Faust Part 1 | Page 6

also swell the tragic chorus.
MANAGER
In chief, of incident enough prepare! A show they want, they come to gape and stare. Spin for their eyes abundant occupation, S0 that the multitude may wonderkg gaze, You by sheer bulk have won your reputation,
By mass alone can you subdue the masses, Each then selects in time what suits his bent. Bring much, you something bring for various classes, And from the house goes every one content. You give a piece, abroad in pieces send it! 'Tis a ragout--success mqst needs attend it; 'Tis easy to serve up, as easy to invent. A finish'd whole what boots it to present! Full soon the public will in pieces rend it.
POET
How mean such handicraft as this you cannot feel! How it revolts the genuine artist's mind! The sorry trash in which these coxcombs deal, Is here approved on principle, I find.
MANAGER
Such a reproof disturbs me not a whit! Who on efficient work is bent, Must choose the fittest instrument. Consider! 'tis soft wood you have to split; Think too for whom you write, I pray! One comes to while an hour away; One from the festive board, a sated guest; Others, more dreaded than the rest, From journal-reading hurry to the play. As to a masquerade, with absent minds, they press, Sheer curiosity their footsteps winging; Ladies display their persons and their dress, Actors unpaid their service bringing. What dreams beguile you on your poet's height? What puts a full house in a merry mood? More closely view your patrons of the night! The half are cold, the half are rude. One, the play over, craves a game of cards; Another a wild night in wanton joy would spend. Poor fools the muses' fair regards. Why court for such a paltry end? I tell you, give them more, still more, 'tis all I ask, Thus you will ne'er stray widely from the goal; Your audience seek to mystify, cajole;-- To satisfy them--that's a harder task. What ails thee? art enraptured or distressed?
POET
Depart! elsewhere another servant choose What! shall the bard his godlike power abuse? Man's loftiest right, kind nature's high bequest, For your mean purpose basely sport away? Whence comes his mastery o'er the human breast, Whence o'er the elements his sway, But from the harmony that, gushing from his soul, Draws back into his heart the wondrous whole? With careless hand when round her spindle, Nature Winds the interminable thread of life; When 'mid the clash of Being every creature Mingles in harsh inextricable strife; Who deals their course unvaried till it falleth, In rhythmic flow to music's measur'd tone? Each solitary note whose genius calleth, To swell the mighty choir in unison? Who in the raging storm sees passion low'ring? Or flush of earnest thought in evening's glow? Who every blossom in sweet spring-time flowering Along the loved one's path would strow? Who, Nature's green familiar leaves entwining, Wreathe's glory's garland, won on every field? Makes sure Olympus, heavenly powers combining? Man's mighty spirit, in the bard reveal'd!
MERRYMAN
Come then, employ your lofty inspiration, And carry on the poet's avocation, Just as we carry on a love affair. Two meet by chance, are pleased, they linger there, Insensibly are link'd, they scarce know how; Fortune seems now propitious, adverse now, Then come alternate rapture and despair; And 'tis a true romance ere one's aware. Just such a drama let us now compose. Plunge boldly into life--its depths disclose! Each lives it, not to many is it known, 'Twill interest wheresoever seiz'd and shown; Bright pictures, but obscure their meaning: A ray of truth through error gleaming, Thus you the best elixir brew, To charm mankind, and edify them too. Then youth's fair blossoms crowd to view your play, And wait as on an oracle; while they, The tender souls, who love the melting mood, Suck from your work their melancholy food; Now this one, and now that, you deeply stir, Each sees the working of his heart laid bare. Their tears, their laughter, you command with ease, The lofty still they honour, the illusive love. Your finish'd gentlemen you ne'er can please; A growing mind alone will grateful prove.
POET
Then give me back youth's golden prime, When my own spirit too was growing, When from my heart th' unbidden rhyme Gush'd forth, a fount for ever flowing; Then shadowy mist the world conceal'd, And every bud sweet promise made, Of wonders yet to be reveal'd, As through the vales, with blooms inlaid, Culling a thousand flowers I stray'd. Naught had I, yet a rich profusion! The thirst for truth, joy in each fond illusion. Give me unquell'd those impulses to prove;-- Rapture so deep, its ecstasy was pain, The power of hate, the energy of love, Give me, oh give me back my youth again!
MERRYMAN
Youth, my