Albert Camus. Caligula (№ 136811)

Caligula. Oh, it's you. ( stops as if hesitating ) I haven't seen. ( slowly approaching ) What are you doing? Still writing? Could you show me your latest poems?
Scipio. ( awkward, as if oscillating between hatred of Caligula and some new, to him a strange feeling ). I wrote the poem, Caesar.
Caligula. What?
Scipio. Don't know, Caesar. Maybe about nature.
Caligula ( breaking the awkwardness ). Wonderful topic. And vast... But what do you care about nature?
Scipio ( he controls himself, ironically ). She comforts me when I remember that I am not a Caesar.
Caligula. But I Caesar. Whether it is to comfort me in this?