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
That hymn which stirs the deepness of your souls, Inciting vainly for a nobler aim. You cannot feel your satisfaction’s bliss, Pleasure ferments disgust in every heart; Anxious you are, your lips are stammering — But it is futile, you no longer trust Your ancient gods, they are mere frozen stones (The statues of the gods crumble in dust.) Which crumble into dust. You cannot find New gods to lift you out of your own filth. Well, look around! What devastates your city Is far more forceful than the pestilence. Thousands abandon their reclining couches To join the throngs of hermits on the desert Of Thebais; and there they search for something Which may excite again their weakened senses. So, your perverted race shall perish from The surface of this now refining earth! HIPPI A (collapsing near the table.) Oh, woe to me, how dreadful is this pain! A chilly sweating... then... the fire of Orcus. The pestilence... I perish... oh... the plague! Nobody offers comfort... None of you. Yet you have shared so many joys with me. LUCIFER My darling! You, today; tomorrow, I. HIPPIA Then go ahead and kill me...or be cursed! PETER THE APOSTLE Don’t curse, my daughter, but forgive them all! I comfort you, and so does mighty God, The everlasting God of sacred Love. 192
