ALICE. Sorry! So I did. The Greek philosopher always wore a mask, so that people shouldn't see whether he was talking sense or not. For you can tell that by looking at people. And he wore a cloak all patches to pretend he was poor, because you aren't a philosopher at all unless you're poor ... there's no need. But Columbine's the nicest. You'll see. UNCLE EDWARD. You're not to take sides. ALICE. I wasn't. They will see. UNCLE EDWARD. Ask George if they are ready. ALICE. They are always quite ready when I begin. UNCLE EDWARD. All right. [So he takes up the large wooden mallet that lies beside his chair and says solemnly to the audience, As in Paris. [Then he bangs the stage with it three times. He loves this classic touch. Then he calls out to George (we must suppose), whom we guess to be the presiding genius at the "back," "Music!" The Music begins. It is a small orchestra to be sure. But if you have two double-basses and enough fiddles on top you can manage to make the flowing of a river sound quite well. The music makes you think of the Styx (which is a deep bass, never ending, four in a bar, sort of river) before ever Uncle Edward and Alice draw you the curtains and show you the picture. Rather an awesome picture it is with the cold blue river and the great black cliffs and the blacker cypresses that grow along its banks. There are signs of a trodden slope and a ferry, and there's a rough old wooden shelter where passengers can wait; a bell hung on the top with which they call the ferryman. And under this now sits Hipponax, the Greek philosopher; and he is ringing the bell very violently and unphilosophically indeed. Alice goes back to her seat. She can see the scenes from there by twisting her head far round, and she often does. For whether things on the stage go right or wrong, they never go the same way twice, so it is always interesting. 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.