Superman is a good cry; and a good cry is half the battle.
I should like to see this Nietzsche.
THE DEVIL.
Unfortunately he met Wagner here, and had a quarrel with him.
THE STATUE.
Quite right, too.
Mozart for me!
THE DEVIL.
Oh, it was not about music.
Wagner once drifted into Life Force worship, and invented a Superman called Siegfried.
But he came to his senses afterwards.
So when they met here, Nietzsche denounced him as a renegade; and Wagner wrote a pamphlet to prove that Nietzsche was a Jew; and it ended in Nietzsche's going to heaven in a huff.
And a good riddance too.
And now, my friend, let us hasten to my palace and celebrate your arrival with a grand musical service.
THE STATUE.
With pleasure: you're most kind.
THE DEVIL.
This way, Commander.
We go down the old trap [he places himself on the grave trap].
THE STATUE.
Good. [Reflectively] All the same, the Superman is a fine conception.
There is something statuesque about it. [He places himself on the grave trap beside The Devil.
It begins to descend slowly.
Red glow from the abyss].
Ah, this reminds me of old times.
THE DEVIL.
And me also.
ANA.
Stop! [The trap stops].
THE DEVIL.
You, Senora, cannot come this way.
You will have an apotheosis.
But you will be at the palace before us.
ANA.
That is not what I stopped you for.
Tell me where can I find the Superman?
THE DEVIL.
He is not yet created, Senora.
THE STATUE.
And never will be, probably.
Let us proceed: the red fire will make me sneeze. [They descend].
ANA.
Not yet created!
Then my work is not yet done. [Crossing herself devoutly] I believe in the Life to Come. [Crying to the universe] A father—a father for the Superman!
She vanishes into the void; and again there is nothing: all existence seems suspended infinitely.
Then, vaguely, there is a live human voice crying somewhere.
One sees, with a shock, a mountain peak showing faintly against a lighter background.
The sky has returned from afar; and we suddenly remember where we were.
The cry becomes distinct and urgent: it says Automobile, Automobile.
The complete reality comes back with a rush: in a moment it is full morning in the Sierra; and the brigands are scrambling to their feet and making for the road as the goatherd runs down from the hill, warning them of the approach of another motor.