NAPOLEON. Ouf! One cannot always be at one's best. Twice before in my life I have lost my nerve and behaved like a poltroon. But I warn you not to judge my quality by these involuntary moments. THE ORACLE. I have no occasion to judge of your quality. You want my advice. Speak quickly; or I shall go about my business. NAPOLEON [_After a moment's hesitation, sinks respectfully on one knee_] I-- THE ORACLE. Oh, rise, rise. Are you so foolish as to offer me this mummery which even you despise? NAPOLEON [_rising_] I knelt in spite of myself. I compliment you on your impressiveness, madam. THE ORACLE [_impatiently_] Time! time! time! time! NAPOLEON. You will not grudge me the necessary time, madam, when you know my case. I am a man gifted with a certain specific talent in a degree altogether extraordinary. I am not otherwise a very extraordinary person: my family is not influential; and without this talent I should cut no particular figure in the world. THE ORACLE. Why cut a figure in the world? NAPOLEON. Superiority will make itself felt, madam. But when I say I possess this talent I do not express myself accurately. The truth is that my talent possesses me. It is genius. It drives me to exercise it. I must exercise it. I am great when I exercise it. At other moments I am nobody. THE ORACLE. Well, exercise it. Do you need an oracle to tell you that? NAPOLEON. Wait. This talent involves the shedding of human blood. THE ORACLE. Are you a surgeon, or a dentist? NAPOLEON. Psha! You do not appreciate me, madam. I mean the shedding of oceans of blood, the death of millions of men. THE ORACLE. They object, I suppose. NAPOLEON. Not at all. They adore me. THE ORACLE. Indeed! NAPOLEON. I have never shed blood with my own hand. They kill each other: they die with shouts of triumph on their lips. Those who die cursing do not curse me. My talent is to organize this slaughter; to give mankind this terrible joy which they call glory; to let loose the devil in them that peace has bound in chains. THE ORACLE. And you? Do you share their joy? NAPOLEON. Not at all. What satisfaction is it to me to see one fool pierce the entrails of another with a bayonet? I am a man of princely character, but of simple personal tastes and habits. I have the virtues of a laborer: industry and indifference to personal comfort. But I must rule, because I am so superior to other men that it is intolerable to me to be misruled by them. Yet only as a slayer can I become a ruler. I cannot be great as a writer: I have tried and failed. I have no talent as a sculptor or painter; and as lawyer, preacher, doctor, or actor, scores of second-rate men can do as well as I, or better. I am not even a diplomatist: I can only play my trump card of force. What I can do is to organize war. Look at me! I seem a man like other men, because nine-tenths of me is common humanity. But the other tenth is a faculty for seeing things as they are that no other man possesses.