By Georg Büchner, Henry J. Schmidt
An immense variation of Büchner's work--sure to fulfill any pupil. Translator provides tremendous notes (nearly part the e-book contains serious fabric, manuscripts, correspondence, etc.) and an outstanding bibliography (through 1977, of course).
Not to overlook if you're trying to find a credible translation with loads of severe content material.
*note, a pair pages weren't scanned adequately and the first/last syllable should be lacking on a part dozen pages. not more than that. if reminiscence serves, it merely happened in a single web page of Woyzeck or a few play, and perhaps pages of severe subject on Danton's demise. a majority of these have been nonetheless understandable--just, demanding to adequately quote maybe.
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Additional resources for The Complete Collected Works
We do not know whether the cart on which Ronsin rode to the guillotine was the hearse of freedom or not, but we do know that since that day Chalier’s murderers again walk the earth as if there were no grave for them. Have you forgotten that Lyons is a blot on French soil, which we must cover with the bones of traitors? Have you forgotten that this whore of kings3 can only wash away her leprosy in the waters of the Rhone? Have you forgotten that this revolutionary torrent must make Pitt’s M editerranean fleets run aground upon the corpses of the aristocrats?
The room’s so empty, the windows are open, as if a dead man had been lying here. I can’t stand it up here. ) 4 Open field. Danton. I won’t go on. I don’t like to break this silence with my clattering footsteps and my panting breath. (H e sits. ) I’ve heard of a sickness that makes one lose one’s memory. Death, they say, is like that. Then I hope sometimes that death would be even stronger and make one lose everything. If only that were so! Then I’d run like a Christian to save my enemy— that is, my memory.
Danton. Dreaming? Yes, I was dreaming— but it was different— I’ll tell you right away, my poor head is weak— right away! There— now I’ve got it! Beneath me the globe was panting in its flight, I had seized it like a wild horse, with 54 immense limbs I rooted in its mane and pressed its ribs, with my head bent down, my hair streaming out over the abyss. I was being dragged along. I screamed in fear and awoke. I went to the window— and that’s when I heard it, Julie. What does that word want from me?