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 II.

Duke. Secretary.

Duke.

O baleful light! thou call’st me back to life,

Thou bringest me to knowledge of the world

And of myself again. How barren, bare and hollow

Lies all before me now, and burn’d to ashes!

A heap of ruins is my happiness!

Secretary.

If each and every of thy faithful friends

Who suffer with thee at this hour could bear

A portion of thy sorrows, how would’st thou

Not feel thyself renew’d in strength and courage!

Duke.

The wound to love like love itself remains

Incurable, unending! Now I know

The terrible disaster which befalls

The man who misses his accustom’d weal.

Oh, why did you allow these well-known walls

To shine upon me with their bravery

Of gold and color, calling back the days—

The yesterdays—of my complete delight

With chilling sense of loss? Why did you not

Envelop halls and chambers with black crape,

So that the everlasting shades of night,

Without me as within, might cast their gloom?

Secretary.

Oh, would that still thy many blessings might

In spite of loss seem something in thy sight!

Duke.

A dream embodied, free from spirit bonds!

She was the living soul that fill’d this house.

Whene’er I wak’d how sweet before mine eyes

Hover’d the image of the lovely maiden!

Here oft I found a leaflet from her hand,

A soulful, heartfelt word for morning greeting!

Secretary.

How oft the wish to give her father joy

Express’d itself in fresh melodious verse!

Duke.

The hope of seeing her alone reliev’d

The weary hours of slow laborious days!

Secretary.

And when delay and hindrance clogg’d the wheels,

With what impatience hast thou yearn’d for her,

As the rash lover yearns to see his mistress.

Duke.

Make no compare between the fire of youth

Devouring selfishly the thing it clutches

And that ecstatic glow a father feels

Who, fill’d with contemplation rapt, rejoices

At all development of wondrous powers,

At all the giant strides in culture’s path.

The present is the pledge that love demands.

The future is the parent’s treasur’d boon.

There lie the spreading acres of his hopes,

And there the ripening harvest of his joys!

Secretary.

Alas! these boundless pleasures thou hast lost;

This ever blossoming hope is now destroy’d.

Duke.

And have I lost it? But a moment since

Its perfect glory fill’d my joyful soul.

Alas! ’tis gone! Let your laments arise.

Let grief destroy this solid edifice

Which age too generous has preserv’d till now!

Accurs’d be all that’s left to me! accurs’d!

And all that shakes and totters now be welcome!

Boil up, ye floods, break o’er the dykes and change

The land to sea! Ye raging gulfs, o’erwhelm

In dire destruction ship and crew and treasure!

Spread out, ye war-compelling ranks, and drown

The fields with gore and every form of death!

Flash forth, ye lightning bolts, across the waste

And blast the haughty heads of solid towers,

Cast stone from stone, let flames arise and scourge

With horrid fury all the haunts of men,

That I, ring’d round by universal sorrow,

May bend before the Fate that hounds me!

Secretary.

This unexpected tragedy so monstrous

Weighs fearfully upon thee, noble Duke!

Duke.

Most suddenly it came, not unforewarn’d!

A happy Fate brought her from realms of death,

And in my arms she came to life again.

I saw with hasty passing glance the horror

Which now confronts me with its frozen stare.

I should have punish’d then her recklessness,

Have set my face with sternest opposition

Against her daring, and have check’d the madness

Which blindly deem’d itself invulnerable,

Immortal, and which sent her from the cliff,

Through wood and stream and thicket like a bird.

Secretary.

How should such deeds made certain by success

Have given presentiment of coming woe?

Duke.

The presage of these woes full well I felt

When I the last—when I the last time saw—

Yea! speak it out—the devastating word

That builds a hedge of darkness round thy way!

Oh, would that I had seen her once again!

Perchance, I might have warded off this blow!

I would have knelt before her, would have pray’d,

Have warn’d her, with a father’s faithful warning,

To spare herself and me, and for the sake Of future fortune to attempt no risk,

Of future fortune to attempt no risk,

Though tempted by the madness of the chase.

Alas! this hour was not vouchsaf’d to me!

And now I’ve lost my precious child forever.

She is no more! Her boldness only grew

From having easily escap’d that fall.

And no one there to warn her, none to guide!

The discipline of childhood was forgotten!

Whose hands did I entrust with such a treasure?

The hands compliant, pampering, of a woman!

No stringent word to bend my daughter’s will

In ways of temperate reasonableness!

With freedom uncontroll’d she let her roam

O’er every field that offer’d reckless daring.

I felt it oft and often half confess’d

That she was ill watch’d by her governess.

Secretary.

Oh, cast not blame upon that hapless creature!

In company with deathless grief she wanders,

God knows in what far land, now, unconsol’d!

She fled! for who could look thee in the face

If conscious that the least reproach were due?

Duke.

Oh, let me wreak my wrath on blameless others

Lest in despair I tear myself in pieces!

For I myself must bear the blame, though heavy.

Did I not with my foolish fond beginnings

Tempt death and danger on my darling’s head?

It was my pride to see the maiden win

The mastery of every undertaking.

And now I pay the fearful price in full.

In carriage, in the saddle should she shine,

A heroine for guiding foaming steeds!

Or diving through the water did she seem

A goddess to command the elements.

And so she thought to conquer every danger.

Ah me! instead of giving preservation

The wont of danger now has brought her death!

Secretary.

The wont of duty’s grand behests has brought

Death to the ne’er-to-be-forgotten maiden!

Duke.

Explain thyself!

Secretary.

And shall I wake thy pain

By telling of the childlike noble action?

Her aged, first and highly-honored friend

And teacher, from this city dwells remote,

In melancholy, pain, misanthropy.

’Twas she alone was able to console him.

Compassion put this on her as a duty;

But often when she wish’d to visit him

Her governess denied her. But she plann’d

To compass it. She boldly used the hours

Devoted to her morning ride to dash

With splendid wild impetuosity

And visit the aged, well-beloved man.

A single groom alone was in the secret.

This time he must have put the saddle on

As we suspect; for he cannot be found.

The wretched man and that unhappy woman

Both vanish’d from the world from fear of thee.

Duke.

Fortunate both! who nothing have to fear,

Whose sorrow for their master’s vanish joy

Has lightly chang’d to mere anxiety.

I too have naught to fear, have naught to hope,

So let me hear the whole and spare me not

The least detail! My soul is iron wrought.