to prefer the reading of fairy-tales and enchantments to their musty lessons. Does that seem little to you?
Queen. Does it satisfy you? Would it not have been better to have taught him the fairy-tales first and afterward the realities of science?
King. By no means! The proper course is first to assure ourselves of the firm ground, and then to scatter the lighter earth upon it, in which roses may bloom—not to throw upon the flowers hard stones and solid rock. We should shape our lives like a Gothic cathedral, well cemented, and buttressed like a fortress below, but flowering above in sculptured garlands and miracles of many-colored glass. The mass is lightened, though it is all of stone, until it seems rather to be floating in the air than founded on the ground.
Queen. Very good, no doubt. Although I fail to see what all this has to do with the journey of our son.
King. His journey is the bridge which we must build for him between truth and illusion. Life itself is such a bridge, and it stretches from one to the other, and unites and blends them in such a way as to create out of them all the reality that we know.
The Prince, the Tutor, and Tony enter.
Queen. My son!
Prince. I come to ask your blessing.
Queen. This parting is too cruel…
King. Remember that you are a queen before you are a mother. Embrace your son, and do not make his courage falter.
Prince. My mother and my Queen! I go content, accompanied by my faithful servitors, my preceptor and my Tony.
Queen. Have you packed the bags without forgetting anything?
