George. Solitude and silence, two wonderful words. What they call up in my mind! Solitude for the physical and silence for the mind. It is in these states that Art flourishes in its greatest form. Art is turning back to the works of the primitive artists, early Italians principally. And it is here that it should turn—it should turn back to Art and not to Nature, which only holds it back. And we who expect to figure in this new Renaissance must live as our masters, cloistered, alone, removed from the material, within ourselves—as Angelico or as Fra Filippo Lippi. For from the cave of Silence comes the flame of creation, and we who hope to receive a spark of this flame must worship in solitude, as monks and as nuns.
Alice (smiling). But have I not heard something about a rope ladder in connection with Fra Filippo Lippi?
George. Legends—inventions of the common mind which sometimes are chronicled by still commoner ones—and thus accepted finally as facts.
Alice. Truths, I should say.
George (jumping up). I am going out!
Camele (in a boisterous voice). Schopenhauer, I prefer De Mau—(Her voice is lost as Alice’s is heard speaking to George.)
Alice. Don’t run away, George, I want to talk with you. I think that you are beginning to understand the change in me, the new Alice, let us say—and I want to make sure of it.
George (sitting down). No, I do not understand the new Alice.
Alice. You will not, would not be nearer the truth, I think.
George. No, I do not is exactly what I mean.