Four Mystery Plays
GA 14
The Portal of Initiation
A Prelude
Sophia's room. The colour scheme is a yellow red. Sophia, with her two children, a boy and a girl; later, Estella.
Children (singing, whilst Sophia accompanies them on the piano):
The light of the sun is flooding
The breadths of space;
The song of the birds is filling
The heights of air;
The tender plants are shooting
From the kind earth;
And human souls in reverent gratitude,
Rise to the spirits of the world.
Sophia:
Now, children, go to your rooms and think over the words we have just practised.
(Sophia leads the children out. Enter Estella.)
Estella:
How do you do, Sophy? I hope I'm not intruding?
Sophia:
Oh no, Estelle. I am very glad to see you.
(Asks Estella to be seated and seats herself.)
Estella:
Have you good news from your husband?
Sophia:
Very good. He writes to me saying that he is interested in the Congress of Psychologists; though the manner in which they treat many great questions there does not appeal to him. However, as a student of souls, he is interested in just those methods of spiritual shortsightedness which makes it impossible for men to obtain a clear view of essential mysteries.
Estella:
Does he not intend speaking on an important subject, himself?
Sophia:
Yes, on a subject that seems important both to him and to me. But the scientific views of those present at the Congress prevent his expecting any results from his arguments.
Estella:
I really came in, dear Sophy, to ask whether you would come with me this evening to a new play called Outcasts from Body and from Soul. I should so like to hear it with you.
Sophia:
I'm sorry, my dear Estelle, but to-night is the date set for the performance of the play, which our society has been rehearsing for a long time.
Estella:
Oh yes, I had forgotten. But it would have been such a pleasure to have spent this evening with my old friend. I had set my heart on having you beside me, and gazing with you into the hidden depths of our present-day life. ... I only hope that this world of ideas, in which you move, and which is so strange to me, will not finally destroy that bond of sympathy, which has united our hearts since we were at school together.
Sophia:
You have often said that before; and yet you have always had to admit that our divergent opinions need not erect barriers between those feelings which have existed between us in our companionship from our youth upwards.
Estella:
True, I have said so. Yet it always arouses a sense of bitterness in me, when, as the years roll on, I see how your affections are estranged from those things in life that seem to me worth while.
Sophia:
Still, we may be of much mutual help to one another if we recognize and realize the various points of view which we reach through our different inclinations.
Estella:
Yes! My reason tells me that you are right. And yet there is something in me that rebels against your view of life.
Sophia:
Why not candidly admit that what you require of me is the renunciation of my inmost soul-life?
Estella:
But for one thing, I should admit even that. And that is, that you always claim that your view is the more profound. I can readily understand that people whose conceptions differ radically may still meet in sympathy of feeling. But the nature of your ideas actually forces upon you an inner assumption of a certain superiority. Others can compare views and realize that they do indeed diverge towards different standpoints, but they nevertheless stand related by an equality of values. You, however, seem unable to do this. You regard all other views as proceeding from a lower degree of human development.
Sophia:
But you realize, I hope, from our previous discussions, that those who think as I do, do not finally measure the character of man by his opinions or by his knowledge. And while we consider our ideas such, that without vital realization of them life has no valid foundations, we nevertheless try most earnestly not to over-estimate the value of the individual, who has been permitted to become an instrument for the manifestation of this view of life.
Estella:
All that sounds very well, but it does not remove my one suspicion. I cannot close my eyes to the fact, that a world-view which ascribes to itself illimitable depth must needs lead through the mere appearance of such depth to a certain superficiality. I rate our friendship too high to point out to you those among your companions who, whilst they swear allegiance to your ideas, yet display spiritual arrogance of the most unmitigated sort, despite the fact that the barrenness and banality of their soul speaks in their every word and in all their conduct. Nor do I wish to call your attention to the callousness and lack of sympathy shown by so many of your adherents towards their fellow men. The greatness of your own soul has never permitted you to stand aloof from that which daily life requires at the hands of the man whom we call good. And yet the fact that you leave me alone on this occasion, when true and artistic life comes to be voiced, shows me that your ideas too with reference to this life are to a certain extent superficial—if you will forgive my saying so.
Sophia:
And wherein lies this superficiality?
Estella:
You ought to know. You have known me long enough to understand how I have wrenched myself away from that manner of life, which, day in and day out, only struggles to follow tradition and convention.
I have sought to understand why so many people suffer, as it seems, undeservedly. I have tried to approach the heights and depths of life. I have consulted the sciences, so far as I could, to learn what they disclose.
But let me hold fast to the one point which this moment presents to us. I am aware of the nature of true art; I believe I understand how it seizes upon the essentials of life and presents to our souls the true and higher reality. I seem to feel the beating of the pulse of time, when I permit such art to influence me, and I am horrified when I have to think what it is that you, Sophy, prefer to this interest in living art. You turn to what seem to me the obsolete, dogmatically allegorical themes, to gaze on a show of puppets, instead of on living beings, and to wonder at symbolical happenings which stand far away from all that appeals to our pity and to our active sympathies in daily life.
Sophia:
My dear Estelle, that is exactly the fact that you will not grasp—that the richest life is to be found just there where you only see a fantastic web of thoughts: and that there may be, and are, people who are compelled to call your living reality mere poverty—if it be not measured by the spiritual source from whence it comes. Possibly my words sound harsh to you. But our friendship demands absolute frankness. Spirit itself is as unknown to you as it is to the multitude. In its place you know only the bearer of knowledge. It is only the thought side of spirit of which you are aware. You have no conception of the living, the creative spirit, which endows men with elemental power, even as the germinal power of nature shapes living entities. Like many another, for instance, you call things in art which deny the spirit, as I conceive it, naive and original. Our conception of the world unites a full and conscious freedom with the power of spontaneous creation. We consciously absorb this power, and do not thereby rob. it of its' freshness, its fullness, and its originality. You believe that the character of man shapes itself, and that we can merely form thoughts and considerations about it. You will not see that thought itself actually merges into-creative spirit; reaching the very fountain of Being; and developing thence into an actual creative germ.
Our ideas do not teach, any more than the seed-power within a plant teaches it how to grow. It is the actual growth itself, and in like manner do our ideas flow into our very being, kindling and dispensing life. To the ideas that have come to me, I am indebted for all that makes life worth while; not only for the courage, but also for the insight and power that make me hopeful of so training my children, that they shall not only be capable and useful in ordinary everyday life, in the old traditional sense, but that they shall at the same time carry inward peace and contentment within their souls. I have no wish to stray from the point, but I will say just one thing. I believe—nay I know—that the dreams which you share with so many can only be realized when men succeed in uniting what they call the realities of life with those deeper experiences, which you have so often termed dreams and fantasies. You may be astonished if I confess it to you: but much that seems true art to you is to me a mere fruitless critique of life. No hunger is stilled, no tears are dried, no source of degeneracy is discovered, when merely the outer show of hunger, or tear-stained faces, or degenerates are shown upon the stage. And the customary method of that presentation is unspeakably distant from the true depths of life, and the true relation-ship between beings.
Estella:
I understand your words indeed, but they merely show me that you do prefer to indulge in fancies, rather than to look upon the realities of life. Our ways, indeed, part.—I see that my friend is denied me to-night. (Rises.) I must leave you now. But we remain friends, as of old, do we not?
Sophia:
We must indeed remain friends. (While these last words are spoken, Sophia conducts her friend to the door.)
Vorspiel.
(Zimmer der Frau Sophia, in gelbrötlichem Farbenton gehalten. Sophia mit ihren beiden Kindern, einem Knaben und einem Mädchen, dann Estella.)
Singen der Kinder (Sophia begleitet auf dem Klavier)
Der Sonne Licht durchflutet
Des Raumes Weiten,
Der Vögel Singen durchhallet
Der Luft Gefilde,
Der Pflanzen Segen entkeimet
Dem Erdenwesen,
Und Menschenseelen erheben
In Dankgefühlen
Sich zu den Geistern der Welt.
Sophia:
Und nun, Kinder, geht in eure Stube und überdenkt die Worte, die wir eben geübt haben
(Sophia geleitet die Kinder hinaus, Estella tritt ein.)
Estella:
Sei mir gegrüßt, meine liebe Sophie. Ich störe dich doch nicht.
Sophia:
Nein, meine gute Estella. Sei mir herzlich willkommen.
(Fordert Estella zum Sitzen auf und setzt sich selbst.)
Estella:
Hast du gute Nachrichten von deinem Manne?
Sophia:
Recht gute. Er schreibt mir, daß der Kongress der Psychologen ihn interessiere, trotzdem die Art, wie da manche große Frage behandelt wird, wenig ansprechend sei. Ihn, als Seelenforscher interessiert aber gerade, wie die Menschen sich durch eine bestimmte Weise geistiger Kurzsichtigkeit die freie Aussicht auf die eigentlichen Geheimnisse unmöglich machen.
Estella:
Nicht wahr, er hat doch vor, selbst über ein wichtiges Thema zu sprechen?
Sophia:
Ja, über ein Thema, das ihm und auch mir sehr wichtig scheint. Eine Wirkung verspricht er sich allerdings nicht von seinen Ausführungen, in Anbetracht der wissenschaftlichen Vorstellungsarten der Kongress-Teilnehmer.
Estella:
Es führt mich ein Wunsch zu dir, meine liebe Sophie. Könnten wir diesen Abend nicht gemeinsam verbringen? Es ist heute die Aufführung der »Enterbten des Leibes und der Seele«, und du könntest mir keine größere Freude machen, als wenn du mit mir zusammen die Vorstellung besuchen wolltest.
Sophia:
Es ist dir entfallen, liebe Estella, daß heute abend gerade für unsere Gesellschaft selbst die Aufführung ist, auf die wir uns seit langer Zeit vorbereitet haben.
Estella:
Ach ja, das hatte ich vergessen. So gern hätte ich diesen Abend mit der alten Freundin verlebt. Ich freute mich von ganzem Herzen, an deiner Seite in die tiefen Untergründe unseres gegenwärtigen Lebens zu schauen. ‒ Doch deine mir so fremde Ideenwelt wird auch noch den letzten Rest des schönen Bandes zerstören, das unsere Herzen verknüpft, seit wir zusammen auf der Schulbank gesessen.
Sophia:
Das sagtest du mir schon oft; doch hast du mir immer wieder zugeben müssen, daß unsere Meinungen keine Scheidewand aufzurichten brauchten zwischen den Gefühlen, welche seit der gemeinsam verlebten Jugend in jeder von uns für die andere leben.
Estella:
Es ist wahr, das habe ich oft gesagt. Doch erweckt es mir immer wieder Bitternis, wenn ich sehen muß, wie mit jedem Jahre fremder dein Empfinden wird allem , was mir im Leben wertvoll scheint.
Sophia:
Wir könnten einander eben dadurch viel sein, daß wir uns gegenseitig gelten ließen in dem, wozu unsere verschiedenen Anlagen uns geführt.
Estella:
Ach, oft lasse ich mir von meinem Verstande sagen, daß du darinnen recht hast. Und doch ist etwas in mir, was sich auflehnt gegen die Art, wie du das Leben betrachtest.
Sophia:
Gib dir doch ernstlich einmal zu, daß du damit eigentlich von mir die Verleugnung meines innersten Wesenskernes verlangst.
Estella:
Ja, ich wollte das auch alles gelten lassen, wenn nur Eines nicht wäre. Ich kann mir ganz gut denken, daß Menschen verschiedener Vorstellungsarten sich in völliger Sympathie der Gefühle begegnen. Deine Ideen-Richtung legt dir aber förmlich die innere Verpflichtung zu einer gewißen Überhebung auf. Andere Menschen können ganz gut so zueinander stehen, daß sie von ihren Ansichten denken, diese seien durch verschiedene mögliche Standpunkte bedingt und stehen als gleichberechtigt neben einander. Deine Anschauung aber gibt sich allen anderen gegenüber als die tiefere. Sie sieht in den andern nur Ausflüsse eines untergeordneten menschlichen Entwicklungsgrades.
Sophia:
Aus dem, was wir so oft besprochen, könntest du aber wissen, daß meine Gesinnungsgenossen den Wert des Menschen im letzten Grunde doch nicht nach seiner Meinung und seinem Wissen bemessen. Und wenn wir auch unsere Ideen als diejenigen betrachten, ohne deren lebendige Erfassung alles andere Leben ohne rechten Grund ist, so bemühen wir uns doch so ernstlich als möglich, den Menschen deshalb nicht zu überschätzen, weil er sich zum Werkzeug gerade unseres Lebensinhaltes machen darf.
Estella:
Das scheint alles schön gesprochen. Es will mir aber einen Argwohn nicht nehmen. Denn ich kann mich davor nicht verschließen, daß eine Weltansicht, welche sich eine unbedingte Tiefe zuschreibt, nur auf dem Umweg einer vorgetäuschten Tiefe zu einer gewißen Oberflächlichkeit führen muß. Du bist mir eine viel zu liebe Freundin, als daß ich dir kommen möchte mit dem Hinweis auf diejenigen deiner Gesinnungsgenossen, die auf eure Ideen schwören und den geistigen Hochmut in schlimmster Art zur Schau tragen, trotzdem die Leerheit und Banalität ihrer Seele aus jedem ihrer Worte und aus ihrem ganzen Verhalten spricht. Und auch darauf will ich dich nicht weisen, wie stumpf und gefühllos gegen ihre Mitmenschen gerade manche eurer Anhänger sich zeigen. Deine große Seele hat sich ja doch niemals dem entziehen können, was das tägliche Leben nun einmal von jedem Menschen verlangt, der im echten Sinne als ein guter bezeichnet werden muß. Doch gerade, daß du mich heute allein lässt, da, wo echtes, künstlerisches Leben spricht, das zeigt mir auch an dir, daß eure Ideen doch gegenüber diesem Leben ‒ verzeihe das Wort ‒ eine gewisse Oberflächlichkeit erzeugen.
Sophia:
Und wo liegt diese Oberflächlichkeit?
Estella:
Du solltest doch wissen, da du mich so lange kennst, wie ich mich losgerungen von einer Lebensart, die von Tag zu Tag nur jagt nach dem, was Herkommen und banale Meinungen vorschreiben. Ich habe gesucht, kennen zu lernen, warum so viele Menschen anscheinend unverdient leiden müssen. Ich bestrebte mich, den Niederungen und den Höhen des Lebens nahezutreten. Ich habe auch die Wissenschaften, soweit sie mir zugänglich sind, befragt, um allerlei Aufschlüsse zu erlangen. ‒ Nun, halten wir uns an Einen Punkt, der gerade durch diesen Augenblick geboten ist. Es ist mir bewußt geworden, was echte Kunst ist. Ich glaube zu verstehen, wie sie das Wesen des Lebens erfaßt und die wahre, die höhere Wirklichkeit vor unsere Seele hinstellt. Ich meine den Pulsschlag der Zeit zu Spüren, wenn ich solche Kunst auf mich wirken lasse. Und mir graut, wenn ich nun denken soll: Du, meine liebe Sophie, ziehst diesem Interesse an lebensvoller Kunst etwas vor, was mir doch nichts anderes zu sein scheint als die abgetane lehrhaft-allegorische Art, welche puppenhafte Schemen statt lebendiger Menschen betrachtet und sinnbildliche Vorgänge bewundert, die fern stehen allem, was im Leben täglich an unser Mitleid, an unsere tätige Anteilnahme sich wendet.
Sophia:
Meine liebe Estella, du willst eben nicht begreifen, daß da erst das reichste Leben sein kann, wo du nur ausgeklügelte Gedanken siehst. Und daß es Menschen geben darf, welche deine lebensvolle Wirklichkeit dann arm nennen müssen, wenn sie nicht gemessen wird an dem, woraus sie eigentlich hervorsprudelt. Es mag dir manches herb klingen an meinen Worten. Allein unsere Freundschaft fordert ungeschminkte Aufrichtigkeit. Du kennst, wie so viele, von dem, was Geist genannt wird, nur das was Träger des Wissens ist; du hast nur ein Bewußtsein von der Gedankenseite des Geistes. Auf den lebendigen, den schöpferischen Geist, der Menschen gestaltet mit elementarer Macht, wie Keimeskräfte in der Natur Wesen gestalten, willst du dich nicht einlassen. Du nennst wie so viele z. B. in der Kunst das naiv und ursprünglich, was den Geist in meiner Auffassung verleugnet. Unsere Art der Weltauffassung vereinigt aber volle bewußte Freiheit mit der Kraft des naiven Werdens. Wir nehmen bewußt in uns auf, was naiv ist, und berauben es dadurch nicht der Frische, Fülle und Ursprünglichkeit. Du glaubst, man könne sich nur Gedanken über einen menschlichen Charakter machen: dieser aber müsse sich gleichsam von selbst formen. Du willst nicht einsehen, wie der Gedanke in den schaffenden Geist taucht, an des Daseins Urquell rührt und sich entpuppt als der schöpferische Keim selbst. ‒ So wenig die Samenkräfte die Pflanze erst lehren, wie sie wachsen soll, sondern sich als lebendig Wesen in ihr erweisen, so lehren unsere Ideen nicht: sie ergießen sich, Leben entzündend, Leben spendend in unser Wesen. Ich verdanke den Ideen, die mir zugänglich geworden sind, alles, was mir das Leben sinnvoll erscheinen lässt. Ich verdanke ihnen den Mut nicht nur, sondern auch die Einsicht und die Kraft, die mich hoffen lassen, aus meinen Kindern Menschen zu machen, die nicht nur im hergebrachten Sinne arbeitstüchtig und für ein äußeres Leben brauchbar sind, sondern die innere Ruhe und Befriedigung in der Seele tragen werden. Und, um nicht in alles mögliche zu verfallen, will ich dir noch sagen: Ich glaube zu wissen, daß die Träume, welche du mit so vielen teilst, sich nur dann verwirklichen können, wenn es den Menschen gelingt, das, was sie Wirklichkeit und Leben nennen, anzuknüpfen an die tieferen Erfahrungen, die du Phantastereien und Schwärmereien so oft genannt hast. Es mag dir sonderbar erscheinen, wenn ich dir gestehe, daß ich so manches, was dir echte Kunst dünkt, nur als unfruchtbare Lebenskritik empfinde. Denn es wird kein Hunger gestillt, keine Träne getrocknet, kein Quell der Verkommenheit geschaut, wenn man bloß die Außenseite des Hungers, der tränenvollen Gesichter, der verkommenen Menschen auf den Brettern zeigt. Wie das gewöhnlich gezeigt wird, steht den wahren Tiefen des Lebens und den Zusammenhängen der Wesenheiten unsäglich ferne.
Estella:
Wenn du so sprichst, bist du mir nicht etwa unverständlich, sondern du zeigst mir nur, daß du eben doch lieber in Phantasien schwelgen willst, als des Lebens Wahrheit schauen. Auf diesen Wegen gehen wir ja doch auseinander. ‒ Ich muß heute abend auf meine Freundin verzichten.
(Aufstehend.)
Jetzt muß ich dich verlassen; ich denke, wir bleiben doch die alten Freundinnen.
Sophia:
Wir müssen es wirklich bleiben.
(Während die letzten Worte gesprochen werden,
geleitet Sophia die Freundin zur Türe.
Der Vorhang fällt.)
Prelude.
(Mrs. Sophia's room, decorated in reddish-yellow tones. Sophia with her two children, a boy and a girl, then Estella.)
The children sing (Sophia accompanies them on the piano)
The sun's light floods
The vastness of the room,
The birdsong echoes
Through the air,
The plants sprout
From the earth,
And human souls rise
In gratitude
To the spirits of the world.
Sophia:
And now, children, go to your room and reflect on the words we have just practiced.
(Sophia leads the children out, Estella enters.)
Estella:
Greetings, my dear Sophie. I hope I am not disturbing you.
Sophia:
No, my dear Estella. You are most welcome.
(Invites Estella to sit down and sits down herself.)
Estella:
Have you received good news from your husband?
Sophia:
Quite good. He writes that he finds the psychology conference interesting, even though the way some of the big questions are being addressed is not very appealing. As a researcher of the human soul, he is particularly interested in how people, through a certain kind of intellectual short-sightedness, make it impossible for themselves to see the real secrets clearly.
Estella:
Isn't that right, he plans to speak on an important topic himself?
Sophia:
Yes, on a topic that seems very important to him and to me. However, he does not expect his remarks to have any effect, given the scientific mindset of the conference participants.
Estella:
I have a request for you, my dear Sophie. Could we spend this evening together? Tonight is the performance of “The Disinherited of Body and Soul,” and you could give me no greater pleasure than to accompany me to the performance.
Sophia:
You have forgotten, dear Estella, that tonight is the performance for our society, for which we have been preparing for a long time.
Estella:
Oh yes, I had forgotten that. I would have loved to spend this evening with my old friend. I was looking forward with all my heart to looking into the depths of our present life at your side. But your world of ideas, which is so foreign to me, will destroy even the last remnants of the beautiful bond that has linked our hearts since we sat together at school.
Sophia:
You have told me that many times, but you have always had to admit that our opinions did not need to create a barrier between the feelings that have lived in each of us for the other since our youth together./
Estella:
It's true, I've said that many times. But it always makes me bitter when I see how, with each passing year, your feelings become more and more alien to everything that seems valuable to me in life.
Sophia: We could mean a lot to each other precisely because we accepted each other for what our different dispositions have led us to become.
Estella:
Oh, I often let my mind tell me that you are right in that. And yet there is something in me that rebels against the way you view life.
Sophia:
Admit to yourself seriously that you are actually demanding that I deny my innermost core.
Estella:
Yes, I would accept all that, if only there weren't one thing. I can well imagine that people with different ways of thinking can meet in complete sympathy of feelings. However, your way of thinking imposes a certain inner obligation of arrogance on you. Other people can relate to each other in such a way that they consider their views to be conditioned by different possible points of view and stand on an equal footing with each other. Your view, however, presents itself to all others as the deeper one. It sees in others only the outflow of a subordinate level of human development.
Sophia:
From what we have discussed so often, you should know that my fellow believers do not ultimately measure the value of a person by their opinions and knowledge. And even though we regard our ideas as those without whose living comprehension all other life is without real meaning, we nevertheless strive as earnestly as possible not to overestimate human beings, because they may make themselves the instruments of our very purpose in life.
Estella:
That all sounds very nice. But I cannot shake a certain suspicion. For I cannot ignore the fact that a worldview that attributes unconditional depth to itself must inevitably lead to a certain superficiality by way of a feigned depth. You are far too dear a friend to me for me to want to point out those of your like-minded comrades who swear by your ideas and display intellectual arrogance in the worst possible way, even though the emptiness and banality of their souls is evident in every word they utter and in their entire behavior. Nor do I want to point out to you how dull and insensitive some of your followers are toward their fellow human beings. Your great soul has never been able to escape what daily life demands of every person who must be described as good in the true sense of the word. But the fact that you are leaving me alone today, where genuine artistic life speaks, also shows me that your ideas create a certain superficiality in relation to this life—forgive the word.
Sophia:
And where does this superficiality lie?
Estella:
You should know, since you have known me for so long, how I have struggled to break free from a way of life that day after day only pursues what tradition and banal opinions dictate. I have sought to understand why so many people seem to suffer undeservedly. I strove to approach the lows and highs of life. I also questioned the sciences, as far as they are accessible to me, in order to gain all kinds of insights. ‒ Well, let's stick to one point that is offered by this very moment. I have become aware of what true art is. I believe I understand how it captures the essence of life and presents the true, higher reality to our soul. I think I can feel the pulse of time when I allow such art to affect me. And I am horrified when I think: You, my dear Sophie, prefer something to this interest in art full of life, something that seems to me to be nothing other than the outdated didactic-allegorical style, which regards doll-like figures instead of living human beings and admires symbolic events that are far removed from everything in daily life that appeals to our compassion and our active sympathy.
Sophia:
My dear Estella, you simply do not want to understand that the richest life can only be found where you see only sophisticated thoughts. And that there may be people who must call your lively reality poor if it is not measured by what it actually springs from. Some of my words may sound harsh to you. But our friendship demands unvarnished sincerity. Like so many, you know only that which is the bearer of knowledge when it comes to what is called spirit; you are only aware of the intellectual side of the spirit. You do not want to engage with the living, creative spirit that shapes people with elemental power, just as germinating forces shape beings in nature. Like so many others, you call what in my view denies the spirit naive and primitive, for example in art. But our way of understanding the world combines full conscious freedom with the power of naive becoming. We consciously absorb what is naive and thereby do not rob it of its freshness, fullness, and originality. You believe that one can only think about human character, but that this must form itself, as it were. You do not want to understand how thought plunges into the creative spirit, touches the primal source of existence, and reveals itself as the creative germ itself. Just as the seed's powers do not first teach the plant how to grow, but prove themselves to be living beings within it, so our ideas do not teach: they pour themselves into our being, igniting life and giving life. I owe everything that makes life seem meaningful to me to the ideas that have become accessible to me. I owe them not only the courage, but also the insight and strength that give me hope of raising my children to be people who are not only capable of work in the traditional sense and useful in the outside world, but who will also carry inner peace and satisfaction in their souls. And, so as not to fall into all sorts of things, I want to tell you one more thing: I believe that the dreams you share with so many can only come true if people succeed in connecting what they call reality and life to the deeper experiences that you have so often called fantasies and enthusiasms. It may seem strange to you when I confess that I perceive much of what you consider genuine art as merely barren criticism of life. For no hunger is satisfied, no tear dried, no source of depravity seen, when one merely shows the outside of hunger, of tearful faces, of depraved people on the stage. The way it is usually shown is unspeakably far removed from the true depths of life and the connections between beings.
Estella:
When you speak like that, you are not incomprehensible to me, but you are only showing me that you would rather indulge in fantasies than see the truth of life. We are going our separate ways after all. I must give up my friend tonight.
(Standing up.)
Now I must leave you; I think we will remain old friends after all.
Sophia:
We really must remain so.
(As the last words are spoken,
Sophia leads her friend to the door.
The curtain falls.)