Bereczky Erzsébet (szerk.): Imre Madách: The Tragedy of Man. Essays about the ideas and the directing of the Drama (Budapest, 1985)

Imre Madách: The Tragedy of Man - full text of the drama - Translated by Joseph Grosz

EVE

Oh Pharaoh, perhaps I weary you With all my useless, silly chattering; I am so sorry that I am not wise.

ADAM

Don’t ever try to be, my darling, wiser;

I have sufficient brain for all my need.

I do not rest upon your heart for strength And greatness, nor for wisdom; that I find Much better in my scrolls and documents. You keep on talking; when I hear your voice, Its tender music makes my heart rejoice.

No matter what you say, it’s all the same.

Who orders birds to sing mellow or strong? Yet still, entranced, we listen to each song.

Be just a precious trinket, a flower on earth, Useless but pretty - thus fulfill your worth ... (To Lucifer.)

And yet a longing stirs my happiness,

Perhaps a silly wish; fulfill it! Yes,

Let me make one audacious look ahead Into millenia; when I am dead What will befall my fame?

LUCIFER

As you keep toying, Do you not feel the tepid breeze’s play, Kissing your face before it drifts away?

A tiny film of dust remains behind.

Only an inch a year, or two, or three,

But several feet during a century.

A few millenia have buried everything:

Your pyramid is covered, sand-bestrewn, Your name is buried deep beneath the dune;

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