Bonaparte was at the farther end of the room, leaning against a marble chimney which was as high as he was tall. Like an arrow shot out of a bow, he rushed straight at the old man; I thought he was going to kill him as he sat. But he suddenly stopped short, seized a Sèvres vase on which the Capitol was painted, threw it on the hearth and ground it under his heels. Then he remained terribly quiet. I was relieved, for I felt that his reason had got the better of his temper. He became sad, and when he finally spoke in a deep voice, it was evident that in the two words uttered by the Pope he had recognized his true portrait. “Miserable life!” he said. Then he fell into reverie, and without speaking tore the brim of his hat. When his voice again was heard he was talking to himself: “It’s true. Tragedian or comedian, I am always playing a part--all is costume and pose. How wearying it all is, and how belittling! Pose! pose! always pose! In one case full face, in another profile--but invariably for effect. Always trying to appear what others worship, so that I may deceive the fools, keeping them between hope and fear. Dazzling them by bulletins, by prestige. Master of all of them and not knowing what to do with them. That’s the simple truth after all. And to make myself so miserable through it all! It really is too much. For,” continued he, sitting down in an armchair and crossing his legs, “it bores me to death, the whole farce. As soon as I sit down I don’t know what to do with myself. I can’t even hunt for three days in succession at Fontainebleau with being weary of it. I must always be moving and making others move. I speak quite frankly. I have plans in my life which would require the lives of forty emperors to carry out, and I make new ones every morning and evening; my imagination is always on the _qui vive_; but before I have carried out two of them I shall be exhausted in body and mind; for our poor lamp of life doesn’t burn long enough. And I must confess that if I could carry them out I should not find that the world was one whit better than it is now; but it _would_ be better though, for it would be united. I am not a philosopher. I don’t understand many theories. Life is too short to stop. As soon as I have an idea I put it into execution. Others will find reasons after me for praising me if I succeed and for abusing me if I fail. Differences of opinion are active--they abound in France--but I keep them down while I am alive--afterward--Well, no matter! It is my business to succeed, and that I intend to do. Every day I make an Iliad by my actions--every day.”