From Winamop.com

Goethe and Napoleon
by Simon King

 

 

It was 1806 and Europe was in a state of tumult. Napoleon had conquered Prussia and his troops had conquered and sacked Weimar. This was the very city in which Goethe had lived since 1775. Indeed, he had been one the victims, as troops had broken into his house and many of his friends had lost everything.

By all accounts, one would think that Goethe should hate this man, yet he did not. He admired the empire, which had replaced the Holy Roman Empire. The Confederacy of the Rhine was a true successor. However, this admiration was mutual. Napoleon admired Goethe, which is why he had summoned him to his current headquarters.

Napoleon had made no it no secret that his favourite book was The Sorrows of Young Werther. He had read it seven times and took it with him in glamourous expedition to Egypt. Indeed, Napoleon had organised a congress at Erfurt, a short distance from Weimar. In this summit, both Napoleon and Alexander I aimed to strengthen their alliance. It was a theatrical display of French power, aiming to woo Germany with opulent diplomacy. Attendees included most of the kings and princes of Germany. Napoleon brought his favourite actor and the best actors and actresses of the Comedie-Francaise. They presented sixteen plays chosen by Napoleon himself. Indeed, Napoleon wanted to entice the German elite and present himself as a friend of the arts and culture. As such, it made perfect sense to call Goethe to his headquarters.

Goethe opened the door with a certain amount of trepidation. He was about to meet the man who was ravaging great parts of Europe. This was the man who had single-handedly anointed himself first consul of France. When that title did not confer sufficient status, he abolished the title and called himself Emperor of France. Indeed, he was creating an empire – the French empire. True, Goethe had accomplished a great deal in several fields, but he did not have a smidgen of the power which Napoleon had acquired. If anything, the elderly man of letters started feeling somewhat craven.

Goethe was wearing a red blazer with gold buttons. Napoleon, as usual, was wearing his signature blue military helmet. He was wearing his blue suit. He sat on his round table, as he looked at notes on his desk intently. Savery Talleyrand was standing on his right, who also wore military garb. Daru was on his left. ‘What is the current rate of tax in Germany, Daru?’

‘It is low… far too low…’ Daru said.

‘Yes, we have to increase the public coffers, dear emperor,’ Talleyrand said.

Napoleon kept his head perched down, ruminating on the somewhat comical exchange. He arched his head up and crossed eyes with the celebrated writer. A wry smile appeared on his face, as he raised his arms and signalled for him to approach him. ‘Come, come,’ he said.

Goethe tentatively moved closer to the desk. ‘Do you two individuals know who is gracing the presence of this room?’ They did not answer, as they stood motionless. ‘None other than Goethe, the greatest German man of letters in recent times.’ They both smiled, as they evidently knew the name, but did not recognise him in person.

Napoleon bowed his head. ‘You are a man. How old are you,’ he asked.

‘Sixty-six-years-old,’ Goethe replied.

‘You are well-preserved. You have written some tragedies,’ Napoleon continued.

‘I have indeed written some tragedies recently.’

‘Have we seen them performed recently?’ Daru desultorily asked.

‘They have performed some of them in France,’ Goethe continued. ‘I have also translated some French works, including Voltaire’s Mahomet.’

‘That is not a good work,’ Napoleon promptly retorted. ‘Tell you what, I have studied Werther in detail. I have read it seven times. Certain moments did not seem natural.’

‘Well, I know several people have made criticisms of the work, but I find it perfectly justified that you can find fault with the authenticity of several passages,’ Goethe retorted. ‘An artist wants to create certain effects which cannot be created simply and naturally.’

Napoleon touched his spindly nose. ‘Do not get me wrong. It is my favourite book.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Anyway,’ Napoleon went on, clenching the reams of papers on his desk. ‘I have attended a lot of plays and have felt that French theatre has strayed from the truth. I say this as someone who has attended many French plays with assiduous attention. I do not like the fantastic plays – they belong to the dark ages.’

‘Monsiuer,’ Darue interjected. ‘Should we not talk about taxes?’

Napoleon grinned. ‘Yes, we have ample time to talk about taxes, but at this very moment we are being graced by the presence of one of the greatest writers of all time. One thing at a time.’ Daru sulked whilst Talleyrand smirked at Napoleon’s rancour.

The emperor rose and walked towards Goethe. He gazed directly at his eyes. ‘Are you married? Do you have children?’

‘Yes. Yes, I do.’

‘Have you thought about writing a tragedy about Julius Ceasar? That would be spectacular,’ Napoleon said, excitedly.

‘No, that thought has not crossed my mind,’ Goethe politely replied.

Napoleon started to talk with greater enthusiasm. He waved his right hand but, as usual, kept his injured left arm firmly placed on his lapel. ‘You… You should move to Paris and start a cultural renaissance there.’

Goethe smiled. ‘I will stay in Prussia. Anyway, it is time for me to leave.’

‘Of course,’ Napoleon replied. They shook hands, as both men smiled amiably. ‘All right, Daru,’ Napoleon stated ironically, ‘we can start talking about taxes again.’ Goethe swerved around and left the room.

 

 

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