No More Learning

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! the remembrance murders me!
Would she might still forgive me this side heaven! "

_Martha_ [_weeping_]. The dear good man! he has been long forgiven.

_Mephistopheles_. "But God knows, I was less to blame than she. "

_Martha_. A lie! And at death's door! abominable!

_Mephistopheles_. If I to judge of men half-way am able,
He surely fibbed while passing hence.
"Ways to kill time, (he said)--be sure, I did not need them;
First to get children--and then bread to feed them,
And bread, too, in the widest sense,
And even to eat my bit in peace could not be thought on. "

_Martha_. Has he all faithfulness, all love, so far forgotten,
The drudgery by day and night!

_Mephistopheles_. Not so, he thought of you with all his might.
He said: "When I from Malta went away,
For wife and children my warm prayers ascended;
And Heaven so far our cause befriended,
Our ship a Turkish cruiser took one day,
Which for the mighty Sultan bore a treasure.
Then valor got its well-earned pay,
And I too, who received but my just measure,
A goodly portion bore away. "

_Martha_. How? Where? And he has left it somewhere buried?

_Mephistopheles_. Who knows which way by the four winds 'twas carried?
He chanced to take a pretty damsel's eye,
As, a strange sailor, he through Naples jaunted;
All that she did for him so tenderly,
E'en to his blessed end the poor man haunted.

_Martha_. The scamp! his children thus to plunder!
And could not all his troubles sore
Arrest his vile career, I wonder?

_Mephistopheles_. But mark! his death wipes off the score.
Were I in your place now, good lady;
One year I'd mourn him piously
And look about, meanwhiles, for a new flame already.

_Martha_. Ah, God! another such as he
I may not find with ease on this side heaven!
Few such kind fools as this dear spouse of mine.
Only to roving he was too much given,
And foreign women and foreign wine,
And that accursed game of dice.

_Mephistopheles_. Mere trifles these; you need not heed 'em,
If he, on his part, not o'er-nice,
Winked at, in you, an occasional freedom.
I swear, on that condition, too,
I would, myself, 'change rings with you!

_Martha_. The gentleman is pleased to jest now!

_Mephistopheles [aside_]. I see it's now high time I stirred!
She'd take the very devil at his word.
[_To_ MARGERY. ]
How is it with your heart, my best, now?

_Margaret_. What means the gentleman?

_Mephistopheles. [aside_]. Thou innocent young heart!
[_Aloud_. ]
Ladies, farewell!

_Margaret_. Farewell!

_Martha_. But quick, before we part! --
I'd like some witness, vouching truly
Where, how and when my love died and was buried duly.
I've always paid to order great attention,
Would of his death read some newspaper mention.

_Mephistopheles_. Ay, my dear lady, in the mouths of two
Good witnesses each word is true;
I've a friend, a fine fellow, who, when you desire,
Will render on oath what you require.
I'll bring him here.

_Martha_. O pray, sir, do!

_Mephistopheles_. And this young lady 'll be there too?
Fine boy! has travelled everywhere,
And all politeness to the fair.

_Margaret_. Before him shame my face must cover.

_Mephistopheles_. Before no king the wide world over!

_Martha_. Behind the house, in my garden, at leisure,
We'll wait this eve the gentlemen's pleasure.




STREET.

FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES.

_Faust_. How now? What progress? Will 't come right?

_Mephistopheles_. Ha, bravo? So you're all on fire?
Full soon you'll see whom you desire.
In neighbor Martha's grounds we are to meet tonight.
That woman's one of nature's picking
For pandering and gipsy-tricking!

_Faust_. So far, so good!

_Mephistopheles_. But one thing we must do.

_Faust_. Well, one good turn deserves another, true.

_Mephistopheles_. We simply make a solemn deposition
That her lord's bones are laid in good condition
In holy ground at Padua, hid from view.

_Faust_. That's wise! But then we first must make the journey thither?

_Mephistopheles. Sancta simplicitas_! no need of such to-do;
Just swear, and ask not why or whether.

_Faust_. If that's the best you have, the plan's not worth a feather.

_Mephistopheles_. O holy man! now that's just you!
In all thy life hast never, to this hour,
To give false witness taken pains?
Have you of God, the world, and all that it contains,
Of man, and all that stirs within his heart and brains,
Not given definitions with great power,
Unscrupulous breast, unblushing brow?
And if you search the matter clearly,
Knew you as much thereof, to speak sincerely,
As of Herr Schwerdtlein's death? Confess it now!

_Faust_. Thou always wast a sophist and a liar.

_Mephistopheles_. Ay, if one did not look a little nigher.
For will you not, in honor, to-morrow
Befool poor Margery to her sorrow,
And all the oaths of true love borrow?

_Faust_. And from the heart, too.

_Mephistopheles_. Well and fair!
Then there'll be talk of truth unending,
Of love o'ermastering, all transcending--
Will every word be heart-born there?

_Faust_. Enough! It will! --If, for the passion
That fills and thrills my being's frame,
I find no name, no fit expression,
Then, through the world, with all my senses, ranging,
Seek what most strongly speaks the unchanging.
And call this glow, within me burning,
Infinite--endless--endless yearning,
Is that a devilish lying game?

_Mephistopheles_. I'm right, nathless!

_Faust_. 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?