. ]

_Margaret_. Don't take that trouble, sir! How could you bear to kiss it?
A hand so ugly, coarse, and rough!
How much I've had to do! must I confess it--
Mother is more than close enough.
[_They pass on_. ]

_Martha_. And you, sir, are you always travelling so?

_Mephistopheles_. Alas, that business forces us to do it!
With what regret from many a place we go,
Though tenderest bonds may bind us to it!

_Martha_. 'Twill do in youth's tumultuous maze
To wander round the world, a careless rover;
But soon will come the evil days,
And then, a lone dry stick, on the grave's brink to hover,
For that nobody ever prays.

_Mephistopheles_. The distant prospect shakes my reason.

_Martha_. Then, worthy sir, bethink yourself in season.
[_They pass on_. ]

_Margaret_. Yes, out of sight and out of mind!
Politeness you find no hard matter;
But you have friends in plenty, better
Than I, more sensible, more refined.

_Faust_. Dear girl, what one calls sensible on earth,
Is often vanity and nonsense.

_Margaret_. How?

_Faust_. Ah, that the pure and simple never know
Aught of themselves and all their holy worth!
That meekness, lowliness, the highest measure
Of gifts by nature lavished, full and free--

_Margaret_. One little moment, only, think of me,
I shall to think of you have ample time and leisure.

_Faust_. You're, may be, much alone?

_Margaret_. Our household is but small, I own,
And yet needs care, if truth were known.
We have no maid; so I attend to cooking, sweeping,
Knit, sew, do every thing, in fact;
And mother, in all branches of housekeeping,
Is so exact!
Not that she need be tied so very closely down;
We might stand higher than some others, rather;
A nice estate was left us by my father,
A house and garden not far out of town.
Yet, after all, my life runs pretty quiet;
My brother is a soldier,
My little sister's dead;
With the dear child indeed a wearing life I led;
And yet with all its plagues again would gladly try it,
The child was such a pet.

_Faust_. An angel, if like thee!

_Margaret_. I reared her and she heartily loved me.
She and my father never saw each other,
He died before her birth, and mother
Was given up, so low she lay,
But me, by slow degrees, recovered, day by day.
Of course she now, long time so feeble,
To nurse the poor little worm was unable,
And so I reared it all alone,
With milk and water; 'twas my own.
Upon my bosom all day long
It smiled and sprawled and so grew strong.

_Faust_. Ah! thou hast truly known joy's fairest flower.

_Margaret_. But no less truly many a heavy hour.
The wee thing's cradle stood at night
Close to my bed; did the least thing awake her,
My sleep took flight;
'Twas now to nurse her, now in bed to take her,
Then, if she was not still, to rise,
Walk up and down the room, and dance away her cries,
And at the wash-tub stand, when morning streaked the skies;
Then came the marketing and kitchen-tending,
Day in, day out, work never-ending.
One cannot always, sir, good temper keep;
But then it sweetens food and sweetens sleep.
[_They pass on_. ]

_Martha_. But the poor women suffer, you must own:
A bachelor is hard of reformation.

_Mephistopheles_. Madam, it rests with such as you, alone,
To help me mend my situation.

_Martha_. Speak plainly, sir, has none your fancy taken?
Has none made out a tender flame to waken?

_Mephistopheles_. The proverb says: A man's own hearth,
And a brave wife, all gold and pearls are worth.

_Martha_. I mean, has ne'er your heart been smitten slightly?

_Mephistopheles_. I have, on every hand, been entertained politely.

_Martha_. Have you not felt, I mean, a serious intention?

_Mephistopheles_.
Jesting with women, that's a thing one ne'er should mention.

_Martha_. Ah, you misunderstand!

_Mephistopheles_. It grieves me that I should!
But this I understand--that you are good.
[_They pass on_. ]

_Faust_. So then, my little angel recognized me,
As I came through the garden gate?

_Margaret_. Did not my downcast eyes show you surprised me?

_Faust_. And thou forgav'st that liberty, of late?
That impudence of mine, so daring,
As thou wast home from church repairing?

_Margaret_. I was confused, the like was new to me;
No one could say a word to my dishonor.
Ah, thought I, has he, haply, in thy manner
Seen any boldness--impropriety?
It seemed as if the feeling seized him,
That he might treat this girl just as it pleased him.
Let me confess! I knew not from what cause,
Some flight relentings here began to threaten danger;
I know, right angry with myself I was,
That I could not be angrier with the stranger.

_Faust_. Sweet darling!

_Margaret_. Let me once!

[_She plucks a china-aster and picks off the leaves one after another_. ]

_Faust_. What's that for? A bouquet?

_Margaret_. No, just for sport.

_Faust_. How?

_Margaret_. Go! you'll laugh at me; away!
[_She picks and murmurs to herself_. ]

_Faust_. What murmurest thou?

_Margaret [half aloud_]. He loves me--loves me not.

_Faust_. Sweet face! from heaven that look was caught!

_Margaret [goes on_]. Loves me--not--loves me--not--
[_picking off the last leaf with tender joy_]
He loves me!

_Faust_. Yes, my child! And be this floral word
An oracle to thee. He loves thee!
Knowest thou all it mean? He loves thee!
[_Clasping both her hands_. ]

_Margaret_. What thrill is this!

_Faust_. O, shudder not! This look of mine.
This pressure of the hand shall tell thee
What cannot be expressed:
Give thyself up at once and feel a rapture,
An ecstasy never to end!
Never! --It's end were nothing but blank despair.
No, unending! unending!

[MARGARET _presses his hands, extricates herself, and runs away.
He stands a moment in thought, then follows her_].

_Martha [coming_]. The night falls fast.

_Mephistopheles_. Ay, and we must away.

_Martha_. If it were not for one vexation,
I would insist upon your longer stay.
Nobody seems to have no occupation,
No care nor labor,
Except to play the spy upon his neighbor;
And one becomes town-talk, do whatsoe'er they may.
But where's our pair of doves?

_Mephistopheles_. Flown up the alley yonder.
Light summer-birds!

_Martha_. He seems attached to her.

_Mephistopheles_. No wonder.
And she to him. So goes the world, they say.




A SUMMER-HOUSE.

MARGARET [_darts in, hides behind the door, presses the tip of
her finger to her lips, and peeps through the crack_].

_Margaret_. He comes!

_Enter_ FAUST.

_Faust_. Ah rogue, how sly thou art!
I've caught thee!
[_Kisses her_. ]

_Margaret [embracing him and returning the kiss_].
Dear good man! I love thee from my heart!

[MEPHISTOPHELES _knocks_. ]

_Faust [stamping_]. Who's there?

_Mephistopheles_. A friend!

_Faust_. A beast!

_Mephistopheles_. Time flies, I don't offend you?

_Martha [entering_]. Yes, sir, 'tis growing late.

_Faust_. May I not now attend you?

_Margaret_. Mother would--Fare thee well!

_Faust_. And must I leave thee then? Farewell!

_Martha_. Ade!

_Margaret_. Till, soon, we meet again!

[_Exeunt_ FAUST _and_ MEPHISTOPHELES. ]

_Margaret_. Good heavens! what such a man's one brain
Can in itself alone contain!
I blush my rudeness to confess,
And answer all he says with yes.
Am a poor, ignorant child, don't see
What he can possibly find in me.

[_Exit_. ]




WOODS AND CAVERN.

_Faust_ [_alone_]. Spirit sublime, thou gav'st me, gav'st me all
For which I prayed. Thou didst not lift in vain
Thy face upon me in a flame of fire.
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!