MELCHIOR.

I know of no book, Mamma, in which I have found so much beauty. Why shouldn't I read it?

FRAU GABOR.

Because you can't understand it.

MELCHIOR.

You can't know that, Mamma. I feel very well that I am not yet able to grasp the work in its entirety----

MORITZ.

We always read together; that helps our understanding wonderfully.

FRAU GABOR.

You are old enough, Melchior, to be able to know what is good and what is bad for you. Do what you think best for yourself. I should be the first to acknowledge your right in this respect, because you have never given me a reason to have to deny you anything. I only want to warn you that even the best can do one harm when one isn't ripe enough in years to receive it properly.----I would rather put my trust in you than in conventional educational methods.----If you need anything, children, you, Melchior, come up and call me. I shall be in my bedroom.

(_Exit._)

MORITZ.

Your Mamma means the story of Gretchen.

MELCHIOR.

Weren't we discussing it just a moment ago!

MORITZ.

Faust himself cannot have deserted her in cold blood!

MELCHIOR.

The masterpiece does not end with this infamous action!----Faust might have promised the maiden marriage, he might have forsaken her afterwards, but in my eyes he would have been not a hair less worthy of punishment. Gretchen might have died of a broken heart for all I care.----One sees how this attracts the eyes continually; one might think that the whole world turned on s.e.x![2]

MORITZ.

To be frank with you, Melchior, I have almost the same feeling since I read your explanation.----It fell at my feet during the first vacation days. I was startled. I fastened the door and flew through the flaming lines as a frightened owl flies through a burning wood----I believe I read most of it with my eyes shut. Your explanation brought up a host of dim recollections, which affected me as a song of his childhood affects a man on his deathbed when heard from the lips of another. I felt the most vehement pity over what you wrote about maidens. I shall never lose that sensation. Believe me, Melchior, to suffer a wrong is sweeter than to do a wrong. To be overcome by such a sweet wrong and still be blameless seems to me the fullness of earthly bliss.

MELCHIOR.

I don't want my bliss as alms!

MORITZ.

But why not?

MELCHIOR.

I don't want anything for which I don't have to fight!

MORITZ.

Is it enjoyable then, Melchior?----The maiden's enjoyment is as that of the holy G.o.ds. The maiden controls herself, thanks to her self-denial. She keeps herself free from every bitterness until the last moment, in order that she may see the heavens open over her in an instant. The maiden fears h.e.l.l even at the moment that she perceives a blooming paradise. Her feeling is as pure as a mountain spring. The maiden holds a cup over which no earthly breath has blown as yet; a nectar chalice, the contents of which is spilled when it flames and flares.----The enjoyment that the man finds in that, I think, is insipid and flat.

MELCHIOR.

You can think what you like about it, but keep your thoughts to yourself----I don't like to think about it.

SCENE SECOND.

_A Dwelling Room._

FRAU BERGMANN.

(_Enters by the center door. Her face is beaming. She is without a hat, wears a mantilla on her head and has a basket on her arm._)

Wendla! Wendla!

WENDLA.

(_Appears in petticoats and corset in the doorway to the right._)

What's the matter, Mother?

FRAU BERGMANN.

You are up already, child? Now, that is nice of you!

WENDLA.

You have been out already?

FRAU BERGMANN.

Get dressed quickly!----You must go down to Ina's at once. You must take her this basket!

WENDLA.

(_Dressing herself during the following conversation._)

You have been to Ina's?--How is Ina?--Is she ever going to get better?

FRAU BERGMANN.

Only think, Wendla, last night the stork paid her a visit and brought her a little baby boy!