Martha's Garden
MARGARET
Promise me, Henry!—
FAUST
What I can!
MARGARET
How is't with thy religion, pray?
Thou art a dear, good-hearted man,
And yet, I think, dost not incline that way.
FAUST
Leave that, my child! Thou know'st my love is tender;
For love, my blood and life would I surrender,
And as for faith and church, I grant to each his own.
MARGARET
That's not enough: we must believe thereon.
FAUST
Must we?
MARGARET
Would that I had some influence!
Then, too, thou honorest not the Holy Sacraments.
FAUST
I honor them.
MARGARET
Desiring no possession.
'Tis long since thou hast been to mass or to confession.
Believest thou in God?
FAUST
My darling, who shall dare
"I believe in God!" to say?
Ask priest or sage the answer to declare,
And it will seem a mocking play,
A sarcasm on the asker.
MARGARET
Then thou believest not!
FAUST
Hear me not falsely, sweetest countenance!
Who dare express Him?
And who profess Him,
Saying: I believe in Him!
Who, feeling, seeing,
Deny His being,
Saying: I believe Him not!
The All-enfolding,
The All-upholding,
Folds and upholds he not
Thee, me, Himself?
Arches not there the sky above us?
Lies not beneath us, firm, the earth?
And rise not, on us shining
Friendly, the everlasting stars?
Look I not, eye to eye, on thee,
And feel'st not, thronging
To head and heart, the force,
Still weaving its eternal secret,
Invisible, visible, round thy life?
Vast as it is, fill with that force thy heart,
And when thou in the feeling wholly blessed art,
Call it, then, what thou wilt,—
Call it Bliss! Heart! Love! God!—
I have no name to give it!
Feeling is all in all:
The Name is sound and smoke,
Obscuring Heaven's clear glow.
MARGARET
All that is fine and good, to hear it so:
Much the same way the preacher spoke,
Only with slightly different phrases.
FAUST
The same thing, in all places,
All hearts that beat beneath the heavenly day—
Each in its language—say;
Then why not I in mine as well?
MARGARET
To hear it thus, it may seem passable;
And yet some hitch in't there must be,
For thou hast no Christianity.
FAUST
Dear love!
MARGARET
I've long been grieved to see
That thou art in such company.
FAUST
How so?
MARGARET
The man who with thee goes, thy mate,
Within my deepest, inmost soul I hate.
In all my life there's nothing
Has given my heart so keen a pang of loathing
As his repulsive face has done.
FAUST
Nay, fear him not, my sweetest one!
MARGARET
I feel his presence like something ill.
I've else, for all, a kindly will,
But, much as my heart to see thee yearneth,
The secret horror of him returneth;
And I think the man a knave, as I live!
If I do him wrong, may God forgive!
FAUST
There must be such queer birds, however.
MARGARET
Live with the like of him may I never!
When once inside the door comes he,
He looks around so sneeringly,
And half in wrath:
One sees that in nothing no interest he hath:
'Tis written on his very forehead
That love, to him, is a thing abhorred.
I am so happy on thine arm,
So free, so yielding, and so warm,
And in his presence stifled seems my heart.
FAUST
Foreboding angel that thou art!