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  "meta": {
    "schema_version": "1.1",
    "endpoint": "/api/sources/goethe-works/faust/faust-i/02-prelude-on-the-stage.json"
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  "work": {
    "slug": "faust-i",
    "name": "Faust I (1808)"
  },
  "parents": [
    {
      "slug": "goethe-works",
      "name": "Works of Goethe",
      "url": "/sources/goethe-works/"
    },
    {
      "slug": "faust",
      "name": "Faust (Parts I and II)",
      "url": "/sources/faust/"
    }
  ],
  "chapter": {
    "num": 2,
    "slug": "02-prelude-on-the-stage",
    "title": "Prelude on the Stage",
    "of": 28,
    "words": 1645,
    "text": "——¢—————\nMANAGER. DraMAaTic Poet. MERRY-ANDREW.\n\nMANAGER.\n\nOU two, who oft a helping hand\nHave lent, in need and tribulation,\nCome, let me know your expectation\nOf this, our enterprise, in German land!\nI wish the crowd to feel itself well treated,\nEspecially since it lives and lets me live;\nThe posts are set, the booth of boards completed,3\nAnd each awaits the banquet I shall give.\nAlready there, with curious eyebrows raised,\nThey sit sedate, and hope to be amazed.\nI know how one the People's taste may flatter,\nYet here a huge embarrassment I feel: |\nWhat they 're accustomed to, is no great matter,\nBut then, alas! they 've read an awful deal.\nHow shall we plan, that all be fresh and new, —\n\nImportant matter, yet attractive too?\n\n4 Faust.\n\nFor tis my pleasure to behold them surging,\nWhen to our booth the current sets apace,\n\nAnd with tremendous, oft-repeated urging,\nSqueeze onward through the narrow gate of grace:\nBy daylight even, they push and cram in\n\nTo reach the seller's box, a fighting host,\n\nAnd as for bread, around a baker's door, in famine,\nTo get a ticket break their necks almost.\n\nThis miracle alone can work the Poet\n\nOn men so various: now, my friend, pray show it!\n\nPoet.\n\nSpeak not to me of yonder motley masses,\n\nWhom but to see, puts out the fire of Song!\n\nHide from my view the surging crowd that passes,\n\nAnd in its whirlpool forces us along!\n\nNo, lead me where some heavenly silence glasses\n\nThe purer joys that round the Poet throng, — |\nWhere Love and Friendship still divinely fashion\n\nThe bonds that bless, the wreaths that crown his passion!\n\nAh, every utterance from the depths of feeling\nThe timid lips have stammeringly expressed, —\n\nNow failing, now, perchance, success revealing, —\n\nPrelude.\n\nGulps the wild Moment in its greedy breast ;\nOr oft, reluctant years its warrant sealing,\n\nIts perfect stature stands at last confessed!\n\nWhat dazzles, for the Moment spends its spirit:\nWhat 's genuine, shall Posterity inherit.\n\nMerryY-ANDREW.\n\nPosterity! Don't name the word to me!\n\nIf I should choose to preach P osterity,\n\nWhere would you get cotemporary fun?\n\nThat men w7// have it, there's no blinking:\n\nA fine young fellow's presence, to my thinking,\nIs something worth, to every one.\n\nWho genially his nature can outpour,\n\nTakes from the People's moods no irritation ;\nThe wider circle he acquires, the more\nSecurely works his inspiration.\n\nThen pluck up heart, and give us sterling coin !\nLet Fancy be with her attendants fitted, —\nSense, Reason, Sentiment and Passion join, —\n\nBut have a care, lest Folly be omitted!\n\nMANAGER.\n\nChiefly, enough of incident prepare!\n\n6 Faust.\n\nThey come to look, and they prefer to stare.*\nReel off a host of threads before their faces,\n\nSo that they gape in stupid wonder: then\n\nBy sheer diffuseness you have won their graces,\nAnd are, at once, most popular of men.\n\nOnly by mass you touch the mass; for any\nWill finally, himself, his bit select :\n\nWho offers much, brings something unto many,\nAnd each goes home content with the effect.\nIf you 've a piece, why, just in pieces give it:\nA hash, a stew, will bring success, believe it !\n\"T is easily displayed, and easy to invent.\n\nWhat use, a Whole compactly to present?\n\nYour hearers pick and pluck, as soon as they receive it !\n\nPort.\nYou do not feel, how such a trade debases ;\nHow ill it suits the Artist, proud and true!\nThe botching work each fine pretender traces\n\nIs, I perceive, a principle with you.\n\nMANAGER.\n\nSuch a reproach not in the least offends ;\n\nA man who some result intends\n\nPrelude.\n\nMust use the tools that best are fitting.\n\nReflect, soft wood is given to you for splitting,\n\nAnd then, observe for whom you write!\n\nIf one comes bored, exhausted quite,\n\nAnother, satiate, leaves the banquet's tapers,\n\nAnd, worst of all, full many a wight\n\nIs fresh from reading of the daily papers.\n\nIdly to us they come, as to a masquerade, °\n\nMere curiosity their spirits warming :\n\nThe ladies with themselves, and with their finery, aid,\nWithout a salary their parts performing.\n\nWhat dreams are yours in high poetic places?\n\nYou 're pleased, forsooth, full houses to behold?\nDraw near, and view your patrons' faces!\n\nThe half are coarse, the half are cold.\n\nOne, when the play is out, goes home to cards;\n\nA wild night on a wench's breast another chooses :\nWhy should you rack, poor, foolish bards,\n\nFor ends like these, the gracious Muses?\n\nI tell you, give but more — more, ever more, they ask :\nThus shall you hit the mark of gain and glory.\nSeek to confound your auditory!\n\nTo satisfy them is a task. —\n\nWhat ails you now? Is't suffering, or pleasure?\n\n8 Faust.\n\nPoet.\nGo, find yourself a more obedient slave!\nWhat! shall the Poet that which Nature gave,\nThe highest right, supreme Humanity,\nForfeit so wantonly, to swell your treasure?\nWhence o'er the heart his empire free?\nThe elements of Life how conquers he?\nIs 't not his heart's accord, urged outward far and dim,\nTo wind the world in unison with him?\nWhen on the spindle, spun to endless distance,\nBy Nature's listless hand the thread is twirled,\nAnd the discordant tones of all existence\nIn sullen jangle are together hurled,\nWho, then, the changeless orders of creation\nDivides, and kindles into rhythmic dance?\nWho brings the One to join the general ordination,\nWhere it may throb in grandest consonance?\nWho bids the storm to passion stir the bosom ?\nIn brooding souls the sunset burn above?\nWho scatters every fairest April blossom\nAlong the shining path of Love?\nWho braids the noteless leaves to crowns, requiting\nDesert with fame, in Action's every field?\nWho makes Olympus sure, the Gods uniting ?\nThe might of Man, as in the Bard revealed.\n\nPrelude.\n\nMerry-AnDREWw.\nSo, these fine forces, in conjunction,\nPropel the high poetic function,\nAs in a love-adventure they might play!\nYou meet by accident ; you feel, you stay,\nAnd by degrees your heart is tangled ;\nBliss grows apace, and then its course is jangled ;\nYou 're ravished quite, then comes a touch of woe,\nAnd there 's a neat romance, completed ere you know!\nLet us, then, such a drama give!\nGrasp the exhaustless life that all men live!\n_ Each shares therein, though few may comprehend :\nWhere'er you touch, there 's interest without end.\nIn motley pictures little light,\nMuch error, and of truth a glimmering mite,\nThus the best beverage is supplied,\nWhence all the world is cheered and edified.\nThen, at your play, behold the fairest flower\nOf youth collect, to hear the revelation !\nEach tender soul, with sentimental power,\nSucks melancholy food from your creation ;\nAnd now in this, now that, the leaven works,\nFor each beholds what in his bosom lurks.\n\nThey still are moved at once to weeping or to laughter,\n\nIO Faust.\n\nStill wonder at your flights, enjoy the show they see:\nA mind, once formed, is never suited after ;\n\nOne yet in growth will ever grateful be.\n\nPoet.\n\nThen give me back that time of pleasures,\nWhile yet in joyous growth I sang, —\n\nWhen, like a fount, the crowding measures\nUninterrupted gushed and sprang!\n\nThen bright mist veiled the world before me,\nIn opening buds a marvel woke,\n\nAs I the thousand blossoms broke,\n\nWhich every valley richly bore me! _\n\nI nothing had, and yet enough for youth —\nJoy in Illusion, ardent thirst for Truth.\n\nGive, unrestrained, the old emotion,\n\nThe bliss that touched the verge of pain,\nThe strength of Hate, Love's deep devotion, —\nO, give me back my youth again!\n\nMerry-ANDREW.\n\nYouth, good my friend, you certainly require\nWhen foes in combat sorely press you ;\n\nWhen lovely maids, in fond desire,\n\nPrelude. II\n\nHang on your bosom and caress you ;\nWhen from the hard-won goal the wreath\nBeckons afar, the race awaiting ;\n\nWhen, after dancing out your breath,\n\nYou pass the night in dissipating : —\n\nBut that familiar harp with soul\n\nTo play, — with grace and bold expression,\nAnd towards a self-erected goal\n\nTo walk with many a sweet digression, —\nThis, aged Sirs, belongs to you,®\n\nAnd we no less revere you for that reason :\nAge childish makes, they say, but 't is not true;\n\nWe 're only genuine children still, in Age's season !\n\nMANAGER.\n\nThe words you 've bandied are sufficient ;\n\"T is deeds that I prefer to see:\n\nIn compliments you 're both proficient,\nBut might, the while, more useful be.\nWhat need to talk of Inspiration ?\n\n\"T is no companion of Delay.\n\nIf Poetry be your vocation,\n\nLet Poetry your will obey !\n\nFull well you know what here is wanting ;\n\n12 Faust.\n\nThe crowd for strongest drink is panting,\nAnd such, forthwith, I 'd have you brew.\nWhat 's left undone to-day, To-morrow will not do.\nWaste not a day in vain digression :\n\nWith resolute, courageous trust\n\nSeize every possible impression,\n\nAnd make it firmly your possession ;\n\nYou 'll then work on, because you must.\n\nUpon our German stage, you know it,\n\nEach tries his hand at what he will;\n\nSo, take of traps and scenes your fill,\n\nAnd all you find, be sure to show it!\n\nUse both the great and lesser heavenly light, —\nSquander the stars in any number,\n\nBeasts, birds, trees, rocks, and all such lumber,\nFire, water, darkness, Day and Night!\n\nThus, in our booth's contracted sphere,\n\nThe circle of Creation will appear,\n\nAnd move, as we deliberately impel,\n\nFrom Heaven, across the World, to Hell! 7\n\nPrologue in L[Leaven: 13\n\nPROLOGUE IN HEAVEN:",
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}