Part 48

He loves me--loves me not.

FAUST

Sweet angel, with thy face of heavenly bliss!

MARGARET (continues)

He loves me--not--he loves me--not-- (Plucking off the last leaf with fond joy.)

He loves me!

FAUST

Yes! And this flower-language, darling, let it be, A heavenly oracle! He loveth thee! Know'st thou the meaning of, He loveth thee? (He seizes both her hands.)

MARGARET

I tremble so!

FAUST

Nay! Do not tremble, love! Let this hand-pressure, let this glance reveal Feelings, all power of speech above; To give oneself up wholly and to feel A joy that must eternal prove! Eternal!--Yes, its end would be despair. No end!--It cannot end! (MARGARET presses his hand, extricates herself, and runs away. He stands a moment in thought, and then follows her.)

MARTHA (approaching)

Night's closing.

MEPHISTOPHELES

Yes, we'll presently away.

MARTHA

I would entreat you longer yet to stay; But 'tis a wicked place, just here about; It is as if the folk had nothing else to do, Nothing to think of too, But gaping watch their neighbours, who goes in and out; And scandal's busy still, do whatsoe'er one may. And our young couple?

MEPHISTOPHELES

They have flown up there. The wanton butterflies!

MARTHA

He seems to take to her.

MEPHISTOPHELES

And she to him. 'Tis of the world the way!

A SUMMER-HOUSE

(MARGARET runs in, hides behind the door, holds the tip of her finger to her lip, and peeps through the crevice.)

MARGARET

He comes!