The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 01 · Chapter 72Emperor
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I greet you, trusty friends and dear, Assembled thus from far and wide!— I see the wise man at my side, But wherefore is the fool not here?
Entangled in thy mantle's flow. He tripped upon the stair below; The mass of fat they bare away, If dead or drunken—who can say?
Forthwith another comes apace, With wondrous speed to take his place; Costly, yet so grotesque his gear, All start amazed as he draws near. Crosswise the guards before his face, Entrance to bar, their halberds hold— Yet there he is, the fool so bold.
MEPHISTOPHELES (kneeling before the throne)
What is accursed and gladly hailed? What is desired and chased away? What is upbraided and assailed? What wins protection every day? Whom darest thou not summon here? Whose name doth plaudits still command? What to thy throne now draweth near? What from this place itself hath banned?
For this time thou thy words may'st spare! This is no place for riddles, friend; They are these gentlemen's affair,— Solve them! an ear I'll gladly lend. My old fool's gone, far, far away, I fear; Take thou his place, come, stand beside me here!
[MEPHISTOPHELES ascends and places himself at the EMPEROR'S left.]
Murmur of the Crowd
Here's a new fool—for plague anew! Whence cometh he?—How passed he through? The old one fell—he squander'd hath.— He was a tub—now 'tis a lath.—
So now, my friends, beloved and leal, Be welcome all, from near and far! Ye meet 'neath an auspicious star; For us above are written joy and weal. But tell me wherefore, on this day, When we all care would cast away, And don the masker's quaint array, And naught desire but to enjoy, Should we with state affairs ourselves annoy? But if ye think it so must be indeed, Why, well and good, let us forthwith proceed!
The highest virtue circles halo-wise Our Cæsar's brow; virtue, which from the throne, He validly can exercise alone: Justice!—What all men love and prize, What all demand, desire, and sorely want, It lies with him, this to the folk to grant. But ah! what help can intellect command, Goodness of heart, or willingness of hand, When fever saps the state with deadly power, And mischief breedeth mischief, hour by hour? To him who downward from this height supreme Views the wide realm, 'tis like a troubled dream, Where the deformed deformity o'ersways, Where lawlessness, through law, the tyrant plays, And error's ample world itself displays.
One steals a woman, one a steer, Lights from the altar, chalice, cross, Boasts of his deed full many a year, Unscathed in body, without harm or loss. Now to the hall accusers throng; On cushioned throne the judge presides; Surging meanwhile in eddying tides, Confusion waxes fierce and strong.
He may exalt in crime and shame, Who on accomplices depends; Guilty! the verdict they proclaim, When Innocence her cause defends. So will the world succumb to ill, And what is worthy perish quite; How then may grow the sense which still Instructs us to discern the right? E'en the right-minded man, in time, To briber and to flatterer yields; The judge, who cannot punish crime, Joins with the culprit whom he shields.— I've painted black, yet fain had been A veil to draw before the scene.
Pause
Measures must needs be taken; when All injure or are injured, then E'en Majesty becomes a prey.
In these wild days what tumults reign! Each smitten is and smites again, Deaf to command, will none obey. The burgher, safe behind his wall, Within his rocky nest, the knight, Against us have conspired, and all Firmly to hold their own unite. Impatient is the hireling now, With vehemence he claims his due; And did we owe him naught, I trow, Off he would run, nor bid adieu. Who thwarts what fondly all expect, He bath disturbed a hornet's nest; The empire which they should protect, It lieth plundered and oppress'd. Their furious rage may none restrain; Already half the world's undone; Abroad there still are kings who reign— None thinks 'tis his concern, not one.
Who will depend upon allies! For us their promised subsidies Like conduit-water, will not flow. Say, Sire, through your dominions vast To whom hath now possession passed! Some upstart, wheresoe'er we go, Keeps house, and independent reigns. We must look on, he holds his own; So many rights away we've thrown, That for ourselves no right remains. On so-called parties in the state There's no reliance, now-a-days; They may deal out or blame or praise, Indifferent are love and hate. The Ghibelline as well as Guelph Retire, that they may live at ease! Who helps his neighbor now? Himself Each hath enough to do to please. Barred are the golden gates; while each Scrapes, snatches, gathers all within his reach— Empty, meanwhile, our chest remains.
What worry must I, also, bear! Our aim each day is still to spare— And more each day we need; my pains, Daily renewed, are never o'er. The cooks lack nothing;—deer, wild-boar, Stags, hares, fowls, turkeys, ducks and geese,— Tribute in kind, sure payment, these Come fairly in, and none complains. But now at last wine fails; and if of yore Up-piled upon the cellar-floor, Cask rose on cask, a goodly store, From the best slopes and vintage; now The swilling of our lords, I trow, Unceasing, drains the very lees. E'en the Town-council must give out Its liquor;—bowls and cups they seize; And 'neath the table lies the drunken rout. Now must I pay, whate'er betides; Me the Jew spares not; he provides Anticipation-bonds which feed Each year on that which must succeed; The swine are never fattened now; Pawned is the pillow or the bed, And to the table comes fore-eaten bread.
EMPEROR (after some reflection, to MEPHISTOPHELES)
Say, fool, another grievance knowest thou?
I, nowise. On this circling pomp to gaze, On thee and thine! There can reliance fail Where majesty resistless sways, And ready power makes foemen quail? Where loyal will, through reason strong, And prowess, manifold, unite, What could together join for wrong, For darkness, where such stars give light?
Murmur of the Crowd
He is a knave—he comprehends— He lies—while lying serves his ends— Full well I know—what lurks behind— What next?—Some scheme is in the wind!—
Where is not something wanting here on earth? Here this,—there that: of gold is here the dearth. It cannot from the floor be scrap'd, 'tis true; But what lies deepest wisdom brings to view. In mountain-veins, walls underground, Is gold, both coined and uncoined, to be found. And if ye ask me,—bring it forth who can? Spirit-and nature-power of gifted man.
Nature and spirit—christians ne'er should hear Such words, with peril fraught and fear. These words doom atheists to the fire. Nature is sin, spirit is devil; they, Between them, doubt beget, their progeny, Hermaphrodite, mis-shapen, dire. Not so with us! Within our Cæsar's land Two orders have arisen, two alone, Who worthily support his ancient throne: Clergy and knights, who fearless stand, Bulwarks 'gainst every storm, and they Take church and state as their appropriate pay. Through lawless men, the vulgar herd To opposition have of late been stirred; The heretics these are, the wizards, who The city ruin and the country too. With thy bold jests, to this high sphere, Such miscreants wilt smuggle in; Hearts reprobate to you are dear; They to the fool are near of kin.
Herein your learned men I recognize! What you touch not, miles distant from you lies; What you grasp not, is naught in sooth to you; What you count not, cannot, you deem, be true; What you weigh not, that hath for you no weight; What you coin not, you're sure is counterfeit.
Therewith our needs are not one whit the less. What meanest thou with this thy Lent-address? I'm tired of this eternal If and How. 'Tis gold we lack; so good, procure it thou!
I'll furnish more, ay, more than all you ask. Though light it seems, not easy is the task. There lies the gold, but to procure it thence, That is the art: who knoweth to commence? Only consider, in those days of terror, When human floods swamped land and folk together, How every one, how great soe'er his fear, All that he treasured most, hid there or here; So was it 'neath the mighty Roman's sway, So on till yesterday, ay, till today: That all beneath the soil still buried lies— The soil is Cæsar's, his shall be the prize.
Now for a fool he speaketh not amiss; Our Cæsar's ancient right, in sooth, was this.
Satan for you spreads golden snares; 'tis clear, Something not right or pious worketh here.
To us at court if welcome gifts he bring, A little wrong is no such serious thing.
Shrewd is the fool, he bids what all desire; The soldier, whence it comes, will not inquire.
You think yourselves, perchance, deceived by me; Ask the Astrologer! This man is he! Circle round circle, hour and house, he knows.— Then tell us, how the heavenly aspect shows.
Murmur of the Crowd
Two rascals—each to other known— Phantast and fool—so near the throne— The old, old song,—now trite with age— The fool still prompts—while speaks the sage.—
ASTROLOGER (speaks, MEPHISTOPHELES prompts)
The sun himself is purest gold; for pay And favor serves the herald, Mercury; Dame Venus hath bewitched you from above, Early and late, she looks on you with love; Chaste Luna's humor varies hour by hour; Mars, though he strike not, threats you with his power, And Jupiter is still the fairest star; Saturn is great, small to the eye and far; As metal him we slightly venerate, Little in worth, though ponderous in weight. Now when with Sol fair Luna doth unite. Silver with gold, cheerful the world and bright! Then easy 'tis to gain whate'er one seeks; Parks, gardens, palaces, and rosy cheeks; These things procures this highly learned man. He can accomplish what none other can.
Double, methinks, his accents ring, And yet they no conviction bring.
Murmur
Of what avail!—a worn-out tale— Calendery—and chemistry— I the false word—full oft have heard— And as of yore—we're hoax'd once more.
The grand discovery they misprize, As, in amaze, they stand around; One prates of gnomes and sorceries, Another of the sable hound. What matters it, though witlings rail, Though one his suit 'gainst witchcraft press, If his sole tingle none the less, If his sure footing also fail? Ye of all swaying Nature feel The secret working, never-ending, And, from her lowest depths up-tending, E'en now her living trace doth steal. If sudden cramps your limbs surprise, If all uncanny seem the spot— There dig and delve, but dally not! There lies the fiddler, there the treasure lies!
Murmur
Like lead it lies my foot about— Cramp'd is my arm—'tis only gout— Twitchings I have in my great toe— Down all my back strange pains I know— Such indications make it clear That sumless treasuries are here.
To work—the time for flight is past.— Put to the test your frothy lies! These treasures bring before our eyes! Sceptre and sword aside I'll cast, And with these royal hands, indeed, If thou lie not, to work proceed. Thee, if thou lie, I'll send to hell!
Thither to find the way I know full well!— Yet can I not enough declare, What wealth unown'd lies waiting everywhere: The countryman, who ploughs the land, Gold-crocks upturneth with the mould; Nitre he seeks in lime-walls old, And findeth, in his meagre hand, Scared, yet rejoiced, rouleaus of gold. How many a vault upblown must be, Into what clefts, what shafts, must he Who doth of hidden treasure know, Descend, to reach the world below! In cellars vast, impervious made, Goblets of gold he sees displayed, Dishes and plates, row after row; There beakers, rich with rubies, stand; And would he use them, close at hand Well stored the ancient moisture lies; Yet—would ye him who knoweth, trust?— The staves long since have turned to dust, A tartar cask their place supplies! Not gold alone and jewels rare, Essence of noblest wines are there, In night and horror veiled. The wise, Unwearied here pursues his quest. To search by day, that were a jest; 'Tis darkness that doth harbor mysteries.
What can the dark avail? Look thou to that! If aught have worth, it cometh to the light. Who can detect the rogue at dead of night? Black are the cows, and gray is every cat. These pots of heavy gold, if they be there— Come, drive thy plough, upturn them with thy share!
Take spade and hoe thyself;—dig on— Great shalt thou be through peasant toil— A herd of golden calves anon Themselves shall tear from out the soil; Then straight, with rapture newly born, Thyself thou canst, thy sweet-heart wilt adorn. A sparkling gem, lustrous, of varied dye, Beauty exalts as well as majesty.
To work, to work! How long wilt linger?
Sire, Relax, I pray, such vehement desire! First let us see the motley, joyous show! A mind distraught conducts not to the goal. First must we calmness win through self-control, Through things above deserve what lies below. Who seeks for goodness, must himself be good; Who seeks for joy, must moderate his blood; Who wine desires, the luscious grape must press; Who craveth miracles, more faith possess.
So be the interval in gladness spent! Ash-Wednesday cometh, to our heart's content. Meanwhile we'll solemnize, whate'er befall, More merrily the joyous Carnival.
[Trumpets. Exeunt.]
That merit and success are link'd together, This to your fools occurreth never; Could they appropriate the wise man's stone, That, not the wise man, they would prize alone.
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