You know what happens in Gounod's great opera, "Faust," which is
based on Goethe's work.
An old man--his name is Faust--yearns for youth. He gets the
youth, makes the devil's acquaintance, sells his soul to the
devil for the devil's help. In the opera the devil is politely
called Mephistopheles. Everybody is beautifully dressed, from
the devil and Faust, the peasant girls and the ballet dancers, to
the old grandmothers, with their diamonds and pearls, in the
boxes.
If you want to study human nature, you ought to look at the
respectable old and young women at the opera while "Faust" is
sung.
The centre of the whole thing is a young woman named Marguerite.
When the curtain goes up she has the best of intentions, the best
character, the prettiest of faces, and two long, yellow braids
down her back. She is dressed very prettily indeed, and in the
opera house she has a high-sounding name, like Melba, Nordica,
Calve or Patti.
Every night that "Faust" is sung this young woman goes to the
bad.
Every night that "Faust" is sung every woman in the audience
sympathizes with Marguerite, who behaves so badly. Many shed
tears over her misfortune. All forgive her, feel sorry for
her, and know that she is not to blame.
The most severe old woman in the most expensive box would put her
arms around Marguerite's neck and tell her not to fret. ----
How does that old lady act if on the way to her carriage she
finds the sidewalk obstructed by some unfortunate creature who
has Marguerite's sorrows without Marguerite's good clothes? Does
she not say that it is an outrage for the police to allow such
things?
Possibly she will observe that in the opera Marguerite has not a
fair chance.
Faust has such beautiful silk tights, one leg striped and the
other leg covered with spangles; and, besides, he has a devil to
bring a box of jewels to tempt Marguerite.
But we should like to tell the conservative old lady that the
erring housemaid whom she may have judged so severely had greater
temptation and a better excuse than did Marguerite, even though
she could not get her voice up quite so high.
Mephistopheles is just as busy with housemaids and poor,
overworked shopgirls as with any Marguerite that ever lived. And
his work is made easier by long hours, dull routine and hopeless
future.
It is strange and sad that moral women find it so easy to
sympathize with the Marguerite whose sins and life end in the
beautiful "Anges purs, anges radieux" aria written by Gounod, and
not with the Marguerite who ends in the hospital, the morgue and
the Potter's Field.
It makes a great difference, apparently, to moral and virtuous
women whether the erring Marguerite has a famous tenor on one
side of her and a famous basso on the other, or whether she has
on one side of her Bellevue Hospital and on the other side
Blackwell's Island.