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 VII.

Eugenie. Monk.

Eugenie.

(Standing long in contemplation, then lifting her eyes and seeing theMonk.)

I cannot doubt it: here at last is safety.

Yes, this is he who shall decide my course.

In answer to my prayer he comes to me,

A man of wisdom, full of years, to whom

The heart unhesitating flies for succor.

[Approaching him.

My father! let the sweet, paternal name

To me denied, forbidden and embitter’d,

Be now transferr’d to thee, the noble stranger.

Let me narrate my trouble in few words.

With pain and yet with confidence I lay it

Upon thy heart, not for thy quality

Of wisdom and discreetness, but because

Thou art an aged man belov’d by God.

Monk.

What troubles thee disclose with perfect freedom.

Through Providence the sufferer meets with him

Who ever must regard his highest duty

The alleviation of the woes of others.

Eugenie.

A riddle thou wilt hear and not complaints.

For I would seek an oracle, not counsel.

In two detestable directions stretch

Two paths before my feet. The one leads hither,

The other thence. Which one shall I select?

Monk.

Thou art a tempter to me. Thou wilt count

My answer as a lot?

Eugenie.

A sacred lot.

Monk.

If I conceive thee right, thy eyes aspire

To higher regions out of deepest need.

The will is stricken dead within thy heart.

Thou hopest for a stronger to decide.

In sooth, incomprehensibly to us,

The ever-active Agent as by chance

Sets this or that before us, for our good,

For our deliberation, our decision,

Or our accomplishment: thus, as it were,

Carried, in spite of us we win the goal.

To comprehend this is the richest fortune;

’Tis absolute duty not to interfere,

To wait in patience, comfort in distress.

Oh, would that I were granted grace to feel

Beforehand what were truly best for thee.

But in my breast presentiment is silent.

And if thou canst confide no more in me

Then take a fruitless pity for farewell.

Eugenie.

Shipwreck’d I still have one last spar to clutch.

I hold thee fast and speak against my will

For the last time the word that crushes hope.

A scion of a noble house I now

Am outcast, banish’d o’er the sea; but yet

I could avoid my fate through marriage bonds

Which drag me down to low ignoble spheres.

What whispers now thy heart? Still is it silent?

Monk.

Let it not speak until my searching reason

Shall be oblig’d to recognize its weakness.

The story which to me thou hast confided

Is too indefinite, and my advice

Can likewise only be indefinite.

If thou art forc’d to choose between two evils

Both hated, face them boldly, and then choose

The one that will allow thee widest scope

For worthy deeds and holy undertakings,

That puts the smallest limits to thy spirit,

That hinders thee the least from noble actions.

Eugenie.

It is not marriage then that thou advisest?

Monk.

Not such an one as seems to threaten thee.

What blessing can the priest give when the “Yes”

Proceeds not from the fair bride’s inmost heart?

He should not chain two contraries together

Lest conflict ever freshly born should rise.

It is his godlike service to fulfil

The wish of Love which to the All, the one,

To the eternal joins the momentary,

And that which fades to that which lasts forever.

Eugenie.

Thou sendest me to woe across the ocean.

Monk.

Go hence with comfort for the wretched there.

Eugenie.

What comfort can I give in dark despair?

Monk.

A pure heart as is witness’d by thy face.

A noble courage, lofty, boundless thoughts,

Will hold thee firm and others, wheresoe’er

On earth thy steps may wander. If thou now

In bloom of youth art banish’d innocent,

And bearest through thy solemn acquiescence

The imputation of the sins of others,

Then wilt thou, like a superhuman nature,

Diffuse a wondrous virtue all around thee—

The happy fortune of thy innocence.

So then go hence! Go like a healing breeze

Within the circle of those sorrowing ones;

Rejoice with thy appearance that sad world.

Through powerful words, through mighty deeds encourage

New strength in hearts that have forgot to hope.

Unite the scatter’d into bands around thee.

Bind them in love together, all to thee.

Create there what thou here hast lost,

A race and fatherland and princely house.

Eugenie.

Would’st thou have faith to do what thou commandest?

Monk.

Thus have I done. When still my years were young

The spirit led me into savage lands.

I chang’d rough lives to gentle practices;

I gave the hope of heaven unto death.

Oh, had I not, misled by genuine longing

To serve my fatherland, turn’d back my steps

Unto this desert of audacious life,

This city wilderness of subtile crimes,

This troubled pool of selfish vanity!

The era’s impotency chains my spirit,

Old customs, duties and perhaps a fate

That brought its heaviest trial on me late.

But thou art young, and free from every hindrance;

The wide world lies before thee; press thou on

And get salvation. All the grief thou feelest

Will change to genuine pleasure. Hasten forth!

Eugenie.

Explain more clearly what it is thou fearest.

Monk.

In darkness comes the future pressing on;

What closest lies before us is not seen

E’en by the open eyes of sense, of reason.

If I by daylight wander through these streets

In wonder, and behold the splendid buildings,

The solid bulks rocklike with lofty towers,

The parks with palaces, the noble churches,

And see the harbor with its fleets of ships—

It all appears to me dispos’d and founded

To last forever, and these hurrying throngs

Of busy workers rushing on and on

In ceaseless waves through all the spaces seem

The promise of eternal lastingness.

But when at night this mighty panorama

Repasses through the chambers of my mind,

Then all the murky air is fill’d with rumblings,

The solid earth gives way, the towers totter,

The fitted stonework falls, and all the glory

Which fill’d the scene is scatter’d in confusion.

A few sad creatures climb the hills new risen,

And every heap of rubbish marks a tomb.

A lessen’d people, hard-oppress’d, no more

Are able to restrain the elements;

And with its restless overflow the tide

Fills up the harbor with its sand and slime.

Eugenie.

Night first disarms a man and then in spite

Subdues him with her idle fantasies.

Monk.

Ah! soon enough the sun’s face veil’d in sadness

Comes forth to look upon our woful plight.

But thou must go, thou whom a kindly spirit

Bless’d e’en in banishing. Farewell and hasten!