“My offence--if it is an offence, and on that you shall give your opinion--is having led a nation to its undoing.” “With malice aforethought?” I queried. “With malice, perhaps,” he answered, “but not in the sense of your question. I never believed they had spirit enough to believe me.” “You pique my curiosity,” I said. “Who are ‘they?’ and in what did they believe you?” “They are the Germans,” he answered, “the Germans whom I despised, and they believed my theory that man becomes supreme by doing what he wills to do.” “And the devil take the hindmost?” “Yes, and the devil take the hindmost.” He bent on me his sombre eyes, and I waited for his words. “What a folk those Germans are!” he said. “Whatever they do, they do _too_ thoroughly. One cannot trust them with a great truth.” “They do seem to have systematized you into the ground,” I answered. “I wanted to make them gods,” he complained, “and I have made them devils.” “God only can make gods,” I said. “Perhaps you were too ambitious.” “Humph! Perhaps I was too confiding.” “Hermeticism is safer,” I suggested. “You told them far too much.” “Or far too little, maybe.” “In how many volumes?” “Go ask the librarians. Not the foreign ones--they bind my works in packages of salable size.” “And how can I help you?” I asked. “Judge me.” “While you prosecute and defend yourself?” “Who else is fit, either to prosecute or defend me?” “Go on with the prosecution.” “I have corrupted a whole people, and led them to their ruin.” “Elaborate the charge.” “I thought to remedy their spinelessness, and following me with characteristic thoroughness, they have become _all spine_; they have neither heart nor bowels.” “Continue,” I said. “I preached Beyond Man. They have practised below man.” “So far,” I interrupted, “you have prosecuted them, not yourself.” “How can I charge myself without charging them?” he demanded. “Then I will step down from the bench,” I said, “and talk with you man to man.” “I am glad you didn’t say soul to soul.” “Oh, man is good enough for me! As I said before, you were too ambitious.” “Yes, too ambitious for man, too sick of man, too much in love with what man might become!” “We have come already to the defence,” I said. “The smell of the court is still about you,” he growled. “You asked me to be your judge.” “Yes, that is true.” “I am sorry for you,” I said. He smiled a sad and searching smile. “You seem to have both heart and bowels,” he observed. “And you have been too long alone,” I replied. “You have lost your gift of words. Shall I prosecute, defend _and_ judge you? You can interrupt me whenever you like.” “Go on,” he assented. “You were born under a restless star,” I began. “You followed heroes; they disappointed you by being men. Then you made self your hero, and that disappointed you most of all.” “You seem to know all about me.” “That is the glory and the shame of your greatness, that one knows all about you.”