MARGARET.
| Then tell me: How do you stand on religion?
|
| You are a dear and warmhearted man,
|
| but I don’t believe you care for it.
|
FAUST.
| Let it be, my child. You know how dear you are to me.
|
| For those I love I’d give my blood and life;
|
3420
| I grant to everyone his feelings and his church.
|
MARGARET.
| That’s not enough. One must have faith.
|
FAUST.
MARGARET.
| Oh, if my words had some effect on you!
|
| You have no reverence for the Sacrament.
|
FAUST.
MARGARET.
| But you lack desire.
|
| When were you last at mass or at confession?
|
| Do you believe in God?
|
FAUST.
| My darling, who can really say:
|
| I believe in God!
|
| Ask any priest or sage,
|
| and their answer seems but mockery
|
| of him who asks the question.
|
MARGARET.
3430
| Then you don’t believe?
|
FAUST.
| Do not mistake me, sweetest light!
|
| Who may name Him,
|
| who profess:
|
| I believe in Him?
|
| Who dare think,
|
| who take the risk to say:
|
| I do not believe in Him?
|
| The All-Enfolding,
|
| All-Sustaining,
|
3440
| does He not uphold and keep
|
| you, me, Himself?
|
| Do you not see the vaulted skies above?
|
| Is our earth not firmly set below?
|
| Do not everlasting stars rise up
|
| to show their friendly light?
|
| Is my gaze not deeply locked in yours,
|
| and don’t you feel your being
|
| surging to your head and heart,
|
| weaving in perennial mystery
|
3450
| invisibly and visibly in you?
|
| Fill your heart to overflowing,
|
| and when you feel profoundest bliss,
|
| then call it what you will:
|
| Good fortune! Heart! Love! or God!
|
| I have no name for it!
|
| Feeling is all;
|
| the name is sound and smoke,
|
| beclouding Heaven’s glow.
|
MARGARET.
| All this is very well and good;
|
3460
| the priest says pretty much the same as you;
|
| though he says it differently.
|
FAUST.
| They say it everywhere,
|
| all hearts beneath the skies,
|
| each in his tongue and way;
|
| why not I in mine?
|
MARGARET.
| When you say it so, it seems all right,
|
| and yet there’s something wrong;
|
| you have no proper Christian faith.
|
FAUST.
MARGARET.
| I’ve long been sick at heart
|
3470
| to see you go about with your companion.
|
FAUST.
MARGARET.
| That person whom you have with you—
|
| I hate him from the bottom of my soul;
|
| nothing has in all my days
|
| wounded me as deeply in my heart
|
| as that repulsive person’s horrid face.
|
FAUST.
| My pet, be not afraid of him.
|
MARGARET.
| His presence makes my blood run cold
|
| —and yet I usually like everyone.
|
| I yearn to feast my eyes on you,
|
3480
| but for him I feel a nameless terror,
|
| and consider him a scoundrel too.
|
| God forgive me if I do him an injustice.
|
FAUST.
| One comes across queer ducks sometimes.
|
MARGARET.
| I would not want to live near such a type!
|
| When he steps inside the door,
|
| he peers about so sneeringly
|
| and hatefully.
|
| One can see he’s cold as ice;
|
| and by his brow one quickly knows
|
3490
| that he loves no one in the world.
|
| I feel so good when I’m in your arms,
|
| so free, so warm, so yielding,
|
| but his mere presence chokes me up inside.
|
FAUST.
| You foreboding angel, you.
|
MARGARET.
| I am so overcome by this,
|
| whenever he comes near I feel
|
| as if I’d fallen out of love with you.
|
| Nor can I ever pray when he’s about;
|
| he poisons and corrodes my heart.
|
3500
| And, Heinrich, surely you must feel the same.
|
FAUST.
| There, there, it’s just a strong antipathy.
|
MARGARET.
FAUST.
| Oh, shall I never
|
| hang upon your bosom one short hour,
|
| pressing breast on breast, my soul into your soul?
|
MARGARET.
| Oh, if I only slept alone,
|
| I should gladly leave the door unlatched tonight,
|
| but my mother’s slumber is not deep,
|
| and if she ever found us there together,
|
| I should die in terror on the spot.
|
FAUST.
3510
| My angel, there is really no impediment.
|
| I have this little flask. A mere three drops
|
| from it put in her glass will gently lull
|
| her nature into heavy sleep.
|
MARGARET.
| What would I not do for you?
|
| It will not harm her in the least, I hope.
|
FAUST.
| Would I suggest it then, my sweet?
|
MARGARET.
| Dearest man, when I but look at you
|
| I do not know what drives me to your will.
|
| Already I have done so much for you
|
3520
| that little else remains undone.
|
| (
Exits
.)
|
| (
MEPHISTOPHELES
enters
.)
|
MEPHISTOPHELES.
| The little monkey! Has she gone?
|
FAUST.
MEPHISTOPHELES.
| I took in every small detail;
|
| now Herr Doktor has been catechized—
|
| I hope it will agree with you.
|
| Those girls are always out to know
|
| if you’re devout according to tradition.
|
| They think, “If he but yields a little, we’ve got him all the way.”
|
FAUST.
| You, monster, fail to see
|
| how this trusting, loving soul,
|
3530
| imbued with her religion—
|
| her one and only road to beatitude—
|
| torments herself in holy fear
|
| lest her belov’d be lost and damned forever.
|
MEPHISTOPHELES.
| You more than sensual, sensual lover,
|
| the little girl has tied a string to you.
|
FAUST.
| You scum, you misbegotten filth and fire!
|
MEPHISTOPHELES.
| And she’s quite an expert in physiognomy.
|
| When I am there, she feels a vague constriction.
|
| She reads a hidden sense behind the face I show
|
3540
| and is convinced I am a genius of sorts,
|
| and possibly the very devil.
|
| Well, and tonight—?
|
FAUST.
MEPHISTOPHELES.
| I feel the keenest pleasure!
|
AT THE WELL
Gretchen and Lieschen, with earthen jugs
.
LIESCHEN.
| What’s the news from Barbara?
|
GRETCHEN.
| Not a word. I don’t get out a lot, you know.
|
LIESCHEN.
| It’s true, Sibylle told me so today!
|
| She’s finally been taken in.
|
| So much for giving oneself airs!
|
GRETCHEN.
LIESCHEN.
| It stinks!
|
| Now she must eat and drink for two.
|
GRETCHEN.
LIESCHEN.
| At last she’s got what she’s been looking for.
|
| She’s been fawning on that fellow all this time.
|
| All that promenading,
|
| to the village and to dancing places;
|
| she—first in line on all occasions,
|
| he—plying her with cakes and wine,
|
| and she parading her good looks.
|
| She was brazen, had no sense of shame,
|
| accepting all his presents.
|
3560
| They kissed and coddled once too often,
|
| and now her flower has been plucked.
|
GRETCHEN.
LIESCHEN.
| You have pity on her yet?
|
| While girls like us were spinning at the wheel,
|
| and our mothers never let us out at night,
|
| she was cooing with her lover,
|
| on a bench or in a darkened alley;
|
| the time seemed never long to them.
|
| Now it’s her turn to duck and hide
|
| and do penance in a sinner’s shirt.
|
GRETCHEN.
3570
| Surely he will take her for his wife.
|
LIESCHEN.
| He’d be a fool! A smart young fellow
|
| will look around for different air to breathe.
|
| Well, anyway, he’s gone.
|
GRETCHEN.
