The Online Library of Liberty

A project of Liberty Fund, Inc.

• Faust a Tragedy
• Faust First Part
• Dramatis PersonÆ.
• Dedication.
• Prologue For the Theatre.
• Prologue In Heaven.
• Walpurgis-night.
• Walpurgis-night’s Dream; Or, Oberon and Titania’s Golden Wedding Feast. Intermezzo.
• Faust. Second Part
• Dramatis PersonÆ.
• Act I.
• Act II.
• Act III.
• Act IV.
• Act V.
• Egmont
• Dramatis PersonÆ.
• Act I.
• Scene I.—: Soldiers and Citizens, With Cross-bows.
• Scene II.—: Palace of the Regent.
• Scene III.—: Citizen’s House.
• Act II.
• Scene I.—: Square In Brussels.
• Scene II.—: Egmont’s Residence.
• Act III.
• Scene I.—: Palace of the Regent.
• Scene II.—: Clara’s Dwelling.
• Act IV.
• Scene I.—: A Street.
• Scene II.—: The Palace of Eulenberg, Residence of the Duke of Alva.
• Act V.
• Scene I.—: A Street. Twilight.
• Scene II.: A Prison.
• Scene III.—: Clara’s House.
• Scene IV.—: A Prison.
• The Natural Daughter a Tragedy
• Dramatis PersonÆ.
• Act I.
• Scene I.—: Thick Wood.
• Scene II.—: The Same.
• Scene III.
• Scene IV.—: The Same.
• Scene V.
• Scene VI.
• Act II.
• Scene I.—: Eugenie’s Apartment In Gothic Style.
• Scene II.
• Scene III.
• Scene IV.
• Scene V.
• Act III.
• Scene I.—: The Antechamber of the Duke, Furnished In Magnificent Modern Style.
• Scene II.
• Scene III.
• Scene IV.
• Act IV.
• Scene I.—: Park At the Port. On One Side a Palace, On the Other a Church; In the Background a Row of Trees Through Which the Port Is Seen Below. Eugenie, Enveloped In a Veil, Seated On a Bench In the Background, With Face Turned to the Sea.
• Scene II.
• Scene III.
• Scene IV.
• Act V.
• Scene I.—: Plaza At the Port.
• Scene II.—: The Same.
• Scene III.
• Scene IV.—: The Same.
• Scene V.
• Scene VI.
• Scene VII.
• Scene VIII.
• Scene IX.
• The Sorrows of Young Werther
• Book I.
• Book II.
• The Editor to the Reader.
• Colma.
• Rhyno.
• Alpin.

SCENE I.—

Thick Wood.

King. Duke.

King.

Our fleeting goal attracting dogs and man

To follow swift along the winding course—

The noble stag has led us far astray

O’er vales and mountains, till I needs must own

That I myself, although so country-wise,

Am quite at loss. Where are we, uncle? Duke,

Pray tell me what these hills are that we cross’d!

Duke.

The brook that babbles past us, Sire, arises

Upon thy servant’s near domain, for which

He has to thank the generous grace bestow’d

By thee and by thy royal ancestors

Upon him, as first vassal of the realm.

Beyond the rocks of yonder eminence

A pleasant house stands hid by veils of green,

Not built at all for housing royalty,

But ready to receive thee, if thou wilt.

King.

Nay! let the lofty arches of these trees

Give shelter for the moment that we rest,

And let the gentle stirring of the breeze

Weave round us, while the joy of peaceful scenes

Succeeds the joy of dashing o’er the course.

Duke.

The pleasure that thou feelest here, O King,

Behind this lovely screen of Nature’s work,

In absolute seclusion, I also feel.

Here comes not nigh the voice of discontent,

Nor yet the hand of shameless violence.

Here in the freedom born of loneliness

Thou seest not the ungrateful slink away.

The restless world, which ever makes demand

And never lends its aid, is vanish’d now.

King.

If I shall e’er forget what once oppress’d me

Then let no word recall me to its trials.

Ye echoes of the distant world’s commotion,

Little by little vanish from my ears!

Yea, prithee, uncle, suit thy fair discourse

To circumstances fitter for this spot.

Here wife and husband, hand-in-hand, should roam,

Rejoicing in the sight of comely children,

The highest reach of joy; here friend with friend

Draw nigh, disclosing every secret pleasure.

And didst not thou erewhile drop gentle hints

That when a quiet moment could be ours

Thou hadst some weighty secret to confess,

Some contemplated favor to demand,

Which, granted, would rejoice your faithful heart?

Duke.

O Sire, no greater kindness could’st thou show me

Than setting free the fountain of my speech.

And what I fain would tell who else could hear

More fitly than my King, among whose treasures

None shine with such a lustre as his children,—

Who, I am sure, will give his sympathy

In all the father’s joy his servant feels?

King.

Of father’s joy thou speakest! Know’st thou then

Its heavenly rapture? Has thy only son

Not torn thy loving heart by lawless actions,

By disobedience, by unfilial scorn,

Until thy sadden’d life reach’d bitter age?

Has he then lately chang’d his evil ways?

Duke.

From him I have no hope of happier days,

His idle mind gives birth to clouds alone

Which ever gloom the horizon of my life.

A different star it is that sheds its light

Upon me. As in cheerless caverns shine,

Mysterious with their wonder-working rays,

Bright precious stones (so fairy legends say),

And gleam across the murky night which reigns,

So in my gloomy life a magic gift

Was granted, blessing me beyond all words—

A gift I cherish more than lands and gold

Inherited or won by deeds of war,

Yea, more than sight, more than the light of life,

And guard with joy and fear, with pain and pleasure.

King.

Speak not so darkly of the mystery dark.

Duke.

’Twould not be easy to confess our faults

In ears of royalty, were royalty

Alone not able to convert their harm

To fair results of right and good report.

King.

The treasure guarded with such watchful love?

Duke.

That treasure is a daughter.

King.

What! a daughter?

And like the gods in fable, uncle, stole

In secret hither to earth’s lower circles

To take delight in earthly love and bliss?

Duke.

Small things as well as great compell’d us, Sire,

To hide our actions from the world’s dispraise.

The lady, bound to me by wondrous Fate

In secret union, stood so high in rank:—

And even now thy court wears mourning garb

And secret sorrow gnaws my heart for her.

King.

The Princess? She who lately died

So honor’d and so mourn’d?

Duke.

She was the mother.

But let me speak of her alone—my child,

Who, living better than her parents liv’d,

Rejoices in the noble joys of life—

And all the rest leave buried in the grave

Of her the gifted, lofty-minded woman.

Her death at last unseals my lips. I dare

Before my King to name my daughter now—

I dare demand of him to lift her up

Upon a level with me and her peers,

To recognize her right to princely birth

Before his court, his kingdom and the world,

So sure am I of favor in his heart!

King.

If all the virtues of her noble parents

Are found united in this niece whom thou

Preparest to present me ready grown,

Then must the court, then must our royal house,

From which a brilliant star set all too soon,

Give welcome to the new star rising fair.

Duke.

Oh, learn to know her ere thou judgest her

With prejudice. Let not a father’s pride

Pervert thee. Much has Nature done for her

Which I with rarest pleasure contemplate.

And all the culture which our rank demands

Has, since her babyhood, been warmly foster’d.

Her steps were guided from her earliest days

By a skilful governess, a wise professor.

With what light-heartedness and pleasant wit

She makes the present serve her ready mind,

While poet Fancy paints with flattering hues

The fortune which she waits with eager joy!

Her gentle heart clings to her loving father,

Although her spirit willingly gives heed

To wise discourse of noble-thinking men,

Leading her slowly up the hill of learning.

And all the exercise of princely virtues

Is manifest in her fair graceful form.

Sire! thou thyself hast seen her unbeknown,

While round thee whirl’d the tumult of the chase.

To-day a daughter of the Amazons

She first upon the traces of the stag

Dash’d gallantly across the swelling stream.

King.

We trembled when we saw the noble maid.

I am rejoic’d to know she is my kin.

Duke.

And not to-day alone I learn’d to know

How pride and apprehension, joy and trouble

Commingle in a father’s yearning breast.

King.

With mighty force and panting strove the steed

To land his rider on the farther shore,

Where thick-grown bushes hide the dusky hill,

And thus she vanish’d from my sight.

Duke.

Once more

My eyes beheld her ere the labyrinth

Of bosky forest led us thus astray.

Who knows what distant field she now explores

With heart on fire because she miss’d the goal,

Where now alone it is permitted her

To approach the presence of her King revered,

And humbly wait until with royal favor

She is acknowledg’d as his kith and kin—

The latest blossom of his ancient line.

King.

But what is yonder tumult that I see?

What means the running towards the precipice?