Culture. They are here around your walls.
Emperor. My people?
Culture. I see none marching but men whose feet make no sound. Shades of your soldiers who pass on and on, in never-ending lines.
Emperor. Do they curse me?
Culture. None curses; they all salute you as they pass. They have done your bidding.
Emperor. The women curse me?
Culture. Not even the women. They, too, salute you. You were their Father and could do no wrong.
Emperor. And you?
Culture. I have come with this gaping wound in my breast to bid you farewell.
Emperor. God cannot let my Germany be utterly destroyed.