THE POET. Bettered?—Yes, a little. A very little—But instead of asking questions—will you not tell the riddle?
THE DAUGHTER. Yes. But to what use? You will not believe me.
THE POET. In you I shall believe, for I know who you are.
THE DAUGHTER. Then I shall tell! In the morning of the ages, before the sun was shining, Brahma, the divine primal force, let himself be persuaded by Maya, the world-mother, to propagate himself. This meeting of the divine primal matter with the earth-matter was the fall of heaven into sin. Thus the world, existence, mankind, are nothing but a phantom, an appearance, a dream-image——
THE POET. My dream!
THE DAUGHTER. A dream of truth! But in order to free themselves from the earth-matter, the offspring of Brahma seek privation and suffering. There you have suffering as a liberator. But this craving for suffering comes into conflict with the craving for enjoyment, or love—do you now understand what love is, with its utmost joys merged into its utmost sufferings, with its mixture of what is most sweet and most bitter? Can you now grasp what woman is? Woman, through whom sin and death found their way into life?
THE POET. I understand!—And the end?
THE DAUGHTER. You know it: conflict between the pain of enjoyment and the pleasure of suffering—between the pangs of the penitent and the joys of the prodigal——
THE POET. A conflict it is then?
THE DAUGHTER. Conflict between opposites produces energy, as fire and water give the power of steam——