ALICE. This Is the banks of the Styx. That is ... Oh, I said that before.

HIPPONAX. Ferry! Hie! Ferry!

[He rings and rings, but only the black cliffs echo back the hollow
sound of the bell.

HIPPONAX. So I was right! There is no ferryman; there are no gods. But
yet, though I died of brain fever yesterday afternoon, here still, in some
sense, am I. Which confirms the fact that I am an extraordinary man. In the
last world I proved that there were no gods because, said I ... it was very
simple ... I have never seen them. And in this world ... if by any means I
can get across that river ... I'll prove in a second volume that there are
none here either.

[And now comes Mercury, who is as beautiful and as calm as the statue
of him that rests--as if but for a moment--on its black plinth in the
Naples Museum. If that statue could move like a faun, that is what
Mercury should be; so it isn't easy to find an actor to play him. And
his voice must be clear and sweet. Not loud. But his words mus
like the telling of the hours--as befits a god. He stands there in his
glory. But Hipponax still tugs at the bell and grumbles, for he sees
nothing but empty air.

HIPPONAX. [With a final snap and pull] Ferry!! Not a soul about.

ALICE. He can't see Mercury because he doesn't believe in him.

[Then comes Charon from the ferry with his long pole. He is but a
half-god and so can grow old, older and ever old, though he may never