The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries - LightNovelsOnl.com
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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.
TREASURER
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 pa.s.sed!
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 Sc.r.a.pes, s.n.a.t.c.hes, gathers all within his reach-- Empty, meanwhile, our chest remains.
STEWARD
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 Antic.i.p.ation-bonds which feed Each year on that which must succeed; The swine are never fattened now; p.a.w.ned 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?
MEPHISTOPHELES
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!--
MEPHISTOPHELES
Where is not something wanting here on earth?
Here this,--there that: of gold is here the dearth.
It cannot from the floor be sc.r.a.p'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.
CHANCELLOR
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 Caesar'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.
MEPHISTOPHELES
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.
EMPEROR
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!
MEPHISTOPHELES
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 Caesar's, his shall be the prize.
TREASURER
Now for a fool he speaketh not amiss; Our Caesar's ancient right, in sooth, was this.
CHANCELLOR
Satan for you spreads golden snares; 'tis clear, Something not right or pious worketh here.
STEWARD
To us at court if welcome gifts he bring, A little wrong is no such serious thing.
FIELD MARSHAL
Shrewd is the fool, he bids what all desire; The soldier, whence it comes, will not inquire.
MEPHISTOPHELES
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_)
