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.—

Eugenie’sapartment in Gothic style.

Governess. Secretary.

Secretary.

Do I deserve that thou should’st flee me thus

The moment that I bring thee wish’d-for tidings?

Pray listen first to what I have to say.

Governess.

The burden of thy importunity

Too well I ween. Oh, let my eyes from seeing

The well-known glances, let my ears from hearing

The well-known accents ever turn away.

Let me escape the devastating power

Which through the influence of love and friendship

Beside me like a gloomy spectre stands.

Secretary.

When I before thee suddenly would pour,

After long hope deferr’d, the golden horn

Of fortune, when the morning-glow begins

That marks the dawning of the blissful day

That shall unite our lives forevermore,

Then seemest thou embarrass’d and reluctant

To meet thy bridegroom’s tenderest advances.

Governess.

Therein thou showest me one side alone:

It glows and glistens like the world in sunshine.

But black night’s horror threatens nigh: I feel it.

Secretary.

Then let us first see but the lovely side.

Desirest thou a dwelling in the city,

Spacious and handsome, furnish’d splendidly,

Such as one wishes for himself, for guests?

’Tis waiting for thee: when next winter comes

’Twill find thee settl’d nobly, if thou wilt.

In Springtime dost thou yearn to see the country,

There too a house is ours, a lovely garden,

A fertile field. And all the keen enjoyment

In forest, moors, in meadows, brooks and ponds

That fancy e’en in visions might imagine

Shall we possess, in part our own estate,

In part as common property. And thus,

Since nothing goes for rent, by careful saving

We shall be able to secure our future.

Governess.

The picture that thou paintest with such hues

Before my eyes is wrapp’d in gloomy clouds.

For not desirable but hideous seems

The abundance offer’d by the worldly gods.

What is the sacrifice they ask? To ruin

My gentle pupil’s happiness and fortune!

And whatsoe’er a crime like that might bring me,

Could I enjoy it with a quiet mind?

Eugenie! thou whose pure and gentle nature

From earliest youth entrusted to my guidance

With rich fruition has develop’d nobly.

How can I now distinguish in thee what

Is thine and what thou hast to thank me for?

Thee whom I love as my own handiwork

Must I then pluck out from my heart and ruin?

Of what base stuff are ye compos’d, ye monsters,

To dare demand a deed like this for lucre!

Secretary.

A good and honest heart preserves from youth

A store of precious treasures which in time

More costly grow and worthier of our love

To serve withal the Godhead of the temple.

Yet, when the mighty power that governs us

Demands a costly sacrifice, we yield it

At last although our hearts bleed at the duty.

Two worlds there be, my darling, which, conflicting

With awful violence, crush us between them.

Governess.

Thy steps appear to wander in a world

To me entirely foreign, since thou schemest

A treacherous stroke against thy noble patron,

The Duke, preparing days of sorrow for him

By holding to his son. If the Almighty

Appears at times to give assent to crime

We call it accident. But man who chooses

With due reflection such unlawful paths,

He is a puzzle. But—and am not I

A puzzle to myself that I should cling

With such affection to thee when thou strivest

To drag me with thee o’er the precipice?

Oh, why did Nature cast thee in her mould,

So pleasing, lovely, irresistible,

And plant within thy bosom a cold heart,

A heart destructive of the peace of others?

Secretary.

Dost thou distrust the warmth of my affection?

Governess.

This hand should slay me if I only dar’d.

Oh, why, alas! with this detested plot

Again assault my heart? Didst thou not swear

To hide the horror in everlasting night?

Secretary.

Alas! it rose with more impellent might!

This step is forc’d upon the Prince’s son.

An insignificant, inoffensive child

Eugenie was, for many peaceful years.

Commencing with her very earliest days,

Shrin’d in this ancient hall thou wert her guardian,

Few came to see her, and those secretly.

Yet how a father’s love deceiv’d itself.

The Duke, proud of his daughter’s excellence,

Relax’d his care and by degrees allow’d her

To show herself in public openly:

On horseback, driving, she is seen. All ask,

And all at last know, who the maiden is.

Her mother now is dead. The haughty dame,

To whom the child was an abomination,

A keen reminder of her fatal passion,

Had never recogniz’d her, scarcely seen her.

By her decease the Duke at last feels freed,

Devises secret plans, once more attends

At court, forgets the ancient grudge he owed

And seeks the King in reconciliation,

Demanding only that he grant this child

Her birthright as a princess of his race.

Governess.

And do you then begrudge this lovely creature

The joy of feeling that the right was hers?

Secretary.

Belov’d! dearest! ah, thou speakest lightly,

Thus wall’d and separated from the world,

In cloister-wise, of riches of the earth!

Turn hence thine eyes! A treasure such as this

Is valu’d there more truly at its worth.

The father grudges it his son, the son

Reckons his father’s years, and deadly discord

Parts brothers, through this right intangible.

And e’en the priest forgets his sacred goal

And strives for riches. Is it then surprising

That, when the Prince has always call’d himself

The only child, he should decline to welcome

This sister who with insolent intrusion

Diminishes his fair inheritance?

What, if in his place, would’st thou do thyself?

Governess.

Already is he not a wealthy Prince?

And at his father’s death will he not be

Superfluously rich? If he should spend

A part of his possessions would he waste them

In winning by them such a lovely sister?

Secretary.

To act with arbitrary will delights

The man of fortune. Nature’s claims he scorns;

He scorns the authority of law and reason,

And spends his substance on the throw of chance.

Merely to have sufficient is to starve.

Give all or nothing. Measureless possessions

For endless squandering are what he wishes.

Advice is not desir’d; think not to turn us.

If thou wilt not work with us, give us up.

Governess.

What is the deed ye plan? Long ye have threaten’d,

Holding aloof, to blast the lovely child.

What have ye now in monstrous crime devis’d

To spoil her chance of fortune. Do ye ask

That I should blindly cling to what ye plan?

Secretary.

By no means. Thou shalt be initiated.

The first step lies with thee. Our scheme demands

That thou abduct Eugenie. She must vanish

So utterly from knowledge of the world

That we can confidently mourn her death.

The secret of her fate must be conceal’d

Forever, like the secret of the dead.

Governess.

Ye doom her to a living grave, O villains,

And think to send me with her as companion.

Me too ye doom. I am with her to share—

I the betrayer chain’d to the betray’d—

The awful fate of death, a living death!

Secretary.

Thou shalt return when thou hast done the deed.

Governess.

Is it a cloister where her days will end?

Secretary.

Not in a cloister! Such a costly pledge

We could not give the clergy, who might use it

Against us as a most convenient tool.

Governess.

Then is it to the Islands? Tell me plainly!

Secretary.

Thy destination shall be known. Be patient!

Governess.

How can I be before the fear and danger

That threat my lov’d one’s happiness and mine?

Secretary.

Thy lov’d one in her new life joy will find.

And joy and rapture will await thee here.

Governess.

Oh, flatter not yourselves with such a hope!

What good is there in holding such temptations

Before me—forcing me, enticing me?

The noble child herself will block your scheme.

Think not to drag her off a willing victim

And helpless. Nay, the spirit that fills her heart

With courage, and the power inherited,

Will go with her where’er she goes, and break

The evil net which you have cast around her.

Secretary.

Thy part will be to make the meshes strong.

Wilt thou persuade me that a simple child,

Till now protected by the arm of Fortune,

Will show, when unexpected chance arises,

Forethought and power, sagacity and wisdom?

Her mind is cultur’d but to think, not act.

And if her thoughts are right, her speech delightful,

Yet much is lacking in her will to do.

The lofty boundless courage of ignorance

Sinks easily to cowardice and despair

When stern Necessity presents itself.

What we have plann’d see that thou carry out.

Small will the harm be, splendid the reward.

Governess.

Then give me time to ponder and decide.

Secretary.

The moment for the action is at hand.

The Duke knows well that the next holiday

The King will grant the favor long desired,

And recognize his daughter’s princely birth.

For clothes and costly jewels are provided

Already, laid in splendid cabinets,

The keys of which he guards with jealous care,

And thinks he keeps a perfect mystery.

But we are in his secret and prepar’d.

What we have schem’d must quickly now be done.

This evening thou’lt hear more. Till then farewell.

Governess.

On dubious paths ye work, on mischief bent,

And think ye see a profit in your plans.

Has no suspicion ever cross’d your mind

That over guilt and innocence there hovers

A Being from whose essence streams avenging

A light divine that rescues the oppress’d?

Secretary.

Who dares gainsay the ruling Providence

That shapes conformably to his own will

The outcome of our deeds whate’er they be?

Yet who presumes to make himself an arbiter

In God’s high councils? Who can know

The rule and law by which his fiat works?

We have our reason, and in stature grown

We walk erect upon the face of earth,

And our advantage is our highest right.

Governess.

Thus are ye traitors to the godlike

If ye despise the dictates of the heart!

It calls me boldly to ward off the danger

That hangs with horrid threat’ning o’er my darling;

It bids me arm myself against my lover,

Against the base designs that strong men harbor!

No glittering promise and no threats shall force me

To leave my rightful place beside my pupil:

Thus do I stand devoted to protect her.

Secretary.

Ah! sweetest, thou alone canst give her safety,

And thou alone the danger canst avert

And at the selfsame time assist our plan.

Lay hold upon her swiftly; take the maiden

As far as possible away, conceal her

That no one know her habitation! Else—

(Thou tremblest—for thou knowest well

The words upon my lips!) Since thou hast forc’d me

Let the alternative at last be said:—

Removal with her is the mildest measure—

If thou refusest to co-operate,

If thou art minded secretly to check us,

And if thou darest, out of friendly purpose,

To drop the slightest hint of what I tell thee,

Then dead she lies upon thy bosom! What

Would fill my heart with sorrow must be done!