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that I have the only imagination worth having: the power of imagining things as they are, even when I cannot see them. You feel yourself my superior, I know: nay, you are my superior: have I not bowed my knee to you by instinct? Yet I challenge you to a test of our respective powers. Can you calculate what the methematicians call vectors, without putting a single algebraic symbol on paper? Can you launch ten thousand men across a frontier and a chain of mountains and know to a mile exactly where they will be at the end of seven weeks? The rest is nothing: I got it all from the books at my military school. Now this great game of war, this playing with armies as other men play with bowls and skittles, is one which I must go on playing, partly because a man must do what he can and not what he would like to do, and partly because, if I stop, I immediately lose my power and become a beggar in the land where I now make men drunk with glory. The Oracle No doubt then you wish to know how to extricate yourself from this unfortunate position? Napoleon It is not generally considered unfortunate, madam. Supremely fortunate rather. The Oracle If you think so, go on making them drunk with glory. Why trouble me with their folly and your vectors? Napoleon Unluckily, madam, men are not only heroes: they are also cowards. They desire glory; but they dread death. The Oracle Why should they? Their lives are too short to be worth living. That is why they think your game of war worth playing. Napoleon They do not look at it quite in that way. The most worthless soldier wants to live forever. To make him risk being killed by the enemy I have to convince him that if he hesitates he will inevitably be shot at dawn by his own comrades for cowardice. The Oracle And if his comrades refuse to shoot him? Napoleon They will be shot too, of course. The Oracle By whom? Napoleon By their comrades. The Oracle And if they refuse? Napoleon Up to a certain point they do not refuse. The Oracle But when that point is reached, you have to do the shooting yourself, eh? Napoleon Unfortunately, madam, when that point is reached, they shoot me. The Oracle Mf! It seems to me they might as well shoot you first as last. Why don’t they? Napoleon Because their love of fighting, their desire for glory, their shame of being branded as dastards, their instinct to test themselves in terrible trials, their fear of being killed or enslaved by the enemy, their belief that they are defending their hearths and homes, overcome their natural cowardice, and make them willing not only to risk their own lives but to kill everyone who refuses to take that risk. But if war continues too long, there comes a time when the soldiers, and also the taxpayers who are supporting and munitioning them, reach a condition which they describe as being fed up. The troops have proved their courage, and want to go home and enjoy in peace the glory it has earned them. Besides, the risk of death for each soldier becomes a certainty if the fighting goes on forever: he hopes to escape for six months, but knows he cannot escape for six years. The risk of bankruptcy for the citizen becomes a certainty in the same way. Now what does this mean for me? The Oracle Does that matter in the midst of such calamity? Napoleon Psha! madam: it is the only thing that matters: the value of human life is the value of the greatest living man. Cut off that infinitesimal layer of grey matter which distinguishes my brain from that of the common man, and you cut down the stature of humanity from that of a giant to that of a nobody. I matter supremely: my soldiers do not matter at all: there are plenty more where they came from. If you kill me, or put a stop to my activity (it is the same thing), the nobler part of human life perishes. You must save the world from that catastrophe, madam. War has made me popular, powerful, famous, historically immortal. But I foresee that if I go on to the end it will leave me execrated, dethroned, imprisoned, perhaps executed. Yet if I stop fighting I commit suicide as a great man and become a common one. How am I to escape the horns of this tragic dilemma? Victory I can guarantee: I am invincible. But the cost of victory is the demoralization, the depopulation, the ruin of the victors no less than of the vanquished. How am I to satisfy my genius by fighting until I die? that is my question to you. The Oracle Were you not rash to venture into these sacred islands with such a question on your lips? Warriors are not popular here, my friend. Napoleon If a soldier were restrained by such a consideration, madam, he would no longer be a soldier. Besides, He produces a pistol. I have not come unarmed. The Oracle What is that thing? Napoleon It is an instrument of my profession, madam. I raise this hammer; I point the barrel at you; I pull this trigger that is against my forefinger; and you fall dead. The Oracle Show it to me. She puts out her hand to take it from him. Napoleon Retreating a step. Pardon me, madam. I never trust my life in the hands of a person over whom I have no control. The Oracle Sternly. Give it to me. She raises her hand to her veil. Napoleon Dropping the pistol and covering his eyes. Quarter! Kamerad! Take it, madam: He kicks it towards her. I surrender. The Oracle Give me that thing. Do you expect me to stoop for it? Napoleon Taking his hands from his eyes with an effort. A poor victory, madam: He picks up the pistol and hands it