“Someone is coming.” “Then farewell. We shall always meet, for the earth is ours.” In the temple, which people called “the world turned upside down,” a man slunk along the walls in a state of panic, as though he were afraid to display his back. He had the face of a youth without any hair round it. His upper lip was drawn upwards on the left side, and showed a long canine tooth, while at the same time his right eye shot a sharp glance like a poisonous arrow. He glided along the wall to the apse, where an image was erected. It was a likeness of the timid man himself, representing him exactly even to his clothes. “Is the priest there?” the mad Emperor whispered, for it was he. No answer followed. “Priest, dear priest, I am so frightened. Are you not coming?” A sacrificial priest came forward, fell on his knee before the Emperor, and worshipped him. “Jupiter, Optimus, Maximus, Latiaris, frighten away thy foes.” “Have I foes, then? Yes, and that is what frightens me. Do you believe that I am God?” “Thou art.” “Let us then have thunder, to frighten my foes.” The priest beat upon a kettledrum, and the echoes rolled through the temple. The Emperor laughed, so that all his teeth were visible. “Priest!” he cried as he seated himself on his throne, “now you shall sacrifice to me.” The priest kindled a fire on the little altar before the madman. The Emperor said, “The scent is good. Now I am the mightiest in heaven and on earth. I rule over living and dead; I cast into Tartarus and lift into Elysium. How mighty I am! I tame the waves of the sea, and command the storm to cease: I hold sway over the planets in their courses; I myself have created chaos, and the human race lie at my feet, from the primeval forests of Britain to the sources of the Nile, which I alone have discovered. I have made my favourite horse consul, and the people have acknowledged his consulship. Priest! Worship me! Or do you forget who I am? No, I am I, and I shall always worship myself in my own image. Caius Caesar Caligula, I honour thee, Lord of the world, how I honour myself! Jupiter Latiaris Caligula!” He fell before the image on his knee. “Some one is coming,” said the priest warningly. “Kill him.” “It is the tribune, Cassius Chaeraea!” “Frighten him away.” “Chaeraea does not let himself be frightened.” The tribune came in fearlessly and without ceremony. “Caius Caesar, your wife is dead.” “All the better,” answered the Emperor. “They have dashed your only child against a wall.” “Ah, how pleasant!” laughed the madman. “And now you are to die.” “No, I cannot. I am immortal.” “I wait for you outside. It shall not take place here.” “Creep away, ant! My foot is too great to reach thy littleness.” Then a sound of singing rose from the basement of the temple, or from the earth; they were children’s voices. The Emperor was again alarmed, and crept under his chair. Chaeraea, who had waited at the door, lost patience.