When that moustache goes up, culture rises with it. Not what you
call culture; but Kultur, a word so much more significant that I
hardly understand it myself except when I am in specially good
form. When it goes down, millions of men perish.

ERMYNTRUDE. You know, if I had a moustache like that, it would
turn my head. I should go mad. Are you quite sure the Inca isn't
mad?

THE INCA. How can he be mad, madam? What is sanity? The condition
of the Inca's mind. What is madness? The condition of the people
who disagree with the Inca.

ERMYNTRUDE. Then I am a lunatic because I don't like that
ridiculous brooch.

THE INCA. No, madam: you are only an idiot.

ERMYNTRUDE. Thank you.

THE INCA. Mark you: It is not to be expected that you should see
eye to eye with the Inca. That would be presumption. It is for
you to accept without question or demur the assurance of your
Inca that the brooch is a masterpiece.

ERMYNTRUDE. MY Inca! Oh, come! I like that. He is not my Inca
yet.

THE INCA. He is everybody's Inca, madam. His realm will yet
extend to the confines of the habitable earth. It is his divine