by Gustave Kahn
“To everyone.”
“Why?”
“In order that all might give it. Oh, if it belonged to one alone, to you, you wouldn’t be able to leave your palace. All the people of the city would lie down in the path of your horse, crying: ‘Crush us, Sire Emperor, but give us gold.’ If it were yours alone, you’d have to provide dowries for all the maidens of the city, who would lose the better part of their beauty if you confiscated the lot, and you’d also have to occupy yourself with all the courtesans who proliferate here, according to rumor, for you would be the dispenser of all joy to your subjects. But if you take all the gold, Thrasylle will be more prosperous, for you would give him a great deal of it; you’d be fatigued by our burden, and that which you had taken from reasonable folk, you would be reasonable enough to give to a fool.”
“And if you had all the gold, Thrasylle, what would you do with it?”
“I’d take écus and plant them in the ground, to see if they’d grow. That’s never been tried. There’s be too much risk that they’d go astray and that salamanders might devour them.
“I’d enclose up in hiding-places and have it announced mysteriously that near an alder not far from two willows there’s a hidden treasure; then all the men would take the place of the good women who go to consult sorcerers, and I’d have a book of questions and answers compiled in order to have the funniest estimates in the world.
“I’d have a gold piece placed in every tavern opposite the barrels, and whoever took the one couldn’t touch the other, and would have to spend a long time watching others drink, in order to put your subjects between two tortures.
“And I’d instruct the sergeants to lose some of them, in order that people unhappy at dawn should be happy all day.
“And on those days, it would be necessary to lock up all the misers and keep them at home, in order that they’d acquire beautiful yellow complexions, and possess the reflection if not the thing itself.
“Those are a few of the thousand sage measures that I’d take.”
“You’re joking, joker—that’s your job.”
“As counselors counsel. Sire Emperor, why are all the counselors old men?”
“It’s because one only asks advice from those who possess experience.”
“And how does one acquire experience?”
“By making mistakes, correcting oneself, and meditating on one’s errors and those of others.”
“Then it’s by virtue of committing errors and seeing them committed that one becomes capable of giving good advice?”
“You’re boring me, Thrasylle. Go away.”
“I’ll go away, and I’ll go advise the Princess to furnish herself with very old men, those who have bumped into wisdom most awkwardly, in order to take them away and study the lumps they have on their heads.”
Old Ezra, led by a palace officer, was awaiting the pleasure of the Sovereign.
“Well, old man, until now I believed you were wise, or at least prudent. Do you realize that, under the pretext of humanity, you’re simply censuring me?”
“I would scarcely censure the guardian of your prison.”
“Why did you refuse the service expected of you?”
“There are many other physicians in the city capable of killing in concert with executioners. Let me go.”
“Where do you come from, Ezra? It’s a long time since you disembarked in our port. You must have amassed some wealth here; people often come to your door to buy health, and I understand that you’re an honest merchant. Gratitude is a meager treasurer, but the fear of death speaks abundantly, and brings ducats in large number to the altar of sacrifice. I swear to you, Ezra, that you will march straight along your cherished route if you obey my orders.”
“Which are?”
“To assist in the questioning.”
“To assist in a man’s death?”
“In his death, certainly not! Stop placing a bloody mirror before my actions. No, not his death; but benefits will gild him more than ever before, more than his art could, if he tells me what I want to know. If Télice concedes that his secret becomes mine, there’s nothing I’ll refuse him. But admit that, if he persists in his silence, how can he profit from his gold? Would he be able to deploy the luxury that he certainly desires without fear of indiscreet and pressing interrogations? It’s not for nothing, for knowledge alone, that he has researched the opulent secret. What does he want? I can’t imagine that he’s thinking of making criminal attempts on the rights of crowns by the power of gold; if that were the case the axe would cut his secret in two. What he desires, undoubtedly, is luxury, and freedom, displayed in the open air. I’ll give him a fine position in the Empire. Go, tell him that, and bring him here, repentant and convinced.”
“He can’t come; his ankles are broken.”
“Let him be carried.”
“Futile. He won’t say anything.”
“Why not?”
“Because he doesn’t know anything.”
“You’re defying us, old man.”
“Alas, no, Sire Emperor. Télice won’t reveal his secrets because his secrets don’t exist.”
“He’s in thrall to the Devil!”
“There are no demons but the ones in your heart. What furnace of desire has been inappropriately ignited in you? What chimerical appetites are soliciting you—you, sated with everything? The most senile of old wives’ tales have got into you, and have exacerbated your cruelty. Infantile notions are leading you to tarnish your good name with blood. What does the Emperor believe? The words of old herb-sellers, when a man in velvet passes by? Have you not yet been advised to mistrust poor folk in general, or is it the fattest that your counselors indicate to you as explicit enemies?”
“Are you Télice’s friend?”
“No; I’ve already criticized him for making his happiness consist entirely of masquerades, droplets of pleasure and emptied tankards. I’ve criticized him for believing that everything in this world is a game of skill, and I didn’t like his triumph. I mourn him now that his skill and triumph are killing him. How wise they are who invest their wellbeing in the ungraspable word!”
“You are one of those?”
“Perhaps, Sire Emperor.”
Where did you come from when, already old, you settled in my city? Strange legends also circulate on your account. Old men say that they have always seen you, and that your appearance has always been the same, venerable without being decrepit. It’s claimed that, if you don’t possess the philosopher’s stone, you know philters, and that your face is merely a mask veiling some dark unknown. It displeases me that my Empire should be haunted, but all in all, out of respect for your noble beard and your attitude, which resembles that of the saints in stained glass windows, I won’t disturb you if you obey. I’m not even asking for you to assist in Télice’s torture any longer. You’re a kind man; I’ll allow you to act kindly. Go to the prisoner. You, who are knowledgeable, tell him irrefutable things; tell him that if he doesn’t give us his secret, you’ve been promised many honors to research it, and that you’re going to begin the marvelous quest, and that the secret will no longer be worth anything. Persuade him. Make use of threats, employ terror, and, as you understand it, torture. It’s no longer an order to which I’m bending you, it’s a prayer that your benevolent Sovereign is addressing to you. You have, in this affair, my powers. Go.”
“Sire Emperor, it’s futile. Télice has no secret.”
“Oh, wretched old man! Vile infidel, vile rebel, my force will tame you. Hola! Guards, let him be Télice’s companion. Take him away.”
“May the shadow descend upon you,” said Ezra.
“Here are my orders,” said the Emperor to the commander of the guards, while two men led Ezra away. “Tonight, torture; I shall be there. Tomorrow, if pain has remained mute, death. Let the city gates be closed, let these men’s friends be imprisoned. Let the clerics be warned that they will have consciences to judge. The Empire will resume, under my will,
a tight hair-shirt. I have been defied; I shall be harsh, until time has enabled me to forget this disagreeable hour. Yes, I shall be harsh—but not to you, Princess Marie.”
The princess had just come in.
“What’s happening, Father? I saw old Ezra being led away by guards; people are saying that Télice is in prison. These people have hardened your face; you’re anxious. Will my father no longer be the good Emperor whose kindness is revered as much as his courage is feared? I’ve come explicitly to ask you for a favor.”
“What?”
“Seigneur Father, all these people who are annoying you, give them to me. I’ll take them to Scania. I’ll have so much need of fools in my kingdom—fools of all sorts, who’ll tell me the most amusing tales. They’re the only ones who are good authors. Tell me, father, will you do that?”
“No, my daughter. The respect that we have for our rights comes before our tenderness—but if you want a fool, I’ll give you Thrasylle. Anyway, there’s no longer a place here for a fool, nor even a jester.”
“No, Father, I refuse Thrasylle—he doesn’t say reasonable things.”
“Then be content with your fiancé; if he’s a fiancé like all the others, he’ll tell you a thousand foolish things, and the ones that you love. You’ve entertained passably hot heads in this palace, Princess, and it’s partly your fault that they’re now in gehenna. Your songbirds coloring the hours will go a little red, which will be a lesson for you. ‘It is a great love, very great indeed, that subjects have for their Emperor,’ is the beginning of one of your songs. How does it go on?”
“I daren’t tell you—you’ll be angry.”
“Speak.”
“They are weeping, they are weeping/Streams of blood/While his body is placed in the ground/And his soul, with slow paces/Goes away, goes away to Hell—but that’s an old children’s song; it’s about the Emperor of gold écus who had a magician for his first minister, a gravedigger for the second and a shoemaker for the third.”
“Why?”
“Because he had very large feet, in order to walk better through the blood. Sire Emperor, I’m no longer laughing, no longer laughing. You’re scaring me—be merciful.”
“You have nothing to fear.”
“Oh, you’re not playing, you’re not joking. Have I, then, already so much to fear from you that you want to reassure me?”
“You have nothing to fear, I tell you.”
“Father, father, I want mercy for everyone—and then I’ll tell you a long story of springtime, the heroine of which is me, who loves, the hero of which is your son-in-law from Scania, the deus ex machina of which is a good Emperor, very good, very good.”
“Go away, madwoman. Go to your apartment, and don’t come out again. Don’t put your eyes or your ears to your window; what will happen this evening, in the palace and the city, doesn’t concern little girls. You, commander of the guards, come with me, and send someone to fetch the captains. I can see clearly; I shall act directly. Commander of the guards, go to the prison of Ezra and Télice.”
“Sire, I’ve come to tell you that the dungeon is empty.”
“Empty? How?”
“The doors are still closed and the windows bolted.”
“I swear by my scepter that all these treasons will be punished. Come with me.”
THE REVOLT
The city resonates to the heavy tread of patrols. In the houses, rough soldiers tear beds apart, empty cupboards, drink the contents of the cellars while exploring the corners with smoky torches, climb up into the grain-lofts torches in hand to look for hiding-places—and women weep on the doorsteps, and men are chased from their homes so that they will not hinder the fist-shaking searchers. Drums beat; the heavy tread of halberdiers plow through the city. They go to the gates to reinforce the guard-posts; chains are extended between the quarters—but what it is all about no one among the trampled and jostled crowd knows.
What is going on?
“Someone has tried to kill the Emperor!” someone shouts in the Market Place—and the fearful populace, becoming indignant, cries out and heads for the palace. The trumpet sounds; among the cavaliers, stiff and proud, the emperor is seen passing by. Whatever it is, therefore, it is not a popular riot. As people are over-abundant in certain places, however, the men at arms launch their horses at the groups, and the hands of inoffensive passers-by go to their daggers.
The cathedral bell rings; it is the lugubrious tocsin warning of unfortunate fires, and the city becomes noisy. People run around; they interrogate one another. The gallop of cavalry detachments cuts through the streets.
Here come the heralds; the people are ordered to return to their homes; the good will be spared, the traitors punished. Here, however, is the home of an inoffensive citizen filled with light and screams. A butcher uses his cleaver to fell a lansquenet who has touched him with his pike, laughing. The lansquenets kill him, and after a brief horrified silence, the call to arms goes up, and men run through the streets shouting: “Laurent Télice has been imprisoned and tortured!”
A grave royal counselor harangues the people. Télice has been imprisoned; he possesses the secret of gold; he has refused it to the Emperor; he has escaped from prison; those who know where he is must denounce him and show themselves to be faithful subjects. The city has been poisoned and perverted by the foreigners; let them be expelled. The Emperor permits that they be pillaged.
Lansquenets and men of the people enter pell-mell into the houses of the rich. Neighbors insult one another, and now the tocsin is no longer sounding without pretext, for red flames are climbing up one of the city’s houses. Blood is running.
Here comes Master Asverus; he is rich; he has businesses and ships; let’s stab him—but a lansquenet falls, then another, and battle is unleashed. Master Asverus and his associates have passed on, along a bloody street. The tocsin sounds; the red standards of fire cry out and answer one another from place to place.
People kill while arguing and seeking information, and the horrible fanfare of murder, with its screams, its drums, its heavy and numerous footfalls, its cries of rage, its cries of distress, is unleashed over the city. It is a continuous, incoherent, unconscious clamor. People look out of their windows while arming themselves, others fall on their doorsteps, sometimes struck down by their partisans, and in the tumult of ignorance, people cut one another’s throats without knowing why.
A substantial part of the crowd heads for the palace, howling, and bloody, shouting “Télice! Télice!” and engage the men-at-arms in battle. Some people are fighting for the Emperor, others for the frights of the city, others simply defending themselves in that immense riot—and the sound of trumpets the trumpets of war persists, frighteningly, unleashing combat in every soul.
Why, no one knows. One man wants Télice free, another wants the Emperor all-powerful. Old women see the exterminating angels passing beneath the stars, and pale white forms flee through the as-yet-dark back-streets, and people attack one another by the river, in the vicinity of the barges.
The Emperor and his escort had gone straight to Ezra’s house. The noise had not yet penetrated the deserted street. The house was brightly lit, the door open. The Emperor rushed in.
Ezra was standing in the main room. Télice was lying nearby, and Samuel and Rizpah were at the back of the room. Ezra advanced toward the Emperor. A red light was filtering from a wooden vessel on a table, which filled the entire room, and it was that light which extended brightly through the entire house, soft and miraculous, like a beautiful sunset.
“I’ve been waiting for you, Sire Emperor. Have you gone mad, murdering your city to punish imaginary enemies? Sit down with us, and listen.”
A kind of invisible force weighed down on the Emperor.
“Here,” Ezra said to him, “is the blood of Jesus, the man who was unjustly killed. It was in your city; it brought benediction here. It is shining this evening for you, as a final warning, for there is still time to stop the blood that is flo
wing and the fire that is spreading. In the name of the one you revere, who died alone and afflicted in atrocious tortures, abandon the bloody path. The Grail is Heaven’s counsel to force. Oh, since Joseph of Arimathea put it in my hands, I have searched the surface of the Earth for the pure and upright man, his hands exempt from blood, the sovereign elect, in order to confer the benefit on him. It is not a talisman, Sire Emperor; its contact does not cure the sick; it does not discover hidden treasures; it does not reveal the secret of gold; it informs us that happiness for every individual lies in the reign of dolor and peace for all.
“Emperor, human as you are, do you not know that tomorrow, death will place its dry finger-bones on your forehead, and that you will crumble, and that your sepulcher in the cathedral will be nothing but a sumptuous box in which nothing will be enclosed! What does the secret of gold matter to you, who are the guardian of several thousand lives? Your power gives you the right to leave tranquil or quickly conclude the transitory movement of humans from birth to death. You are the Emperor, but where are your virtues of intelligence, where are your spiritual godsends, which will construct in your frail palace of muscles the eternal being that will survive you?
“You are nothing but a rumor. Listen to the counsel of this mute clarity. It corresponds to the learning that your infancy collected. Be human—a forgiving man if you believe yourself to have been offended, a man of common sense and intelligence if you take account of the fact that, in being disobeyed, you are being served—be worthy to approach the blood of the Savior. It signifies, I tell you, that any torture inflicted is the only inexpiable crime. Withdraw, and revoke your orders of carnage. What is happening here, Caesar, is not of your domain.”
“I have listened; I like to hear these old men rambling on. Guards, seize him!”
At that precise moment, the light went out—and when the Emperor and his men had succeeded in lighting torches, the entire house was empty and plunged in silence. Everything had disappeared; no trace remained either of the Grail or its priest and his guests.
