Nie. The final list, was it? Well, ask your friend whether, since the drawing up of that list, any addition has been made: he will say 'Nobody has been added.'
Min. Quite so.
Nie. You do not understand. Nobody—Niemand—see you not?
Min. What? You mean—
Nie. (solemnly) I do, my friend. I have been added to it!
Min. (bowing) The Committee are highly honoured, I am sure.
Nie. So they ought to be, considering that I am a more distinguished mathematician than Newton himself, and that my Manual is better known than Euclid's! Excuse my self-glorification, but any moralist will tell you that I—I alone among men—ought to praise myself.
Min. (thoughtfully) True, true. But all this is word-juggling—a most misleading analogy. However, as you now appear in a new character, you must at least have a new name!
Nie. (proudly) Call me Nostradamus!
[Even as he utters the mystic name, the air grows dense around him, and gradually crystallizes into living forms. Enter a phantasmic procession, grouped about a banner, on which is emblazoned in letters of gold the title 'Association for the Improvement of Things in General.' Foremost in the line marches Nero, carrying his unfinished 'Scheme for lighting and warming Rome'; while among the crowd which follow him may be noticed—Guy Fawkes, President of the 'Association for raising the position of Members of Parlia-
