Prelude

PreludeSophia’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 floodingThe breadths of space;The song of the birds is fillingThe heights of the air;The blessing of plant-life unfoldethElemental Beings of earth;And human souls in reverent gratitude,Rise up to the spirits of the world.Sophia:Now, children, go to your room 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 make 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 calledOutcasts from Body and from Soul. I should so like to hear it with you.Sophia:I’m sorry, my dear Estelle, but tonight is the date set for the performance of the play, whichoursociety 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 yetyou 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 notfinally 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 by the circuitous route of a 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 inand 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 which 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 ofwhich 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, naïve and original. Our conception of the world unites a full and conscious freedom with the power of naïve creation. We absorb consciously that which is naïve, and do not thereby rob it of its freshness, its fulness, and its originality. You believe that the character of man shapes itself, and that we can merely form thoughts and considerationsaboutit. 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 notteach, any more than the seed-power within a plantteachesit 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 degenerate beings is shown upon the stage. And the customary method of that presentation is unspeakably distant from the true depths of life, and the true relationship 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 tonight.(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.)CurtainScene 1Room. Dominant note rose-red. Large rose-red chairs are arranged in a semicircle. To the left of the stage a door leads to the auditorium. One after the other, the speakers introduced enter by this door; each stopping in the room for a time. While they do so, they discuss the discourse they have just heard in the auditorium, and what it suggests to them.Enter first Maria and Johannes, then others. The speeches which follow are continuations of discussions already begun in the auditorium.Maria:My friend, I am indeed distressed to seeThy spirit and thy soul in sadness droop,And powerless to help the bond that bindsAnd that has bound us both for ten blest years.E’en this same hour, filled with a portent deepIn which we both have heard and learned so muchThat lightens all the darkest depths of soul,Brought naught but shade and shadow unto thee.Aye, after many of the speakers’ words,My listening heart could feel the very dartThat deeply wounded thine. Once did I gazeInto thine eyes and saw but happinessAnd joy in all the essence of the world.In pictures beauty-steeped thy soul held fastEach fleeting moment, bathed by sunshine’s glow—Flooding with air and light the forms of menUnsealing all the depths and doubts of Life.Unskilled as yet thine hand to body forthIn concrete colour-schemes, those living formsThat hovered in thy soul; but in the heartsOf both of us there throbbed the joyous faithAnd certain hope that future days would teachThine hand this art—to pour forth happinessInto the very fundaments of Being;That all the wonders of thy spirit’s searchUnfolding visibly Creation’s powersThrough every creature of thine art would pourSoul rapture deep into the hearts of men.Such were our dreams through all those days of yoreThat to thy skill, mirrored in beauty’s guise,The weal of future men would trace its source.So dreamed mine own soul of the goal of thine.Yet now the vital spark of fashioning fireThat burned within thee seems extinct and dead.Dead thy creative joy: and well-nigh maimedThe hand, which once with fresh and youthful strengthGuided thy steadfast brush from year to year.Johannes:Alas, ’tis true; I feel as if the firesThat erstwhile quickened in my soul are quenched.Mine eye, grown dull, doth no more catch the gleamShed by the flickering sunlight o’er the earth.No feeling stirs my heart, when changing moodsOf light and shade flow o’er the scenes around.Still lies my hand, seeking no more to chainInto a lasting present fleeting charms,Shown forth by magic elemental powersFrom utmost depths of Life before mine eyes.No new creative fire thrills me with joy.For me dull monotone obscures all life.Maria:My heart is deeply grieved to hear that thouDost find such emptiness in everythingWhich thrives as highest good and very sourceOf sacred life itself within my heart.Ah, friend, behind the changing scenes of lifeThat men call ‘Being,’ true life lies concealedSpiritual, everlasting, infinite.And in that life each soul doth weave its thread.I feel afloat in spirit potencies,That work, as in an ocean’s unseen depths,And see revealéd all the life of men,As wavelets on the ocean’s upturned face.I am at one with all the sense of LifeFor which men restless strive, and which to meIs but their inner self that stands revealed.I see, how oftentimes it binds itselfUnto the very kernel of man’s soul,And lifts him to the highest that his heartCan ever crave. Yet as it lives in meIt turns to bitter fruitage, when mine ownTouches another’s being. Even soHath this, my destiny, worked out in allI willed to give thee, when thou cam’st in love.Thy wish it was to travel at my sideUnhesitating all the way, that soonShould lead thee to a full and perfect art.Yet what hath happened? All, that in mine eyesStood forth revealed in its own naked TruthAs purest life, brought death, my friend, to theeAnd slew thy spirit.Johannes:And slew thy spirit.Aye.’Tisso indeed.What lifts thy soul to Heaven’s sun-kissed heightsWhen through thy life it comes into mine ownThrusts my soul down, to death’s abysmal gloom.When in our friendship’s rosy-fingered dawnTo this revealment thou didst lead me on,Which sheds its light into the darkened realms,Where human souls do enter every night,Bereft of conscious life, and where full oftMan’s being wanders erring: whilst the nightOf Death makes mock at Life’s reality.And when thou didst reveal to me the truthOf life’s return, then did I know full wellThat I should grow to perfect spirit-man.Surely, it seemed, the artist’s clear keen eye,And certain touch of a creator’s hand,Would blossom for me through thy spirit’s fireAnd noble might. Full deep I breathed this fireInto my being; when—behold—it robbedThe ebb and flow of all my spirit’s power.Remorselessly it drove out from my heartAll faith in this our world. And now I reachA point where I no longer clearly see,Whether to doubt or whether to believeThe revelation of the spirit-worlds.Nay more, I even lack the power to loveThat which in thee the spirit’s beauty shows.Maria:Alas! The years that pass have taught me this:That mine own way to live the spirit-lifeDoth change into its opposite, whene’erIt penetrates another’s character.And I must also see how spirit-powerGrows rich in blessing when, by other paths,It pours itself into the souls of men.(Enter Philia, Astrid, and Luna.)It floweth forth in speech, and in these wordsLies power to raise to realms celestialMan’s common mode of thinking; and createA world of joy, where erstwhile brooded gloom.Aye, it can change the spirit’s shallownessTo depths of earnest feeling; and can castMan’s character in sure and noble mould.And I—yes, I am altogether filledBy just this spirit-power, and must beholdThe pain and desolation that it bringsTo other hearts, when from mine own it pours.Philia:It seemed as though the voices of some choir(Enter Prof. Capesius and Dr. Strader.)Mingled together, uttering manifoldConceptions and opinions, each his own,Of these who formed our recent gathering.Full many harmonies there were indeed,But also many a harsh-toned dissonance.Maria:Ah, when the words and speech of many menPresent themselves in such wise to the soul,It seems as though man’s very prototypeStood centred there in secret mystery:Become through many souls articulate,As in the rainbow’s arch pure Light itselfGrows visible in many-coloured rays.Capesius:Through changing scenes of many centuriesWe wandered year on year in earnest search;Striving to fathom deep the living forceThat dwelt within the souls of those who soughtTo probe and scan the fundaments of being,And set before man’s soul the goals of life.We thought that in the depths of our own soulsWe lived the higher powers of thought itself;And thus could solve the riddles set by Fate.We felt we had, or seemed at least to feel,Sure basis in the logic of our mindWhen new experiences crossed our pathQuestioning there the judgment of our soul.Yet now such basis wavers, when amazedI hear today, as I have heard before,The mode of thought taught by these people here.And more and more uncertain do I grow,When I perceive, how powerfully in lifeThis mode of thought doth work. Full many a dayHave I spent thus, thinking how I might shapeTime’s riddles as they solved themselves to meIn words, that hearts might grasp and trembling feel.Happy indeed was I, if I could fillOnly the smallest corner of some soulAmongst my audience with the warmth of life.And oftentimes it seemed success was mine,Nor would I make complaint of fruitless days.Yet all results of teaching thus could leadOnly to recognition of this truthSo loved and emphasized by men of deeds,That in the clash of life’s realities,Thoughts are dim shadows, nothing more nor less:They may indeed wing life’s creative powersTo due fruition, but they cannot shapeAnd mould our life themselves. So have I judgedAnd with this modest comment was content:Where pale thoughts only work, all life is lamedAnd likewise all that joins itself to life.More potent than the ripest form of words,However art might weave therein her spell,Seemed nature’s gift, man’s talents—and more strongThe hand of destiny to mould his life.Tradition’s mountainweight, and prejudiceWith dull oppressive hand will always quenchThe strength of e’en the very best of words.But that which here reveals itself in speechGives men, who think as I do, food for thought.Clearly we saw the kind of consequenceThat comes when sects, in superheated speech,Blind souls of men with dogma’s seething stream.But nought here of such spirit do we find;Here only reason greets the soul, and yetThese words create the actual powers of life,Speaking unto the spirit’s inmost depths.Nay even to the kingdom of the WillThis strange and mystic Something penetrates;This Something, which to such as I, who stillWander in ancient ways, seems but pale thought.Impossible, it seems, to disavowIts consequences; none the less, myselfI cannot quite surrender to it yet.But it all speaks with such peculiar charmAnd not as though it really meant for meThe contradiction of experience.It almost seems as if this Something foundThe kind of man I am, insufferable.Strader:I would associate myself in fullest senseWith every one of thy last spoken words:And still more sharply would I emphasizeThat all results in our soul-life, which seemTo spring forth from the influence of ideas,Cannot in any wise decide for usWhat actual worth of knowledge they conceal.Whether there lives within our mode of thought,Error or truth—’tis certain this aloneThe verdict of true science can decide.And no one would with honesty denyThat words, which are, in seeming only, clear,Yet claim to solve life’s deepest mysteries,Are quite unfit for such a scrutiny.They fascinate the spirit of mankind,And only tempt the heart’s credulity;Seeming to open door into that realmBefore which, humble and perplexed, now standsThe strict and cautious search of modern minds.And he who truly follows such researchIs bound in honour to confess that noneCan know whence streams thewell-springof his thought,Nor fathom where the depths of Being lie.And though confession such as this is hardFor souls who all too willingly would gaugeWhat lies beyond the ken of mortal mind,Yet every glance of every thinker’s soulWhether directed to the outer side,Or turned towards the inner depths of life,Scans but that boundary and naught beside.If we deny our rational intellectOr set aside experience, we sinkIn depths unfathomable, bottomless.And who can fail to see how utterlyWhat passeth here for revelation new,Fails to fit in with modern modes of thought.Indeed it needs but little thought to see,How totally devoid this method isOf that, which gives all thought its sure supportAnd guarantees a sense of certainty.Such revelations may warm listening hearts,But thinkers see in them mere mystic dreams.Philia:Aye, thus would always speak the science, wonBy stern sobriety and intellect.But that suffices not unto the soul,That needs a steadfast faith in its own self.She ever will give heed to words that speakTo her of spirit. All she dimly sensedIn former days, she striveth now to grasp.To speak of the Unknown may well enticeThe thinker, but no more the hearts of men.Strader:I too can realize how much there liesIn that objection; how it seems to strikeThe idle dreamer, who would only spinThe threads of thought, and seek the consequenceOf this or that premise, which he himselfHath formed beforehand. Me—it touches not—No outer motive guided me to thought.In childhood I grew up ’mid pious folkAnd, following their custom, steeped my soulIn sense-intoxicating imagesOf future sojourn in celestial realms,Wherewith they seek to comfort and beguileMan’s ignorance and man’s simplicity.Within my boyish soul I sensed the throbOf utmost ecstasy, when reverentlyI raised my thoughts to highest spirit-worlds;And prayer was then my heart’s necessity.Thereafter in a cloister was I trained;Monks were my teachers, and in mine own heartThe deepest longing was to be a monk,—An echo of my parents’ ardent wish.For consecration did I stand preparedWhen chance did drive me from the cloistered cell;And to this chance I owe deep gratitude.For, many days before chance saved my soulIt had been robbed of inward peace and quiet;For I had read and learned of many things,That have no place within the cloister-gate.Knowledge of nature’s working came to meFrom books that were forbidden to mine eyes.And thus I learned new scientific thought.Hard was the struggle as I sought the pathWandering through many a way to find mine own;Nor did I ever gain by cunning thoughtWhate’er of truth revealed itself to me.In fierce-fought battles have I torn the rootsFrom out my spirit’s soil of all that broughtPeace and contentment to me when a child.I understand indeed the heart that fainWould soar up to the heights—but for myself,When once I recognized that all I learnedFrom spirit-teaching was an empty dream,I was compelled to find the surer soilThat science and discovery create.Luna:We may surmise, each after his own kind,Where sense and goal of life doth lie for each.I altogether lack the power to proveAccording to the science of today,What spirit-teaching I have here received:But clear within my heart I feel and knowMy soul would die without this spirit-lore,As would my body, if deprived of blood.And thou, dear doctor, ’gainst our cause dost fightWith many words, and what thou now hast toldOf thy life’s conflict lends them weight indeedEven with those who do not understandThy learned argument. Yet would I ask(Enter Theodora.)Exactly why it is that hearts of menReceive the word of Spirit readily,As though self-understood: yet when man seeksFood for his spirit in such learned wordsAs thou didst use his heart grows chill and cold.Theodora:Although I am at home ’mid just such menAs circle round me here, yet strangely soundsThis speech I have just heard.Capesius:This speech I have just heard.What strangeness there?Theodora:I may not say. Do thou, Maria, tell.Maria:Our friend has oftentimes explained to usWhat strange experiences come to her.One day she felt herself completely changed,And none could understand her altered state.Estrangement met her wheresoe’er she turnedUntil she came into our circle here.Not that we fully understand ourselvesWhat she possesses and what no one shares.Yet we are trained by this our mode of thoughtThe unaccustomed to appreciate,And feel with every mood of humankind.One moment in her life, our friend perceived,All that seemed hers aforetime, disappear;The past was all extinguished in her soul.And since these wondrous changes came to her,This mood of soul hath oft renewed itself;It doth not long endure; and other timesShe lives her life as ordinary folk.Yet whensoe’er she falls into this state,The gift of memory doth fade away.She loseth from her eyes the power to seeAnd senseth her surroundings, seeing not.With a peculiar light her eyes then glow,And pictured forms appear to her. At firstThey seemed like dreams; anon they grew so clear,That we could recognize without a doubtSome prophecy of distant future days.Full many a time have we seen this occur.Capesius:It is just this that little pleaseth meAmongst these men; who mingle with good senseAnd logic, superstition’s fallacies.’Twas ever thus where men have walked this path.Maria:If thou canst still speak so, thou dost not yetPerceive our attitude towards these things.Strader:Well, as for me, I freely must confess,That I would sooner revelations hearThan speak of questionable spirit-themes.For even if I fail to read arightThe riddle of such dreams, yet those at leastI count as facts; and would ’twere possibleTo see one instance of the mysteryOf this strange spirit-mood before mine eyes.Maria:Perchance it is—for look, she comes again.And it doth seem to me as though e’en nowThis mystic spirit-mood would show itself.Theodora:I am compelled to speak. Before my soulA pictured form stands wrapped in robes of light;From which strange words are sounding in mine ears.I feel myself in future centuries,And men do I behold as yet unborn:—They also see the pictured form; they tooCan hear the words it speaks, which thus resound—‘O ye, who lived in faith’s sincerity,Take comfort now in sight, and look on Me.Receive new life through Me. For I am HeWho lived within the souls of those who soughtTo find Me in themselves, by followingThe gospel-words My messengers did bringAnd by their own devotion’s inward power.The light of sense ye saw—believe ye nowIn the creative spirit-world beyond.For now indeed ye have yourselves achievedOne atom of divine prophetic sight.Oh, breathe it deep, and feel it in your souls.’A human form steps from that sphere of light.And speaks to me: ‘Thou shalt make known to allWho will give ear to thee, that thou hast seenWhat all mankind shall soon experience:Once, long ago, Christ lived upon the earth,And from this life ensued the consequenceThat in soul-substance clad He hovers o’erThe evolution of humanity,In union with the earth’s own spirit-sphere;And though as yet invisible to men,When in such form He manifests Himself,Since now their being lacks that spirit sight,Which first will show itself in future times;Yet even now this future draweth nighWhen that new sight shall come to men on earth.What once the senses saw, when Christ did liveUpon the earth; this shall be seen by soulsWhen soon the time shall reach its fulness due.’(Exit.)Maria:This is the first time we have heard her speakIn such a manner to so many folk.At other times she felt constrained to speech,Only when two or three were gathered round.Capesius:To me indeed it seems most curious,That she, as though commanded or required,Should find herself to revelation urged.Maria:It may so seem; but we know well her ways.If at this moment she desired to sendHer inward soul-voice deep into your souls,The only reason was, that unto youThe source, whence came her voice, desired to speak.Capesius:Concerning this strange future gift of sight,Whereof she spake, as dreaming, we have heardThat he, who of this circle is the soul,Hath oft already given full report.Is it not possible that from his wordsThe content of her speech hath origin,The mode of utterance coming from herself?Maria:If matters thus did stand, we should not deemHer words of any consequence or weight:But we have tested this condition well.Before she came into our circle here,Our friend had never heard in any wayOf that same leader’s speeches, nor had weHeard aught of her before she came to us.Capesius:Then what we have to deal with is a state,Such as so often happens, contraryTo all the laws of nature; and which weMust merely estimate as some disease.And only healthy thought, securely basedOn fully conscious sense-impressions, canPass judgment on the riddles set by life.Strader:Yet even here one fact presents itself;And what we now have heard must have some worth—For, even if we set aside all elseIt doth compel the thought that spirit-powerCan cause thought-transference from soul to soul.Astrid:Ah me, if ye would only dare to treadThe ground your mode of thought doth choose to shun:As snow before the sunlight’s piercing glareYour vain delusion needs must melt away,Which makes the moods revealéd, in such mindsAppear diseased, abnormal, wonderful.They are suggestive, but they are not strange.And small this wonder doth appear to meWhen I compare it with the myriadOf wonders that make up my daily life.Capesius:Nay, nay, one thing it is to recognizeWhat lies before our eyes on every side,But quite another, what is shown us here.Strader:Of spirit ’tis not necessary to speakUntil there are things shown to us which lieOutside the strictly circled boundarySet by the laws of scientific thought.Astrid:The clear shaft of the sunlight on the dewWhich glistens in the morning’s golden light,(Enter Felix Balde.)The hurling stream that riseth ’neath the rock,The thunder rumbling in the cloud-wrapped sky,All these do speak to me a spirit tongue:I strove to understand it; and I knowThat of this speech’s meaning and its might,Only a faint reflection can be glimpsedThrough your investigations, as they are.And when that kind of speech sank deep withinMy heart, I found my soul’s true joy at last.Nor could aught else, but human words aloneAnd spirit teaching grant this gift to me.Felix Balde:Those words rang true indeed.Maria:Those words rang true indeed.I must essayTo tell what joy fills all my heart to see(Enter Felicia Balde.)For the first time here with us yonder man,Of whom we oft have heard; and joy doth causeThe wish to see him here full many times.Felix Balde:It is not usual for me that I shouldAssociate with such a crowd of men:And not alone unusual——Felicia:And not alone unusual——Aye, ’tis so.His nature drives us into solitudeAway from all; year in, year out, we hearScarce any other converse save our own.And if this good man here from time to time(Pointing to Capesius.)Came not to linger in our cottage home,We scarce should realize that other men,Besides ourselves, live on the earth at all.And if the man, who spake such wondrous wordsBut recently in yonder lecture-hall,And who affected us so potently,Did not full many a time my Felix meet,When he is gone about his daily tasks,Ye would know nought of our forgotten life.Maria:So the professor often visits you?Capesius:Assuredly. And I may tell you all,The very deep indebtedness I feelTo this good woman, who doth give to meIn rich abundance, what none other can.Maria:And of what nature are these gifts of hers?Capesius:If I would tell the tale, then must I touchA thing that verily doth seem to meMore wonderful than much that here I’ve heard,In that it speaks more nearly to my soul.And were I in some other place, these wordsWould hardly pass the barrier of my lips;Yet here they seem to flow therefrom with ease.In my soul-life there often comes a timeWhen it doth feel itself pumped out and dry.It seems as though the very fountain-headOf knowledge had run dry within my heart.Then can I find no word of any kindWorthy to speak or worthy to be heard.And when I feel such spirit barrennessI flee to these good people, and seek restIn their reviving, peaceful solitudeThen Mistress Felix tells me many a taleSet forth in wondrous pictures, manifold,Of beings, dwelling in the land of dreams,Who lead a joyous life in fairy realms.When thus she speaks, her tone and speech recallSome legend oft-told of the ancient days.I ask no question whence she finds these wordsBut this one thing alone I clearly know:That new life flows therefrom into my soul,And sweeps away its dull paralysis.Maria:To hear such splendid witness to the skillOf Dame Felicia doth, in wondrous wise,Harmoniously blend in every wayWith all that Benedictus told to usAbout his friend’s deep hidden knowledge-founts.Felix Balde:He who spake words to us just now, which showed(Benedictus appears at the door.)How in the realm of universal space,And vast eternities his spirit dwelt,Hath surely little need to speak o’er muchOf simple men.Benedictus:Of simple men.Thou errest friend. For meInfinite value hath each word of thine.Felix Balde:It was presumption only, and the bentOf idle talk, when thou didst honour meTo wander at thy side our mountain paths.Only because thou didst conceal from meHow much thyself dost know, I dared to speak.But now our time is up, and we must go—A long way hence doth lie our quiet home.Felicia:It hath been most refreshing once againTo come amongst mankind: and yet I fearIt will not happen very soon again:There is no other life which Felix deemsBetter than living in his mountain heights.(Exeunt Felix and his wife.)Benedictus:Indeed I well believe his wife is right,Nor will he come again for many days.It needed much to bring him here today.And yet the reason lies not in himselfWhy no one knoweth aught of him or his.Capesius:He only seemed to me eccentric, strange;And many an hour I found him talkativeWhen I was with him; but his mystic speechAnd strange discourse remained obscure to me,When he revealed all that he claims to know.He spoke of solar beings housed in rocks;Of lunar demons, who disturb their work;And of the sense of number hid in plants;And he who listens to him cannot longKeep clear the thread of meaning in his words.Benedictus:And yet ’tis also possible to feelAs if the powers of Nature, through these words,Sought to reveal themselves in their true state.(Exit.)Strader:Already do I feel forebodings strangeThat now dark hours are coming in my life.For since the days of cloistered solitude,Where I was taught such knowledge, and therebyStruck to the very darkest depth of soul,Not one experience has stirred me so,As this weird vision of the seeress here.Capesius:Indeed I cannot see that aught of thatShould prove unnerving. And I fear, my friend,That if thou once dost lose thy certainty,Dark doubt will soon envelop all thy thought.Strader:Too true! And ’tis the fear of just this doubtThat causeth me full many an anxious hourFrom my experience I know nought elseOf this strange gift of seership, save that whenLife’s vexing problems sorely trouble me,Then, ghostlike, riseth from dark spirit-depths,Before my spirit’s eyes, some phantom formLike some dream-being, grim and terrible,Pressing with fearful weight upon my soul,And clutching horribly around my heart.It seems to speak right through me words like these:‘If thou dost fail to gain the victoryO’er me with those blunt weapons of thy thought,Thou art a fleeting phantom, nothing more,Formed by thine own deluded imagery.’Theodosius:That is the destiny of all such men,As do approach the world by thought alone.The spirit’s voice dwells deep in every soul.Nor have we strength to pierce the coveringThat spreads itself before our faculties.Thought doth bring knowledge of things temporal,Of things that vanish in the course of time:The everlasting and all spirit-truthAre found but in the inner depths of man.Strader:If, then, the fruitage of a pious faithIs able to give rest to weary souls,Such souls may wander safely in that path,And find sufficiency within themselves.And yet the power of knowledge, pure and true,Doth never bloom on such a path as this.Theodosius:Yet there can be no other way to lightTrue spirit-knowledge in the hearts of men.Pride may seduce and change to fantasiesThe soul’s true depths of feeling, and may seeA vision only where faith’s beauty lies.One thing alone of all we here have heardFrom spirit-teaching of the higher worlds,Strikes clear upon our honest human sense:That only in the spirit-world itselfThe soul can feel itself in its true home.The Other Maria:So long as man feels need of speech alone,And nought besides, so long such words as theseMay satisfy him: but the fuller lifeWith all its strife, its yearnings after joy,And all its sorrow, needeth other foodTo nourish and sustain the fainting soul.For me, an inner voice did drive me onTo spend all the remaining days of lifeWhich were allotted me, in helping thoseWhom stress of destiny had smitten downAnd plunged in deepest poverty and need.And far more oft I found it necessaryTo soothe the anguish of the soul of manThan heal his body’s pain and suffering.But I have felt indeed in many waysMy will’s weak impotence to comfort men.So that I am compelled to seek fresh strengthFrom out the treasured store which floweth forthAbundantly from spirit-sources here.The quickening warmth of words which greet mine ear,Flows forth with magic force into my hands;And thence, like healing balsam, forth again,When those hands touch some sorrow-laden soul.It changeth on my lips to strengthening wordsWhich carry comfort unto pain-racked hearts.The source of words like these I do not ask;I feel their truth—they give me living life.And every day more clearly do I see,That they derive their strength not from my willIn all its weakness, but create anewMyself each day unto myself again.Capesius:Yet surely there are men enough on earthWho, though they lack such revelation’s aid,Perform innumerable deeds of good?Maria:In sooth there is no lack of men like theseIn many places; but my friend doth meanA different thing; and if thou didst but knowThe life she led, thou wouldst speak otherwise.Where unused powers in full abundance dwellThere love will cause the seed to germinateIn rich abundance in the heart’s good soil.But our friend here exhausted life’s best powersIn never-ending toil beyond her strength;And all her will to live lay crushed and deadBeneath the cruel weight of destiny,Which fell upon her. All her strength she gaveTo careful guidance of her children’s weal:And low already had her courage ebbedWhen early death took her loved husband home.In such a state as this, days dull and drearSeemed all fate had in store whilst life remained.But then the powers of destiny prevailedTo bring her ’neath the spell of spirit-lore;And soon with us she felt the vital forceOf life break forth in her a second time.Fresh aims in life she found, and with them cameFresh courage once again to fight and strive.And thus in her the spirit hath achievedIn very truth to fashion from decayA new and living personality.And when the spirit in such fruit as thisShows its creative potency, we learnIts nature, and the way it speaks to us.And, if no pride lies hidden in our speech,And highest moral aims live in our hearts;If we believe that in no way at allOur teaching is our own;—but that aloneThe spirit shows itself within our souls—Then may we surely venture to assertThat in thy mode of thinking may be foundBut feeble shadows waving to and froAthwart the real true source of human life:And that the spirit, which ensouls our workIs linked in inward harmony with allThat weaves the web of destiny for manDeep in the very fundaments of life.I have been privileged for many yearsTo give myself to vital work in life:And during all this time more bleeding heartsAnd yearning souls have come before mine eyes,Than many would conceive were possible.I do esteem thy high ideal flight,The proud assurance of thy sciences:I like to see the student-audience,Respectful, sit and listen at thy feet:And that to many souls thy work doth bringEnnobling clarity of thought, I know.But yet regarding thought like this, it seems,Trustworthiness can only dwell thereinSo long as thought lives in itself alone.Whereas the realm of which I am a partSends into deep realities of lifeThe fruitage of its words, since it desiresTo plant in deep realities its roots.Far, far away from all thy thought doth lieThe written word upon the spirit-heavenWhich with momentous tokens doth announceNew growth upon the tree of humankind.And though indeed such thought seems clear and sureAs follows faithfully the ancient path,Yet can it only touch the tree’s coarse bark,And never reach the marrow’s living power.Romanus:For my part I do seek in vain the bridgeThat truly leadeth from ideas to deeds.Capesius:On one side thou dost over-estimateThe power which can be wielded by ideas,And on the other thou dost fail to graspThe actual course of true reality:For it is certain that ideas must formThe germ of all the actual deeds of men.Romanus:If this friend doth so many deeds of good,The impulse thereunto lies in herselfAnd her warm-hearted nature, not in thought.Most certainly ’tis necessary for man,Whene’er he hath accomplished any work,To find foundation for it in ideas.But yet ’tis only schooling of man’s willIn harmony with all his skill and powerTo undertake some real work in lifeWhich will help forward all the human race.When whirr of busy wheels sounds in mine ears,Or when I see some creaking windlass drawnBy strong stout hands of men content to work,Then do I sense indeed the powers of Life.Germanus:Often in careless speech have I maintainedThat I preferred things droll and humorousAnd held these only full of wit and charm,Deeming that for my brain at any rate,They always would provide materialBest fitted to fill up the time that liesBetween my recreation and my work.But now quite tasteless to me seem such things;The Power Invisible hath conquered me;And I have learned to feel that there may beMore powerful forces in humanity,Than all our wit’s frail castles in the air.Capesius:And did it seem that nowhere else but here’Twas possible to find such spirit-powers?Germanus:Indeed the life I lived did offer meFull many a type of intellectual works:Yet cared I not to pluck or taste their fruit.But this strange mode of thought which blossoms hereSeemed to attract and draw me to itselfHowever little I desired to come.Capesius:Most pleasant hath this hour of converse been,And we are debtors to our hostess here.(Exeunt all, except Maria and Johannes.)Johannes:Oh, stay a little while yet by my side,I am afraid:—so desperately afraid:—Maria:What is it aileth thee, my friend? Speak forth.Johannes:The first cause was our leader’s speech; and thenThe chequered converse of these people here.It all hath moved and stirred me through and through.Maria:But how could simple speeches such as theseSeize on thine heart with such intensity?Johannes:Each word seemed in that moment unto meA dreadful symbol of our nothingness.Maria:Indeed it was significant to seePour forth in such short time so many kindsOf life and man’s conflicting tendencies,In all the speeches that we lately heard.Yet ’tis indeed a most peculiar traitOf life, as it is lived amongst us here,To bring to speech the inner mind of man;And much that otherwise comes slowly forth,Stands here revealed in little space of time.Johannes:A mirrored picture ’twas of fullest lifeThat showed me to myself in clearest lines:This spirit-revelation makes me feelThat most of us protect and train one traitAnd one alone in all our character,Which thus persuades itself it is the whole.I sought to unify these many traitsIn mine own self and boldly trod the pathWhich here is shown, to lead unto that goal;And it hath made of me a nothingness.Keenly I feel what all these others lack,And yet I sense as keenly that they allHave actual part in life itself, whilst IStand but on unsubstantial nothingness.It seemed whole lines of life ran into oneSignificant in those brief speeches here.But then mine own life’s portrait also roseAnd stood forth vividly within my soul.The days of childhood first were painted there,With all its fulness and its joy in life:Then came the picture of my youthful primeWith that proud hopefulness in parent-heartsAwakened by the talents of their son.Then dreams concerning my career in art,Which formed life’s all in those old happy days,Surged up from out my spirit’s inmost depthsExhorting to fulfil my cherished hopes;And then those dreams in which thyself didst seeHow I translated into coloured formThe spirit-life that liveth in thy soul.Then saw I tongues of fire spring up and lickAround my youthful dreams and artist hopes,Reducing all to dust and nothingness.Thereafter rose another pictured formFrom out that drear and dreadful nothingness—A human form, which once had linked its fateIn faithful love with mine in days long past.She sought to hold me by her when I turnedLong years ago unto my home again,Called to attend my mother’s funeral rites.I heeded not, but tore myself away.For mighty was the power that drew me hereTo this thy circle and the goals of lifeWhich here are set before our eager gaze.In those dark days I felt no sense of guiltWhen I did rend in twain the bond of love,That was unto another soul its life.Nor later when the message came to meHow that her life did slowly pine away,And finally was altogether quenchedDid I feel aught of guilt until today;But full of meaning were those recent wordsIn yonder chamber which our leader spake;How that we may destroy by power misusedAnd perverse thought the destiny of thoseWhom bonds of loving trust link to our souls.Ah, hideously these words again resoundOut of the picture, thence re-echoingWith ghastly repetition from all sides:‘Her murderer thou art! her hast thou slain!’Thus whilst this weighty speech hath been for allThe motive to probe deep within themselves,Within my heart it hath brought forth aloneThe consciousness of this most grievous guilt.By this new means of sight I can perceiveHow far astray my striving footsteps erred.Maria:And at this moment, friend, in dark domainsThou walkest, and none else can help thee there,Save he, in whom we all do put our trust.(Maria is called away; re-enter Helena.)Helena:I feel constrained to linger by thy sideA little while; since now for many weeksThy gaze hath held so much of grief and care.How can the light, which streams so radiantlyBring gloom unto thy soul, which only strivesWith utmost strength to seek and know the truth?Johannes:Hath then this light brought naught but joy to thee?Helena:Not the same joy as that which once I knew,But that new joy which springeth from those words,Through which the spirit doth reveal itself.Johannes:Natheless I tell thee that the self-same power,Which doth in thee create, can also crush.Helena:Some error must have crept into thy soulWith cunning tread, if this be possible;And if dull care instead of happiness,And moods of sorrow flow forth from the sourceOf truth itself instead of spirit-blissIn free abundance: seek then in thyselfThe stumbling-blocks that thus impede thy way.How often are we told that only healthIs the true fruitage of our teaching here,Which makes to blossom forth the powers of life.Shall it then show the contrary in thee?I see its fruitage in so many lives,Which, trusting me, find union in themselves.Their former mode of life grows day by dayStrange and still stranger to such souls as these;As well-springs are fresh opened in their hearts,Thenceforth renewing life within themselves.To gaze into the primal depths of beingDoth not create those passionate desiresWhich torture and torment the souls of men.(Exit.)Johannes:It took me many years to understandAnd know the vanity of things of senseWhen spirit-knowledge is not joined with themIn close and intimate companionship:And yet one single moment proves to meThat e’en the highest wisdom’s words may beBut vanity of soul in man’s own self.Curtain

PreludeSophia’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 floodingThe breadths of space;The song of the birds is fillingThe heights of the air;The blessing of plant-life unfoldethElemental Beings of earth;And human souls in reverent gratitude,Rise up to the spirits of the world.Sophia:Now, children, go to your room 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 make 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 calledOutcasts from Body and from Soul. I should so like to hear it with you.Sophia:I’m sorry, my dear Estelle, but tonight is the date set for the performance of the play, whichoursociety 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 yetyou 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 notfinally 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 by the circuitous route of a 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 inand 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 which 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 ofwhich 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, naïve and original. Our conception of the world unites a full and conscious freedom with the power of naïve creation. We absorb consciously that which is naïve, and do not thereby rob it of its freshness, its fulness, and its originality. You believe that the character of man shapes itself, and that we can merely form thoughts and considerationsaboutit. 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 notteach, any more than the seed-power within a plantteachesit 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 degenerate beings is shown upon the stage. And the customary method of that presentation is unspeakably distant from the true depths of life, and the true relationship 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 tonight.(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.)CurtainScene 1Room. Dominant note rose-red. Large rose-red chairs are arranged in a semicircle. To the left of the stage a door leads to the auditorium. One after the other, the speakers introduced enter by this door; each stopping in the room for a time. While they do so, they discuss the discourse they have just heard in the auditorium, and what it suggests to them.Enter first Maria and Johannes, then others. The speeches which follow are continuations of discussions already begun in the auditorium.Maria:My friend, I am indeed distressed to seeThy spirit and thy soul in sadness droop,And powerless to help the bond that bindsAnd that has bound us both for ten blest years.E’en this same hour, filled with a portent deepIn which we both have heard and learned so muchThat lightens all the darkest depths of soul,Brought naught but shade and shadow unto thee.Aye, after many of the speakers’ words,My listening heart could feel the very dartThat deeply wounded thine. Once did I gazeInto thine eyes and saw but happinessAnd joy in all the essence of the world.In pictures beauty-steeped thy soul held fastEach fleeting moment, bathed by sunshine’s glow—Flooding with air and light the forms of menUnsealing all the depths and doubts of Life.Unskilled as yet thine hand to body forthIn concrete colour-schemes, those living formsThat hovered in thy soul; but in the heartsOf both of us there throbbed the joyous faithAnd certain hope that future days would teachThine hand this art—to pour forth happinessInto the very fundaments of Being;That all the wonders of thy spirit’s searchUnfolding visibly Creation’s powersThrough every creature of thine art would pourSoul rapture deep into the hearts of men.Such were our dreams through all those days of yoreThat to thy skill, mirrored in beauty’s guise,The weal of future men would trace its source.So dreamed mine own soul of the goal of thine.Yet now the vital spark of fashioning fireThat burned within thee seems extinct and dead.Dead thy creative joy: and well-nigh maimedThe hand, which once with fresh and youthful strengthGuided thy steadfast brush from year to year.Johannes:Alas, ’tis true; I feel as if the firesThat erstwhile quickened in my soul are quenched.Mine eye, grown dull, doth no more catch the gleamShed by the flickering sunlight o’er the earth.No feeling stirs my heart, when changing moodsOf light and shade flow o’er the scenes around.Still lies my hand, seeking no more to chainInto a lasting present fleeting charms,Shown forth by magic elemental powersFrom utmost depths of Life before mine eyes.No new creative fire thrills me with joy.For me dull monotone obscures all life.Maria:My heart is deeply grieved to hear that thouDost find such emptiness in everythingWhich thrives as highest good and very sourceOf sacred life itself within my heart.Ah, friend, behind the changing scenes of lifeThat men call ‘Being,’ true life lies concealedSpiritual, everlasting, infinite.And in that life each soul doth weave its thread.I feel afloat in spirit potencies,That work, as in an ocean’s unseen depths,And see revealéd all the life of men,As wavelets on the ocean’s upturned face.I am at one with all the sense of LifeFor which men restless strive, and which to meIs but their inner self that stands revealed.I see, how oftentimes it binds itselfUnto the very kernel of man’s soul,And lifts him to the highest that his heartCan ever crave. Yet as it lives in meIt turns to bitter fruitage, when mine ownTouches another’s being. Even soHath this, my destiny, worked out in allI willed to give thee, when thou cam’st in love.Thy wish it was to travel at my sideUnhesitating all the way, that soonShould lead thee to a full and perfect art.Yet what hath happened? All, that in mine eyesStood forth revealed in its own naked TruthAs purest life, brought death, my friend, to theeAnd slew thy spirit.Johannes:And slew thy spirit.Aye.’Tisso indeed.What lifts thy soul to Heaven’s sun-kissed heightsWhen through thy life it comes into mine ownThrusts my soul down, to death’s abysmal gloom.When in our friendship’s rosy-fingered dawnTo this revealment thou didst lead me on,Which sheds its light into the darkened realms,Where human souls do enter every night,Bereft of conscious life, and where full oftMan’s being wanders erring: whilst the nightOf Death makes mock at Life’s reality.And when thou didst reveal to me the truthOf life’s return, then did I know full wellThat I should grow to perfect spirit-man.Surely, it seemed, the artist’s clear keen eye,And certain touch of a creator’s hand,Would blossom for me through thy spirit’s fireAnd noble might. Full deep I breathed this fireInto my being; when—behold—it robbedThe ebb and flow of all my spirit’s power.Remorselessly it drove out from my heartAll faith in this our world. And now I reachA point where I no longer clearly see,Whether to doubt or whether to believeThe revelation of the spirit-worlds.Nay more, I even lack the power to loveThat which in thee the spirit’s beauty shows.Maria:Alas! The years that pass have taught me this:That mine own way to live the spirit-lifeDoth change into its opposite, whene’erIt penetrates another’s character.And I must also see how spirit-powerGrows rich in blessing when, by other paths,It pours itself into the souls of men.(Enter Philia, Astrid, and Luna.)It floweth forth in speech, and in these wordsLies power to raise to realms celestialMan’s common mode of thinking; and createA world of joy, where erstwhile brooded gloom.Aye, it can change the spirit’s shallownessTo depths of earnest feeling; and can castMan’s character in sure and noble mould.And I—yes, I am altogether filledBy just this spirit-power, and must beholdThe pain and desolation that it bringsTo other hearts, when from mine own it pours.Philia:It seemed as though the voices of some choir(Enter Prof. Capesius and Dr. Strader.)Mingled together, uttering manifoldConceptions and opinions, each his own,Of these who formed our recent gathering.Full many harmonies there were indeed,But also many a harsh-toned dissonance.Maria:Ah, when the words and speech of many menPresent themselves in such wise to the soul,It seems as though man’s very prototypeStood centred there in secret mystery:Become through many souls articulate,As in the rainbow’s arch pure Light itselfGrows visible in many-coloured rays.Capesius:Through changing scenes of many centuriesWe wandered year on year in earnest search;Striving to fathom deep the living forceThat dwelt within the souls of those who soughtTo probe and scan the fundaments of being,And set before man’s soul the goals of life.We thought that in the depths of our own soulsWe lived the higher powers of thought itself;And thus could solve the riddles set by Fate.We felt we had, or seemed at least to feel,Sure basis in the logic of our mindWhen new experiences crossed our pathQuestioning there the judgment of our soul.Yet now such basis wavers, when amazedI hear today, as I have heard before,The mode of thought taught by these people here.And more and more uncertain do I grow,When I perceive, how powerfully in lifeThis mode of thought doth work. Full many a dayHave I spent thus, thinking how I might shapeTime’s riddles as they solved themselves to meIn words, that hearts might grasp and trembling feel.Happy indeed was I, if I could fillOnly the smallest corner of some soulAmongst my audience with the warmth of life.And oftentimes it seemed success was mine,Nor would I make complaint of fruitless days.Yet all results of teaching thus could leadOnly to recognition of this truthSo loved and emphasized by men of deeds,That in the clash of life’s realities,Thoughts are dim shadows, nothing more nor less:They may indeed wing life’s creative powersTo due fruition, but they cannot shapeAnd mould our life themselves. So have I judgedAnd with this modest comment was content:Where pale thoughts only work, all life is lamedAnd likewise all that joins itself to life.More potent than the ripest form of words,However art might weave therein her spell,Seemed nature’s gift, man’s talents—and more strongThe hand of destiny to mould his life.Tradition’s mountainweight, and prejudiceWith dull oppressive hand will always quenchThe strength of e’en the very best of words.But that which here reveals itself in speechGives men, who think as I do, food for thought.Clearly we saw the kind of consequenceThat comes when sects, in superheated speech,Blind souls of men with dogma’s seething stream.But nought here of such spirit do we find;Here only reason greets the soul, and yetThese words create the actual powers of life,Speaking unto the spirit’s inmost depths.Nay even to the kingdom of the WillThis strange and mystic Something penetrates;This Something, which to such as I, who stillWander in ancient ways, seems but pale thought.Impossible, it seems, to disavowIts consequences; none the less, myselfI cannot quite surrender to it yet.But it all speaks with such peculiar charmAnd not as though it really meant for meThe contradiction of experience.It almost seems as if this Something foundThe kind of man I am, insufferable.Strader:I would associate myself in fullest senseWith every one of thy last spoken words:And still more sharply would I emphasizeThat all results in our soul-life, which seemTo spring forth from the influence of ideas,Cannot in any wise decide for usWhat actual worth of knowledge they conceal.Whether there lives within our mode of thought,Error or truth—’tis certain this aloneThe verdict of true science can decide.And no one would with honesty denyThat words, which are, in seeming only, clear,Yet claim to solve life’s deepest mysteries,Are quite unfit for such a scrutiny.They fascinate the spirit of mankind,And only tempt the heart’s credulity;Seeming to open door into that realmBefore which, humble and perplexed, now standsThe strict and cautious search of modern minds.And he who truly follows such researchIs bound in honour to confess that noneCan know whence streams thewell-springof his thought,Nor fathom where the depths of Being lie.And though confession such as this is hardFor souls who all too willingly would gaugeWhat lies beyond the ken of mortal mind,Yet every glance of every thinker’s soulWhether directed to the outer side,Or turned towards the inner depths of life,Scans but that boundary and naught beside.If we deny our rational intellectOr set aside experience, we sinkIn depths unfathomable, bottomless.And who can fail to see how utterlyWhat passeth here for revelation new,Fails to fit in with modern modes of thought.Indeed it needs but little thought to see,How totally devoid this method isOf that, which gives all thought its sure supportAnd guarantees a sense of certainty.Such revelations may warm listening hearts,But thinkers see in them mere mystic dreams.Philia:Aye, thus would always speak the science, wonBy stern sobriety and intellect.But that suffices not unto the soul,That needs a steadfast faith in its own self.She ever will give heed to words that speakTo her of spirit. All she dimly sensedIn former days, she striveth now to grasp.To speak of the Unknown may well enticeThe thinker, but no more the hearts of men.Strader:I too can realize how much there liesIn that objection; how it seems to strikeThe idle dreamer, who would only spinThe threads of thought, and seek the consequenceOf this or that premise, which he himselfHath formed beforehand. Me—it touches not—No outer motive guided me to thought.In childhood I grew up ’mid pious folkAnd, following their custom, steeped my soulIn sense-intoxicating imagesOf future sojourn in celestial realms,Wherewith they seek to comfort and beguileMan’s ignorance and man’s simplicity.Within my boyish soul I sensed the throbOf utmost ecstasy, when reverentlyI raised my thoughts to highest spirit-worlds;And prayer was then my heart’s necessity.Thereafter in a cloister was I trained;Monks were my teachers, and in mine own heartThe deepest longing was to be a monk,—An echo of my parents’ ardent wish.For consecration did I stand preparedWhen chance did drive me from the cloistered cell;And to this chance I owe deep gratitude.For, many days before chance saved my soulIt had been robbed of inward peace and quiet;For I had read and learned of many things,That have no place within the cloister-gate.Knowledge of nature’s working came to meFrom books that were forbidden to mine eyes.And thus I learned new scientific thought.Hard was the struggle as I sought the pathWandering through many a way to find mine own;Nor did I ever gain by cunning thoughtWhate’er of truth revealed itself to me.In fierce-fought battles have I torn the rootsFrom out my spirit’s soil of all that broughtPeace and contentment to me when a child.I understand indeed the heart that fainWould soar up to the heights—but for myself,When once I recognized that all I learnedFrom spirit-teaching was an empty dream,I was compelled to find the surer soilThat science and discovery create.Luna:We may surmise, each after his own kind,Where sense and goal of life doth lie for each.I altogether lack the power to proveAccording to the science of today,What spirit-teaching I have here received:But clear within my heart I feel and knowMy soul would die without this spirit-lore,As would my body, if deprived of blood.And thou, dear doctor, ’gainst our cause dost fightWith many words, and what thou now hast toldOf thy life’s conflict lends them weight indeedEven with those who do not understandThy learned argument. Yet would I ask(Enter Theodora.)Exactly why it is that hearts of menReceive the word of Spirit readily,As though self-understood: yet when man seeksFood for his spirit in such learned wordsAs thou didst use his heart grows chill and cold.Theodora:Although I am at home ’mid just such menAs circle round me here, yet strangely soundsThis speech I have just heard.Capesius:This speech I have just heard.What strangeness there?Theodora:I may not say. Do thou, Maria, tell.Maria:Our friend has oftentimes explained to usWhat strange experiences come to her.One day she felt herself completely changed,And none could understand her altered state.Estrangement met her wheresoe’er she turnedUntil she came into our circle here.Not that we fully understand ourselvesWhat she possesses and what no one shares.Yet we are trained by this our mode of thoughtThe unaccustomed to appreciate,And feel with every mood of humankind.One moment in her life, our friend perceived,All that seemed hers aforetime, disappear;The past was all extinguished in her soul.And since these wondrous changes came to her,This mood of soul hath oft renewed itself;It doth not long endure; and other timesShe lives her life as ordinary folk.Yet whensoe’er she falls into this state,The gift of memory doth fade away.She loseth from her eyes the power to seeAnd senseth her surroundings, seeing not.With a peculiar light her eyes then glow,And pictured forms appear to her. At firstThey seemed like dreams; anon they grew so clear,That we could recognize without a doubtSome prophecy of distant future days.Full many a time have we seen this occur.Capesius:It is just this that little pleaseth meAmongst these men; who mingle with good senseAnd logic, superstition’s fallacies.’Twas ever thus where men have walked this path.Maria:If thou canst still speak so, thou dost not yetPerceive our attitude towards these things.Strader:Well, as for me, I freely must confess,That I would sooner revelations hearThan speak of questionable spirit-themes.For even if I fail to read arightThe riddle of such dreams, yet those at leastI count as facts; and would ’twere possibleTo see one instance of the mysteryOf this strange spirit-mood before mine eyes.Maria:Perchance it is—for look, she comes again.And it doth seem to me as though e’en nowThis mystic spirit-mood would show itself.Theodora:I am compelled to speak. Before my soulA pictured form stands wrapped in robes of light;From which strange words are sounding in mine ears.I feel myself in future centuries,And men do I behold as yet unborn:—They also see the pictured form; they tooCan hear the words it speaks, which thus resound—‘O ye, who lived in faith’s sincerity,Take comfort now in sight, and look on Me.Receive new life through Me. For I am HeWho lived within the souls of those who soughtTo find Me in themselves, by followingThe gospel-words My messengers did bringAnd by their own devotion’s inward power.The light of sense ye saw—believe ye nowIn the creative spirit-world beyond.For now indeed ye have yourselves achievedOne atom of divine prophetic sight.Oh, breathe it deep, and feel it in your souls.’A human form steps from that sphere of light.And speaks to me: ‘Thou shalt make known to allWho will give ear to thee, that thou hast seenWhat all mankind shall soon experience:Once, long ago, Christ lived upon the earth,And from this life ensued the consequenceThat in soul-substance clad He hovers o’erThe evolution of humanity,In union with the earth’s own spirit-sphere;And though as yet invisible to men,When in such form He manifests Himself,Since now their being lacks that spirit sight,Which first will show itself in future times;Yet even now this future draweth nighWhen that new sight shall come to men on earth.What once the senses saw, when Christ did liveUpon the earth; this shall be seen by soulsWhen soon the time shall reach its fulness due.’(Exit.)Maria:This is the first time we have heard her speakIn such a manner to so many folk.At other times she felt constrained to speech,Only when two or three were gathered round.Capesius:To me indeed it seems most curious,That she, as though commanded or required,Should find herself to revelation urged.Maria:It may so seem; but we know well her ways.If at this moment she desired to sendHer inward soul-voice deep into your souls,The only reason was, that unto youThe source, whence came her voice, desired to speak.Capesius:Concerning this strange future gift of sight,Whereof she spake, as dreaming, we have heardThat he, who of this circle is the soul,Hath oft already given full report.Is it not possible that from his wordsThe content of her speech hath origin,The mode of utterance coming from herself?Maria:If matters thus did stand, we should not deemHer words of any consequence or weight:But we have tested this condition well.Before she came into our circle here,Our friend had never heard in any wayOf that same leader’s speeches, nor had weHeard aught of her before she came to us.Capesius:Then what we have to deal with is a state,Such as so often happens, contraryTo all the laws of nature; and which weMust merely estimate as some disease.And only healthy thought, securely basedOn fully conscious sense-impressions, canPass judgment on the riddles set by life.Strader:Yet even here one fact presents itself;And what we now have heard must have some worth—For, even if we set aside all elseIt doth compel the thought that spirit-powerCan cause thought-transference from soul to soul.Astrid:Ah me, if ye would only dare to treadThe ground your mode of thought doth choose to shun:As snow before the sunlight’s piercing glareYour vain delusion needs must melt away,Which makes the moods revealéd, in such mindsAppear diseased, abnormal, wonderful.They are suggestive, but they are not strange.And small this wonder doth appear to meWhen I compare it with the myriadOf wonders that make up my daily life.Capesius:Nay, nay, one thing it is to recognizeWhat lies before our eyes on every side,But quite another, what is shown us here.Strader:Of spirit ’tis not necessary to speakUntil there are things shown to us which lieOutside the strictly circled boundarySet by the laws of scientific thought.Astrid:The clear shaft of the sunlight on the dewWhich glistens in the morning’s golden light,(Enter Felix Balde.)The hurling stream that riseth ’neath the rock,The thunder rumbling in the cloud-wrapped sky,All these do speak to me a spirit tongue:I strove to understand it; and I knowThat of this speech’s meaning and its might,Only a faint reflection can be glimpsedThrough your investigations, as they are.And when that kind of speech sank deep withinMy heart, I found my soul’s true joy at last.Nor could aught else, but human words aloneAnd spirit teaching grant this gift to me.Felix Balde:Those words rang true indeed.Maria:Those words rang true indeed.I must essayTo tell what joy fills all my heart to see(Enter Felicia Balde.)For the first time here with us yonder man,Of whom we oft have heard; and joy doth causeThe wish to see him here full many times.Felix Balde:It is not usual for me that I shouldAssociate with such a crowd of men:And not alone unusual——Felicia:And not alone unusual——Aye, ’tis so.His nature drives us into solitudeAway from all; year in, year out, we hearScarce any other converse save our own.And if this good man here from time to time(Pointing to Capesius.)Came not to linger in our cottage home,We scarce should realize that other men,Besides ourselves, live on the earth at all.And if the man, who spake such wondrous wordsBut recently in yonder lecture-hall,And who affected us so potently,Did not full many a time my Felix meet,When he is gone about his daily tasks,Ye would know nought of our forgotten life.Maria:So the professor often visits you?Capesius:Assuredly. And I may tell you all,The very deep indebtedness I feelTo this good woman, who doth give to meIn rich abundance, what none other can.Maria:And of what nature are these gifts of hers?Capesius:If I would tell the tale, then must I touchA thing that verily doth seem to meMore wonderful than much that here I’ve heard,In that it speaks more nearly to my soul.And were I in some other place, these wordsWould hardly pass the barrier of my lips;Yet here they seem to flow therefrom with ease.In my soul-life there often comes a timeWhen it doth feel itself pumped out and dry.It seems as though the very fountain-headOf knowledge had run dry within my heart.Then can I find no word of any kindWorthy to speak or worthy to be heard.And when I feel such spirit barrennessI flee to these good people, and seek restIn their reviving, peaceful solitudeThen Mistress Felix tells me many a taleSet forth in wondrous pictures, manifold,Of beings, dwelling in the land of dreams,Who lead a joyous life in fairy realms.When thus she speaks, her tone and speech recallSome legend oft-told of the ancient days.I ask no question whence she finds these wordsBut this one thing alone I clearly know:That new life flows therefrom into my soul,And sweeps away its dull paralysis.Maria:To hear such splendid witness to the skillOf Dame Felicia doth, in wondrous wise,Harmoniously blend in every wayWith all that Benedictus told to usAbout his friend’s deep hidden knowledge-founts.Felix Balde:He who spake words to us just now, which showed(Benedictus appears at the door.)How in the realm of universal space,And vast eternities his spirit dwelt,Hath surely little need to speak o’er muchOf simple men.Benedictus:Of simple men.Thou errest friend. For meInfinite value hath each word of thine.Felix Balde:It was presumption only, and the bentOf idle talk, when thou didst honour meTo wander at thy side our mountain paths.Only because thou didst conceal from meHow much thyself dost know, I dared to speak.But now our time is up, and we must go—A long way hence doth lie our quiet home.Felicia:It hath been most refreshing once againTo come amongst mankind: and yet I fearIt will not happen very soon again:There is no other life which Felix deemsBetter than living in his mountain heights.(Exeunt Felix and his wife.)Benedictus:Indeed I well believe his wife is right,Nor will he come again for many days.It needed much to bring him here today.And yet the reason lies not in himselfWhy no one knoweth aught of him or his.Capesius:He only seemed to me eccentric, strange;And many an hour I found him talkativeWhen I was with him; but his mystic speechAnd strange discourse remained obscure to me,When he revealed all that he claims to know.He spoke of solar beings housed in rocks;Of lunar demons, who disturb their work;And of the sense of number hid in plants;And he who listens to him cannot longKeep clear the thread of meaning in his words.Benedictus:And yet ’tis also possible to feelAs if the powers of Nature, through these words,Sought to reveal themselves in their true state.(Exit.)Strader:Already do I feel forebodings strangeThat now dark hours are coming in my life.For since the days of cloistered solitude,Where I was taught such knowledge, and therebyStruck to the very darkest depth of soul,Not one experience has stirred me so,As this weird vision of the seeress here.Capesius:Indeed I cannot see that aught of thatShould prove unnerving. And I fear, my friend,That if thou once dost lose thy certainty,Dark doubt will soon envelop all thy thought.Strader:Too true! And ’tis the fear of just this doubtThat causeth me full many an anxious hourFrom my experience I know nought elseOf this strange gift of seership, save that whenLife’s vexing problems sorely trouble me,Then, ghostlike, riseth from dark spirit-depths,Before my spirit’s eyes, some phantom formLike some dream-being, grim and terrible,Pressing with fearful weight upon my soul,And clutching horribly around my heart.It seems to speak right through me words like these:‘If thou dost fail to gain the victoryO’er me with those blunt weapons of thy thought,Thou art a fleeting phantom, nothing more,Formed by thine own deluded imagery.’Theodosius:That is the destiny of all such men,As do approach the world by thought alone.The spirit’s voice dwells deep in every soul.Nor have we strength to pierce the coveringThat spreads itself before our faculties.Thought doth bring knowledge of things temporal,Of things that vanish in the course of time:The everlasting and all spirit-truthAre found but in the inner depths of man.Strader:If, then, the fruitage of a pious faithIs able to give rest to weary souls,Such souls may wander safely in that path,And find sufficiency within themselves.And yet the power of knowledge, pure and true,Doth never bloom on such a path as this.Theodosius:Yet there can be no other way to lightTrue spirit-knowledge in the hearts of men.Pride may seduce and change to fantasiesThe soul’s true depths of feeling, and may seeA vision only where faith’s beauty lies.One thing alone of all we here have heardFrom spirit-teaching of the higher worlds,Strikes clear upon our honest human sense:That only in the spirit-world itselfThe soul can feel itself in its true home.The Other Maria:So long as man feels need of speech alone,And nought besides, so long such words as theseMay satisfy him: but the fuller lifeWith all its strife, its yearnings after joy,And all its sorrow, needeth other foodTo nourish and sustain the fainting soul.For me, an inner voice did drive me onTo spend all the remaining days of lifeWhich were allotted me, in helping thoseWhom stress of destiny had smitten downAnd plunged in deepest poverty and need.And far more oft I found it necessaryTo soothe the anguish of the soul of manThan heal his body’s pain and suffering.But I have felt indeed in many waysMy will’s weak impotence to comfort men.So that I am compelled to seek fresh strengthFrom out the treasured store which floweth forthAbundantly from spirit-sources here.The quickening warmth of words which greet mine ear,Flows forth with magic force into my hands;And thence, like healing balsam, forth again,When those hands touch some sorrow-laden soul.It changeth on my lips to strengthening wordsWhich carry comfort unto pain-racked hearts.The source of words like these I do not ask;I feel their truth—they give me living life.And every day more clearly do I see,That they derive their strength not from my willIn all its weakness, but create anewMyself each day unto myself again.Capesius:Yet surely there are men enough on earthWho, though they lack such revelation’s aid,Perform innumerable deeds of good?Maria:In sooth there is no lack of men like theseIn many places; but my friend doth meanA different thing; and if thou didst but knowThe life she led, thou wouldst speak otherwise.Where unused powers in full abundance dwellThere love will cause the seed to germinateIn rich abundance in the heart’s good soil.But our friend here exhausted life’s best powersIn never-ending toil beyond her strength;And all her will to live lay crushed and deadBeneath the cruel weight of destiny,Which fell upon her. All her strength she gaveTo careful guidance of her children’s weal:And low already had her courage ebbedWhen early death took her loved husband home.In such a state as this, days dull and drearSeemed all fate had in store whilst life remained.But then the powers of destiny prevailedTo bring her ’neath the spell of spirit-lore;And soon with us she felt the vital forceOf life break forth in her a second time.Fresh aims in life she found, and with them cameFresh courage once again to fight and strive.And thus in her the spirit hath achievedIn very truth to fashion from decayA new and living personality.And when the spirit in such fruit as thisShows its creative potency, we learnIts nature, and the way it speaks to us.And, if no pride lies hidden in our speech,And highest moral aims live in our hearts;If we believe that in no way at allOur teaching is our own;—but that aloneThe spirit shows itself within our souls—Then may we surely venture to assertThat in thy mode of thinking may be foundBut feeble shadows waving to and froAthwart the real true source of human life:And that the spirit, which ensouls our workIs linked in inward harmony with allThat weaves the web of destiny for manDeep in the very fundaments of life.I have been privileged for many yearsTo give myself to vital work in life:And during all this time more bleeding heartsAnd yearning souls have come before mine eyes,Than many would conceive were possible.I do esteem thy high ideal flight,The proud assurance of thy sciences:I like to see the student-audience,Respectful, sit and listen at thy feet:And that to many souls thy work doth bringEnnobling clarity of thought, I know.But yet regarding thought like this, it seems,Trustworthiness can only dwell thereinSo long as thought lives in itself alone.Whereas the realm of which I am a partSends into deep realities of lifeThe fruitage of its words, since it desiresTo plant in deep realities its roots.Far, far away from all thy thought doth lieThe written word upon the spirit-heavenWhich with momentous tokens doth announceNew growth upon the tree of humankind.And though indeed such thought seems clear and sureAs follows faithfully the ancient path,Yet can it only touch the tree’s coarse bark,And never reach the marrow’s living power.Romanus:For my part I do seek in vain the bridgeThat truly leadeth from ideas to deeds.Capesius:On one side thou dost over-estimateThe power which can be wielded by ideas,And on the other thou dost fail to graspThe actual course of true reality:For it is certain that ideas must formThe germ of all the actual deeds of men.Romanus:If this friend doth so many deeds of good,The impulse thereunto lies in herselfAnd her warm-hearted nature, not in thought.Most certainly ’tis necessary for man,Whene’er he hath accomplished any work,To find foundation for it in ideas.But yet ’tis only schooling of man’s willIn harmony with all his skill and powerTo undertake some real work in lifeWhich will help forward all the human race.When whirr of busy wheels sounds in mine ears,Or when I see some creaking windlass drawnBy strong stout hands of men content to work,Then do I sense indeed the powers of Life.Germanus:Often in careless speech have I maintainedThat I preferred things droll and humorousAnd held these only full of wit and charm,Deeming that for my brain at any rate,They always would provide materialBest fitted to fill up the time that liesBetween my recreation and my work.But now quite tasteless to me seem such things;The Power Invisible hath conquered me;And I have learned to feel that there may beMore powerful forces in humanity,Than all our wit’s frail castles in the air.Capesius:And did it seem that nowhere else but here’Twas possible to find such spirit-powers?Germanus:Indeed the life I lived did offer meFull many a type of intellectual works:Yet cared I not to pluck or taste their fruit.But this strange mode of thought which blossoms hereSeemed to attract and draw me to itselfHowever little I desired to come.Capesius:Most pleasant hath this hour of converse been,And we are debtors to our hostess here.(Exeunt all, except Maria and Johannes.)Johannes:Oh, stay a little while yet by my side,I am afraid:—so desperately afraid:—Maria:What is it aileth thee, my friend? Speak forth.Johannes:The first cause was our leader’s speech; and thenThe chequered converse of these people here.It all hath moved and stirred me through and through.Maria:But how could simple speeches such as theseSeize on thine heart with such intensity?Johannes:Each word seemed in that moment unto meA dreadful symbol of our nothingness.Maria:Indeed it was significant to seePour forth in such short time so many kindsOf life and man’s conflicting tendencies,In all the speeches that we lately heard.Yet ’tis indeed a most peculiar traitOf life, as it is lived amongst us here,To bring to speech the inner mind of man;And much that otherwise comes slowly forth,Stands here revealed in little space of time.Johannes:A mirrored picture ’twas of fullest lifeThat showed me to myself in clearest lines:This spirit-revelation makes me feelThat most of us protect and train one traitAnd one alone in all our character,Which thus persuades itself it is the whole.I sought to unify these many traitsIn mine own self and boldly trod the pathWhich here is shown, to lead unto that goal;And it hath made of me a nothingness.Keenly I feel what all these others lack,And yet I sense as keenly that they allHave actual part in life itself, whilst IStand but on unsubstantial nothingness.It seemed whole lines of life ran into oneSignificant in those brief speeches here.But then mine own life’s portrait also roseAnd stood forth vividly within my soul.The days of childhood first were painted there,With all its fulness and its joy in life:Then came the picture of my youthful primeWith that proud hopefulness in parent-heartsAwakened by the talents of their son.Then dreams concerning my career in art,Which formed life’s all in those old happy days,Surged up from out my spirit’s inmost depthsExhorting to fulfil my cherished hopes;And then those dreams in which thyself didst seeHow I translated into coloured formThe spirit-life that liveth in thy soul.Then saw I tongues of fire spring up and lickAround my youthful dreams and artist hopes,Reducing all to dust and nothingness.Thereafter rose another pictured formFrom out that drear and dreadful nothingness—A human form, which once had linked its fateIn faithful love with mine in days long past.She sought to hold me by her when I turnedLong years ago unto my home again,Called to attend my mother’s funeral rites.I heeded not, but tore myself away.For mighty was the power that drew me hereTo this thy circle and the goals of lifeWhich here are set before our eager gaze.In those dark days I felt no sense of guiltWhen I did rend in twain the bond of love,That was unto another soul its life.Nor later when the message came to meHow that her life did slowly pine away,And finally was altogether quenchedDid I feel aught of guilt until today;But full of meaning were those recent wordsIn yonder chamber which our leader spake;How that we may destroy by power misusedAnd perverse thought the destiny of thoseWhom bonds of loving trust link to our souls.Ah, hideously these words again resoundOut of the picture, thence re-echoingWith ghastly repetition from all sides:‘Her murderer thou art! her hast thou slain!’Thus whilst this weighty speech hath been for allThe motive to probe deep within themselves,Within my heart it hath brought forth aloneThe consciousness of this most grievous guilt.By this new means of sight I can perceiveHow far astray my striving footsteps erred.Maria:And at this moment, friend, in dark domainsThou walkest, and none else can help thee there,Save he, in whom we all do put our trust.(Maria is called away; re-enter Helena.)Helena:I feel constrained to linger by thy sideA little while; since now for many weeksThy gaze hath held so much of grief and care.How can the light, which streams so radiantlyBring gloom unto thy soul, which only strivesWith utmost strength to seek and know the truth?Johannes:Hath then this light brought naught but joy to thee?Helena:Not the same joy as that which once I knew,But that new joy which springeth from those words,Through which the spirit doth reveal itself.Johannes:Natheless I tell thee that the self-same power,Which doth in thee create, can also crush.Helena:Some error must have crept into thy soulWith cunning tread, if this be possible;And if dull care instead of happiness,And moods of sorrow flow forth from the sourceOf truth itself instead of spirit-blissIn free abundance: seek then in thyselfThe stumbling-blocks that thus impede thy way.How often are we told that only healthIs the true fruitage of our teaching here,Which makes to blossom forth the powers of life.Shall it then show the contrary in thee?I see its fruitage in so many lives,Which, trusting me, find union in themselves.Their former mode of life grows day by dayStrange and still stranger to such souls as these;As well-springs are fresh opened in their hearts,Thenceforth renewing life within themselves.To gaze into the primal depths of beingDoth not create those passionate desiresWhich torture and torment the souls of men.(Exit.)Johannes:It took me many years to understandAnd know the vanity of things of senseWhen spirit-knowledge is not joined with themIn close and intimate companionship:And yet one single moment proves to meThat e’en the highest wisdom’s words may beBut vanity of soul in man’s own self.Curtain

PreludeSophia’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 floodingThe breadths of space;The song of the birds is fillingThe heights of the air;The blessing of plant-life unfoldethElemental Beings of earth;And human souls in reverent gratitude,Rise up to the spirits of the world.Sophia:Now, children, go to your room 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 make 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 calledOutcasts from Body and from Soul. I should so like to hear it with you.Sophia:I’m sorry, my dear Estelle, but tonight is the date set for the performance of the play, whichoursociety 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 yetyou 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 notfinally 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 by the circuitous route of a 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 inand 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 which 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 ofwhich 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, naïve and original. Our conception of the world unites a full and conscious freedom with the power of naïve creation. We absorb consciously that which is naïve, and do not thereby rob it of its freshness, its fulness, and its originality. You believe that the character of man shapes itself, and that we can merely form thoughts and considerationsaboutit. 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 notteach, any more than the seed-power within a plantteachesit 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 degenerate beings is shown upon the stage. And the customary method of that presentation is unspeakably distant from the true depths of life, and the true relationship 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 tonight.(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.)CurtainScene 1Room. Dominant note rose-red. Large rose-red chairs are arranged in a semicircle. To the left of the stage a door leads to the auditorium. One after the other, the speakers introduced enter by this door; each stopping in the room for a time. While they do so, they discuss the discourse they have just heard in the auditorium, and what it suggests to them.Enter first Maria and Johannes, then others. The speeches which follow are continuations of discussions already begun in the auditorium.Maria:My friend, I am indeed distressed to seeThy spirit and thy soul in sadness droop,And powerless to help the bond that bindsAnd that has bound us both for ten blest years.E’en this same hour, filled with a portent deepIn which we both have heard and learned so muchThat lightens all the darkest depths of soul,Brought naught but shade and shadow unto thee.Aye, after many of the speakers’ words,My listening heart could feel the very dartThat deeply wounded thine. Once did I gazeInto thine eyes and saw but happinessAnd joy in all the essence of the world.In pictures beauty-steeped thy soul held fastEach fleeting moment, bathed by sunshine’s glow—Flooding with air and light the forms of menUnsealing all the depths and doubts of Life.Unskilled as yet thine hand to body forthIn concrete colour-schemes, those living formsThat hovered in thy soul; but in the heartsOf both of us there throbbed the joyous faithAnd certain hope that future days would teachThine hand this art—to pour forth happinessInto the very fundaments of Being;That all the wonders of thy spirit’s searchUnfolding visibly Creation’s powersThrough every creature of thine art would pourSoul rapture deep into the hearts of men.Such were our dreams through all those days of yoreThat to thy skill, mirrored in beauty’s guise,The weal of future men would trace its source.So dreamed mine own soul of the goal of thine.Yet now the vital spark of fashioning fireThat burned within thee seems extinct and dead.Dead thy creative joy: and well-nigh maimedThe hand, which once with fresh and youthful strengthGuided thy steadfast brush from year to year.Johannes:Alas, ’tis true; I feel as if the firesThat erstwhile quickened in my soul are quenched.Mine eye, grown dull, doth no more catch the gleamShed by the flickering sunlight o’er the earth.No feeling stirs my heart, when changing moodsOf light and shade flow o’er the scenes around.Still lies my hand, seeking no more to chainInto a lasting present fleeting charms,Shown forth by magic elemental powersFrom utmost depths of Life before mine eyes.No new creative fire thrills me with joy.For me dull monotone obscures all life.Maria:My heart is deeply grieved to hear that thouDost find such emptiness in everythingWhich thrives as highest good and very sourceOf sacred life itself within my heart.Ah, friend, behind the changing scenes of lifeThat men call ‘Being,’ true life lies concealedSpiritual, everlasting, infinite.And in that life each soul doth weave its thread.I feel afloat in spirit potencies,That work, as in an ocean’s unseen depths,And see revealéd all the life of men,As wavelets on the ocean’s upturned face.I am at one with all the sense of LifeFor which men restless strive, and which to meIs but their inner self that stands revealed.I see, how oftentimes it binds itselfUnto the very kernel of man’s soul,And lifts him to the highest that his heartCan ever crave. Yet as it lives in meIt turns to bitter fruitage, when mine ownTouches another’s being. Even soHath this, my destiny, worked out in allI willed to give thee, when thou cam’st in love.Thy wish it was to travel at my sideUnhesitating all the way, that soonShould lead thee to a full and perfect art.Yet what hath happened? All, that in mine eyesStood forth revealed in its own naked TruthAs purest life, brought death, my friend, to theeAnd slew thy spirit.Johannes:And slew thy spirit.Aye.’Tisso indeed.What lifts thy soul to Heaven’s sun-kissed heightsWhen through thy life it comes into mine ownThrusts my soul down, to death’s abysmal gloom.When in our friendship’s rosy-fingered dawnTo this revealment thou didst lead me on,Which sheds its light into the darkened realms,Where human souls do enter every night,Bereft of conscious life, and where full oftMan’s being wanders erring: whilst the nightOf Death makes mock at Life’s reality.And when thou didst reveal to me the truthOf life’s return, then did I know full wellThat I should grow to perfect spirit-man.Surely, it seemed, the artist’s clear keen eye,And certain touch of a creator’s hand,Would blossom for me through thy spirit’s fireAnd noble might. Full deep I breathed this fireInto my being; when—behold—it robbedThe ebb and flow of all my spirit’s power.Remorselessly it drove out from my heartAll faith in this our world. And now I reachA point where I no longer clearly see,Whether to doubt or whether to believeThe revelation of the spirit-worlds.Nay more, I even lack the power to loveThat which in thee the spirit’s beauty shows.Maria:Alas! The years that pass have taught me this:That mine own way to live the spirit-lifeDoth change into its opposite, whene’erIt penetrates another’s character.And I must also see how spirit-powerGrows rich in blessing when, by other paths,It pours itself into the souls of men.(Enter Philia, Astrid, and Luna.)It floweth forth in speech, and in these wordsLies power to raise to realms celestialMan’s common mode of thinking; and createA world of joy, where erstwhile brooded gloom.Aye, it can change the spirit’s shallownessTo depths of earnest feeling; and can castMan’s character in sure and noble mould.And I—yes, I am altogether filledBy just this spirit-power, and must beholdThe pain and desolation that it bringsTo other hearts, when from mine own it pours.Philia:It seemed as though the voices of some choir(Enter Prof. Capesius and Dr. Strader.)Mingled together, uttering manifoldConceptions and opinions, each his own,Of these who formed our recent gathering.Full many harmonies there were indeed,But also many a harsh-toned dissonance.Maria:Ah, when the words and speech of many menPresent themselves in such wise to the soul,It seems as though man’s very prototypeStood centred there in secret mystery:Become through many souls articulate,As in the rainbow’s arch pure Light itselfGrows visible in many-coloured rays.Capesius:Through changing scenes of many centuriesWe wandered year on year in earnest search;Striving to fathom deep the living forceThat dwelt within the souls of those who soughtTo probe and scan the fundaments of being,And set before man’s soul the goals of life.We thought that in the depths of our own soulsWe lived the higher powers of thought itself;And thus could solve the riddles set by Fate.We felt we had, or seemed at least to feel,Sure basis in the logic of our mindWhen new experiences crossed our pathQuestioning there the judgment of our soul.Yet now such basis wavers, when amazedI hear today, as I have heard before,The mode of thought taught by these people here.And more and more uncertain do I grow,When I perceive, how powerfully in lifeThis mode of thought doth work. Full many a dayHave I spent thus, thinking how I might shapeTime’s riddles as they solved themselves to meIn words, that hearts might grasp and trembling feel.Happy indeed was I, if I could fillOnly the smallest corner of some soulAmongst my audience with the warmth of life.And oftentimes it seemed success was mine,Nor would I make complaint of fruitless days.Yet all results of teaching thus could leadOnly to recognition of this truthSo loved and emphasized by men of deeds,That in the clash of life’s realities,Thoughts are dim shadows, nothing more nor less:They may indeed wing life’s creative powersTo due fruition, but they cannot shapeAnd mould our life themselves. So have I judgedAnd with this modest comment was content:Where pale thoughts only work, all life is lamedAnd likewise all that joins itself to life.More potent than the ripest form of words,However art might weave therein her spell,Seemed nature’s gift, man’s talents—and more strongThe hand of destiny to mould his life.Tradition’s mountainweight, and prejudiceWith dull oppressive hand will always quenchThe strength of e’en the very best of words.But that which here reveals itself in speechGives men, who think as I do, food for thought.Clearly we saw the kind of consequenceThat comes when sects, in superheated speech,Blind souls of men with dogma’s seething stream.But nought here of such spirit do we find;Here only reason greets the soul, and yetThese words create the actual powers of life,Speaking unto the spirit’s inmost depths.Nay even to the kingdom of the WillThis strange and mystic Something penetrates;This Something, which to such as I, who stillWander in ancient ways, seems but pale thought.Impossible, it seems, to disavowIts consequences; none the less, myselfI cannot quite surrender to it yet.But it all speaks with such peculiar charmAnd not as though it really meant for meThe contradiction of experience.It almost seems as if this Something foundThe kind of man I am, insufferable.Strader:I would associate myself in fullest senseWith every one of thy last spoken words:And still more sharply would I emphasizeThat all results in our soul-life, which seemTo spring forth from the influence of ideas,Cannot in any wise decide for usWhat actual worth of knowledge they conceal.Whether there lives within our mode of thought,Error or truth—’tis certain this aloneThe verdict of true science can decide.And no one would with honesty denyThat words, which are, in seeming only, clear,Yet claim to solve life’s deepest mysteries,Are quite unfit for such a scrutiny.They fascinate the spirit of mankind,And only tempt the heart’s credulity;Seeming to open door into that realmBefore which, humble and perplexed, now standsThe strict and cautious search of modern minds.And he who truly follows such researchIs bound in honour to confess that noneCan know whence streams thewell-springof his thought,Nor fathom where the depths of Being lie.And though confession such as this is hardFor souls who all too willingly would gaugeWhat lies beyond the ken of mortal mind,Yet every glance of every thinker’s soulWhether directed to the outer side,Or turned towards the inner depths of life,Scans but that boundary and naught beside.If we deny our rational intellectOr set aside experience, we sinkIn depths unfathomable, bottomless.And who can fail to see how utterlyWhat passeth here for revelation new,Fails to fit in with modern modes of thought.Indeed it needs but little thought to see,How totally devoid this method isOf that, which gives all thought its sure supportAnd guarantees a sense of certainty.Such revelations may warm listening hearts,But thinkers see in them mere mystic dreams.Philia:Aye, thus would always speak the science, wonBy stern sobriety and intellect.But that suffices not unto the soul,That needs a steadfast faith in its own self.She ever will give heed to words that speakTo her of spirit. All she dimly sensedIn former days, she striveth now to grasp.To speak of the Unknown may well enticeThe thinker, but no more the hearts of men.Strader:I too can realize how much there liesIn that objection; how it seems to strikeThe idle dreamer, who would only spinThe threads of thought, and seek the consequenceOf this or that premise, which he himselfHath formed beforehand. Me—it touches not—No outer motive guided me to thought.In childhood I grew up ’mid pious folkAnd, following their custom, steeped my soulIn sense-intoxicating imagesOf future sojourn in celestial realms,Wherewith they seek to comfort and beguileMan’s ignorance and man’s simplicity.Within my boyish soul I sensed the throbOf utmost ecstasy, when reverentlyI raised my thoughts to highest spirit-worlds;And prayer was then my heart’s necessity.Thereafter in a cloister was I trained;Monks were my teachers, and in mine own heartThe deepest longing was to be a monk,—An echo of my parents’ ardent wish.For consecration did I stand preparedWhen chance did drive me from the cloistered cell;And to this chance I owe deep gratitude.For, many days before chance saved my soulIt had been robbed of inward peace and quiet;For I had read and learned of many things,That have no place within the cloister-gate.Knowledge of nature’s working came to meFrom books that were forbidden to mine eyes.And thus I learned new scientific thought.Hard was the struggle as I sought the pathWandering through many a way to find mine own;Nor did I ever gain by cunning thoughtWhate’er of truth revealed itself to me.In fierce-fought battles have I torn the rootsFrom out my spirit’s soil of all that broughtPeace and contentment to me when a child.I understand indeed the heart that fainWould soar up to the heights—but for myself,When once I recognized that all I learnedFrom spirit-teaching was an empty dream,I was compelled to find the surer soilThat science and discovery create.Luna:We may surmise, each after his own kind,Where sense and goal of life doth lie for each.I altogether lack the power to proveAccording to the science of today,What spirit-teaching I have here received:But clear within my heart I feel and knowMy soul would die without this spirit-lore,As would my body, if deprived of blood.And thou, dear doctor, ’gainst our cause dost fightWith many words, and what thou now hast toldOf thy life’s conflict lends them weight indeedEven with those who do not understandThy learned argument. Yet would I ask(Enter Theodora.)Exactly why it is that hearts of menReceive the word of Spirit readily,As though self-understood: yet when man seeksFood for his spirit in such learned wordsAs thou didst use his heart grows chill and cold.Theodora:Although I am at home ’mid just such menAs circle round me here, yet strangely soundsThis speech I have just heard.Capesius:This speech I have just heard.What strangeness there?Theodora:I may not say. Do thou, Maria, tell.Maria:Our friend has oftentimes explained to usWhat strange experiences come to her.One day she felt herself completely changed,And none could understand her altered state.Estrangement met her wheresoe’er she turnedUntil she came into our circle here.Not that we fully understand ourselvesWhat she possesses and what no one shares.Yet we are trained by this our mode of thoughtThe unaccustomed to appreciate,And feel with every mood of humankind.One moment in her life, our friend perceived,All that seemed hers aforetime, disappear;The past was all extinguished in her soul.And since these wondrous changes came to her,This mood of soul hath oft renewed itself;It doth not long endure; and other timesShe lives her life as ordinary folk.Yet whensoe’er she falls into this state,The gift of memory doth fade away.She loseth from her eyes the power to seeAnd senseth her surroundings, seeing not.With a peculiar light her eyes then glow,And pictured forms appear to her. At firstThey seemed like dreams; anon they grew so clear,That we could recognize without a doubtSome prophecy of distant future days.Full many a time have we seen this occur.Capesius:It is just this that little pleaseth meAmongst these men; who mingle with good senseAnd logic, superstition’s fallacies.’Twas ever thus where men have walked this path.Maria:If thou canst still speak so, thou dost not yetPerceive our attitude towards these things.Strader:Well, as for me, I freely must confess,That I would sooner revelations hearThan speak of questionable spirit-themes.For even if I fail to read arightThe riddle of such dreams, yet those at leastI count as facts; and would ’twere possibleTo see one instance of the mysteryOf this strange spirit-mood before mine eyes.Maria:Perchance it is—for look, she comes again.And it doth seem to me as though e’en nowThis mystic spirit-mood would show itself.Theodora:I am compelled to speak. Before my soulA pictured form stands wrapped in robes of light;From which strange words are sounding in mine ears.I feel myself in future centuries,And men do I behold as yet unborn:—They also see the pictured form; they tooCan hear the words it speaks, which thus resound—‘O ye, who lived in faith’s sincerity,Take comfort now in sight, and look on Me.Receive new life through Me. For I am HeWho lived within the souls of those who soughtTo find Me in themselves, by followingThe gospel-words My messengers did bringAnd by their own devotion’s inward power.The light of sense ye saw—believe ye nowIn the creative spirit-world beyond.For now indeed ye have yourselves achievedOne atom of divine prophetic sight.Oh, breathe it deep, and feel it in your souls.’A human form steps from that sphere of light.And speaks to me: ‘Thou shalt make known to allWho will give ear to thee, that thou hast seenWhat all mankind shall soon experience:Once, long ago, Christ lived upon the earth,And from this life ensued the consequenceThat in soul-substance clad He hovers o’erThe evolution of humanity,In union with the earth’s own spirit-sphere;And though as yet invisible to men,When in such form He manifests Himself,Since now their being lacks that spirit sight,Which first will show itself in future times;Yet even now this future draweth nighWhen that new sight shall come to men on earth.What once the senses saw, when Christ did liveUpon the earth; this shall be seen by soulsWhen soon the time shall reach its fulness due.’(Exit.)Maria:This is the first time we have heard her speakIn such a manner to so many folk.At other times she felt constrained to speech,Only when two or three were gathered round.Capesius:To me indeed it seems most curious,That she, as though commanded or required,Should find herself to revelation urged.Maria:It may so seem; but we know well her ways.If at this moment she desired to sendHer inward soul-voice deep into your souls,The only reason was, that unto youThe source, whence came her voice, desired to speak.Capesius:Concerning this strange future gift of sight,Whereof she spake, as dreaming, we have heardThat he, who of this circle is the soul,Hath oft already given full report.Is it not possible that from his wordsThe content of her speech hath origin,The mode of utterance coming from herself?Maria:If matters thus did stand, we should not deemHer words of any consequence or weight:But we have tested this condition well.Before she came into our circle here,Our friend had never heard in any wayOf that same leader’s speeches, nor had weHeard aught of her before she came to us.Capesius:Then what we have to deal with is a state,Such as so often happens, contraryTo all the laws of nature; and which weMust merely estimate as some disease.And only healthy thought, securely basedOn fully conscious sense-impressions, canPass judgment on the riddles set by life.Strader:Yet even here one fact presents itself;And what we now have heard must have some worth—For, even if we set aside all elseIt doth compel the thought that spirit-powerCan cause thought-transference from soul to soul.Astrid:Ah me, if ye would only dare to treadThe ground your mode of thought doth choose to shun:As snow before the sunlight’s piercing glareYour vain delusion needs must melt away,Which makes the moods revealéd, in such mindsAppear diseased, abnormal, wonderful.They are suggestive, but they are not strange.And small this wonder doth appear to meWhen I compare it with the myriadOf wonders that make up my daily life.Capesius:Nay, nay, one thing it is to recognizeWhat lies before our eyes on every side,But quite another, what is shown us here.Strader:Of spirit ’tis not necessary to speakUntil there are things shown to us which lieOutside the strictly circled boundarySet by the laws of scientific thought.Astrid:The clear shaft of the sunlight on the dewWhich glistens in the morning’s golden light,(Enter Felix Balde.)The hurling stream that riseth ’neath the rock,The thunder rumbling in the cloud-wrapped sky,All these do speak to me a spirit tongue:I strove to understand it; and I knowThat of this speech’s meaning and its might,Only a faint reflection can be glimpsedThrough your investigations, as they are.And when that kind of speech sank deep withinMy heart, I found my soul’s true joy at last.Nor could aught else, but human words aloneAnd spirit teaching grant this gift to me.Felix Balde:Those words rang true indeed.Maria:Those words rang true indeed.I must essayTo tell what joy fills all my heart to see(Enter Felicia Balde.)For the first time here with us yonder man,Of whom we oft have heard; and joy doth causeThe wish to see him here full many times.Felix Balde:It is not usual for me that I shouldAssociate with such a crowd of men:And not alone unusual——Felicia:And not alone unusual——Aye, ’tis so.His nature drives us into solitudeAway from all; year in, year out, we hearScarce any other converse save our own.And if this good man here from time to time(Pointing to Capesius.)Came not to linger in our cottage home,We scarce should realize that other men,Besides ourselves, live on the earth at all.And if the man, who spake such wondrous wordsBut recently in yonder lecture-hall,And who affected us so potently,Did not full many a time my Felix meet,When he is gone about his daily tasks,Ye would know nought of our forgotten life.Maria:So the professor often visits you?Capesius:Assuredly. And I may tell you all,The very deep indebtedness I feelTo this good woman, who doth give to meIn rich abundance, what none other can.Maria:And of what nature are these gifts of hers?Capesius:If I would tell the tale, then must I touchA thing that verily doth seem to meMore wonderful than much that here I’ve heard,In that it speaks more nearly to my soul.And were I in some other place, these wordsWould hardly pass the barrier of my lips;Yet here they seem to flow therefrom with ease.In my soul-life there often comes a timeWhen it doth feel itself pumped out and dry.It seems as though the very fountain-headOf knowledge had run dry within my heart.Then can I find no word of any kindWorthy to speak or worthy to be heard.And when I feel such spirit barrennessI flee to these good people, and seek restIn their reviving, peaceful solitudeThen Mistress Felix tells me many a taleSet forth in wondrous pictures, manifold,Of beings, dwelling in the land of dreams,Who lead a joyous life in fairy realms.When thus she speaks, her tone and speech recallSome legend oft-told of the ancient days.I ask no question whence she finds these wordsBut this one thing alone I clearly know:That new life flows therefrom into my soul,And sweeps away its dull paralysis.Maria:To hear such splendid witness to the skillOf Dame Felicia doth, in wondrous wise,Harmoniously blend in every wayWith all that Benedictus told to usAbout his friend’s deep hidden knowledge-founts.Felix Balde:He who spake words to us just now, which showed(Benedictus appears at the door.)How in the realm of universal space,And vast eternities his spirit dwelt,Hath surely little need to speak o’er muchOf simple men.Benedictus:Of simple men.Thou errest friend. For meInfinite value hath each word of thine.Felix Balde:It was presumption only, and the bentOf idle talk, when thou didst honour meTo wander at thy side our mountain paths.Only because thou didst conceal from meHow much thyself dost know, I dared to speak.But now our time is up, and we must go—A long way hence doth lie our quiet home.Felicia:It hath been most refreshing once againTo come amongst mankind: and yet I fearIt will not happen very soon again:There is no other life which Felix deemsBetter than living in his mountain heights.(Exeunt Felix and his wife.)Benedictus:Indeed I well believe his wife is right,Nor will he come again for many days.It needed much to bring him here today.And yet the reason lies not in himselfWhy no one knoweth aught of him or his.Capesius:He only seemed to me eccentric, strange;And many an hour I found him talkativeWhen I was with him; but his mystic speechAnd strange discourse remained obscure to me,When he revealed all that he claims to know.He spoke of solar beings housed in rocks;Of lunar demons, who disturb their work;And of the sense of number hid in plants;And he who listens to him cannot longKeep clear the thread of meaning in his words.Benedictus:And yet ’tis also possible to feelAs if the powers of Nature, through these words,Sought to reveal themselves in their true state.(Exit.)Strader:Already do I feel forebodings strangeThat now dark hours are coming in my life.For since the days of cloistered solitude,Where I was taught such knowledge, and therebyStruck to the very darkest depth of soul,Not one experience has stirred me so,As this weird vision of the seeress here.Capesius:Indeed I cannot see that aught of thatShould prove unnerving. And I fear, my friend,That if thou once dost lose thy certainty,Dark doubt will soon envelop all thy thought.Strader:Too true! And ’tis the fear of just this doubtThat causeth me full many an anxious hourFrom my experience I know nought elseOf this strange gift of seership, save that whenLife’s vexing problems sorely trouble me,Then, ghostlike, riseth from dark spirit-depths,Before my spirit’s eyes, some phantom formLike some dream-being, grim and terrible,Pressing with fearful weight upon my soul,And clutching horribly around my heart.It seems to speak right through me words like these:‘If thou dost fail to gain the victoryO’er me with those blunt weapons of thy thought,Thou art a fleeting phantom, nothing more,Formed by thine own deluded imagery.’Theodosius:That is the destiny of all such men,As do approach the world by thought alone.The spirit’s voice dwells deep in every soul.Nor have we strength to pierce the coveringThat spreads itself before our faculties.Thought doth bring knowledge of things temporal,Of things that vanish in the course of time:The everlasting and all spirit-truthAre found but in the inner depths of man.Strader:If, then, the fruitage of a pious faithIs able to give rest to weary souls,Such souls may wander safely in that path,And find sufficiency within themselves.And yet the power of knowledge, pure and true,Doth never bloom on such a path as this.Theodosius:Yet there can be no other way to lightTrue spirit-knowledge in the hearts of men.Pride may seduce and change to fantasiesThe soul’s true depths of feeling, and may seeA vision only where faith’s beauty lies.One thing alone of all we here have heardFrom spirit-teaching of the higher worlds,Strikes clear upon our honest human sense:That only in the spirit-world itselfThe soul can feel itself in its true home.The Other Maria:So long as man feels need of speech alone,And nought besides, so long such words as theseMay satisfy him: but the fuller lifeWith all its strife, its yearnings after joy,And all its sorrow, needeth other foodTo nourish and sustain the fainting soul.For me, an inner voice did drive me onTo spend all the remaining days of lifeWhich were allotted me, in helping thoseWhom stress of destiny had smitten downAnd plunged in deepest poverty and need.And far more oft I found it necessaryTo soothe the anguish of the soul of manThan heal his body’s pain and suffering.But I have felt indeed in many waysMy will’s weak impotence to comfort men.So that I am compelled to seek fresh strengthFrom out the treasured store which floweth forthAbundantly from spirit-sources here.The quickening warmth of words which greet mine ear,Flows forth with magic force into my hands;And thence, like healing balsam, forth again,When those hands touch some sorrow-laden soul.It changeth on my lips to strengthening wordsWhich carry comfort unto pain-racked hearts.The source of words like these I do not ask;I feel their truth—they give me living life.And every day more clearly do I see,That they derive their strength not from my willIn all its weakness, but create anewMyself each day unto myself again.Capesius:Yet surely there are men enough on earthWho, though they lack such revelation’s aid,Perform innumerable deeds of good?Maria:In sooth there is no lack of men like theseIn many places; but my friend doth meanA different thing; and if thou didst but knowThe life she led, thou wouldst speak otherwise.Where unused powers in full abundance dwellThere love will cause the seed to germinateIn rich abundance in the heart’s good soil.But our friend here exhausted life’s best powersIn never-ending toil beyond her strength;And all her will to live lay crushed and deadBeneath the cruel weight of destiny,Which fell upon her. All her strength she gaveTo careful guidance of her children’s weal:And low already had her courage ebbedWhen early death took her loved husband home.In such a state as this, days dull and drearSeemed all fate had in store whilst life remained.But then the powers of destiny prevailedTo bring her ’neath the spell of spirit-lore;And soon with us she felt the vital forceOf life break forth in her a second time.Fresh aims in life she found, and with them cameFresh courage once again to fight and strive.And thus in her the spirit hath achievedIn very truth to fashion from decayA new and living personality.And when the spirit in such fruit as thisShows its creative potency, we learnIts nature, and the way it speaks to us.And, if no pride lies hidden in our speech,And highest moral aims live in our hearts;If we believe that in no way at allOur teaching is our own;—but that aloneThe spirit shows itself within our souls—Then may we surely venture to assertThat in thy mode of thinking may be foundBut feeble shadows waving to and froAthwart the real true source of human life:And that the spirit, which ensouls our workIs linked in inward harmony with allThat weaves the web of destiny for manDeep in the very fundaments of life.I have been privileged for many yearsTo give myself to vital work in life:And during all this time more bleeding heartsAnd yearning souls have come before mine eyes,Than many would conceive were possible.I do esteem thy high ideal flight,The proud assurance of thy sciences:I like to see the student-audience,Respectful, sit and listen at thy feet:And that to many souls thy work doth bringEnnobling clarity of thought, I know.But yet regarding thought like this, it seems,Trustworthiness can only dwell thereinSo long as thought lives in itself alone.Whereas the realm of which I am a partSends into deep realities of lifeThe fruitage of its words, since it desiresTo plant in deep realities its roots.Far, far away from all thy thought doth lieThe written word upon the spirit-heavenWhich with momentous tokens doth announceNew growth upon the tree of humankind.And though indeed such thought seems clear and sureAs follows faithfully the ancient path,Yet can it only touch the tree’s coarse bark,And never reach the marrow’s living power.Romanus:For my part I do seek in vain the bridgeThat truly leadeth from ideas to deeds.Capesius:On one side thou dost over-estimateThe power which can be wielded by ideas,And on the other thou dost fail to graspThe actual course of true reality:For it is certain that ideas must formThe germ of all the actual deeds of men.Romanus:If this friend doth so many deeds of good,The impulse thereunto lies in herselfAnd her warm-hearted nature, not in thought.Most certainly ’tis necessary for man,Whene’er he hath accomplished any work,To find foundation for it in ideas.But yet ’tis only schooling of man’s willIn harmony with all his skill and powerTo undertake some real work in lifeWhich will help forward all the human race.When whirr of busy wheels sounds in mine ears,Or when I see some creaking windlass drawnBy strong stout hands of men content to work,Then do I sense indeed the powers of Life.Germanus:Often in careless speech have I maintainedThat I preferred things droll and humorousAnd held these only full of wit and charm,Deeming that for my brain at any rate,They always would provide materialBest fitted to fill up the time that liesBetween my recreation and my work.But now quite tasteless to me seem such things;The Power Invisible hath conquered me;And I have learned to feel that there may beMore powerful forces in humanity,Than all our wit’s frail castles in the air.Capesius:And did it seem that nowhere else but here’Twas possible to find such spirit-powers?Germanus:Indeed the life I lived did offer meFull many a type of intellectual works:Yet cared I not to pluck or taste their fruit.But this strange mode of thought which blossoms hereSeemed to attract and draw me to itselfHowever little I desired to come.Capesius:Most pleasant hath this hour of converse been,And we are debtors to our hostess here.(Exeunt all, except Maria and Johannes.)Johannes:Oh, stay a little while yet by my side,I am afraid:—so desperately afraid:—Maria:What is it aileth thee, my friend? Speak forth.Johannes:The first cause was our leader’s speech; and thenThe chequered converse of these people here.It all hath moved and stirred me through and through.Maria:But how could simple speeches such as theseSeize on thine heart with such intensity?Johannes:Each word seemed in that moment unto meA dreadful symbol of our nothingness.Maria:Indeed it was significant to seePour forth in such short time so many kindsOf life and man’s conflicting tendencies,In all the speeches that we lately heard.Yet ’tis indeed a most peculiar traitOf life, as it is lived amongst us here,To bring to speech the inner mind of man;And much that otherwise comes slowly forth,Stands here revealed in little space of time.Johannes:A mirrored picture ’twas of fullest lifeThat showed me to myself in clearest lines:This spirit-revelation makes me feelThat most of us protect and train one traitAnd one alone in all our character,Which thus persuades itself it is the whole.I sought to unify these many traitsIn mine own self and boldly trod the pathWhich here is shown, to lead unto that goal;And it hath made of me a nothingness.Keenly I feel what all these others lack,And yet I sense as keenly that they allHave actual part in life itself, whilst IStand but on unsubstantial nothingness.It seemed whole lines of life ran into oneSignificant in those brief speeches here.But then mine own life’s portrait also roseAnd stood forth vividly within my soul.The days of childhood first were painted there,With all its fulness and its joy in life:Then came the picture of my youthful primeWith that proud hopefulness in parent-heartsAwakened by the talents of their son.Then dreams concerning my career in art,Which formed life’s all in those old happy days,Surged up from out my spirit’s inmost depthsExhorting to fulfil my cherished hopes;And then those dreams in which thyself didst seeHow I translated into coloured formThe spirit-life that liveth in thy soul.Then saw I tongues of fire spring up and lickAround my youthful dreams and artist hopes,Reducing all to dust and nothingness.Thereafter rose another pictured formFrom out that drear and dreadful nothingness—A human form, which once had linked its fateIn faithful love with mine in days long past.She sought to hold me by her when I turnedLong years ago unto my home again,Called to attend my mother’s funeral rites.I heeded not, but tore myself away.For mighty was the power that drew me hereTo this thy circle and the goals of lifeWhich here are set before our eager gaze.In those dark days I felt no sense of guiltWhen I did rend in twain the bond of love,That was unto another soul its life.Nor later when the message came to meHow that her life did slowly pine away,And finally was altogether quenchedDid I feel aught of guilt until today;But full of meaning were those recent wordsIn yonder chamber which our leader spake;How that we may destroy by power misusedAnd perverse thought the destiny of thoseWhom bonds of loving trust link to our souls.Ah, hideously these words again resoundOut of the picture, thence re-echoingWith ghastly repetition from all sides:‘Her murderer thou art! her hast thou slain!’Thus whilst this weighty speech hath been for allThe motive to probe deep within themselves,Within my heart it hath brought forth aloneThe consciousness of this most grievous guilt.By this new means of sight I can perceiveHow far astray my striving footsteps erred.Maria:And at this moment, friend, in dark domainsThou walkest, and none else can help thee there,Save he, in whom we all do put our trust.(Maria is called away; re-enter Helena.)Helena:I feel constrained to linger by thy sideA little while; since now for many weeksThy gaze hath held so much of grief and care.How can the light, which streams so radiantlyBring gloom unto thy soul, which only strivesWith utmost strength to seek and know the truth?Johannes:Hath then this light brought naught but joy to thee?Helena:Not the same joy as that which once I knew,But that new joy which springeth from those words,Through which the spirit doth reveal itself.Johannes:Natheless I tell thee that the self-same power,Which doth in thee create, can also crush.Helena:Some error must have crept into thy soulWith cunning tread, if this be possible;And if dull care instead of happiness,And moods of sorrow flow forth from the sourceOf truth itself instead of spirit-blissIn free abundance: seek then in thyselfThe stumbling-blocks that thus impede thy way.How often are we told that only healthIs the true fruitage of our teaching here,Which makes to blossom forth the powers of life.Shall it then show the contrary in thee?I see its fruitage in so many lives,Which, trusting me, find union in themselves.Their former mode of life grows day by dayStrange and still stranger to such souls as these;As well-springs are fresh opened in their hearts,Thenceforth renewing life within themselves.To gaze into the primal depths of beingDoth not create those passionate desiresWhich torture and torment the souls of men.(Exit.)Johannes:It took me many years to understandAnd know the vanity of things of senseWhen spirit-knowledge is not joined with themIn close and intimate companionship:And yet one single moment proves to meThat e’en the highest wisdom’s words may beBut vanity of soul in man’s own self.Curtain

PreludeSophia’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 floodingThe breadths of space;The song of the birds is fillingThe heights of the air;The blessing of plant-life unfoldethElemental Beings of earth;And human souls in reverent gratitude,Rise up to the spirits of the world.Sophia:Now, children, go to your room 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 make 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 calledOutcasts from Body and from Soul. I should so like to hear it with you.Sophia:I’m sorry, my dear Estelle, but tonight is the date set for the performance of the play, whichoursociety 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 yetyou 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 notfinally 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 by the circuitous route of a 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 inand 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 which 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 ofwhich 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, naïve and original. Our conception of the world unites a full and conscious freedom with the power of naïve creation. We absorb consciously that which is naïve, and do not thereby rob it of its freshness, its fulness, and its originality. You believe that the character of man shapes itself, and that we can merely form thoughts and considerationsaboutit. 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 notteach, any more than the seed-power within a plantteachesit 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 degenerate beings is shown upon the stage. And the customary method of that presentation is unspeakably distant from the true depths of life, and the true relationship 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 tonight.(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.)CurtainScene 1Room. Dominant note rose-red. Large rose-red chairs are arranged in a semicircle. To the left of the stage a door leads to the auditorium. One after the other, the speakers introduced enter by this door; each stopping in the room for a time. While they do so, they discuss the discourse they have just heard in the auditorium, and what it suggests to them.Enter first Maria and Johannes, then others. The speeches which follow are continuations of discussions already begun in the auditorium.Maria:My friend, I am indeed distressed to seeThy spirit and thy soul in sadness droop,And powerless to help the bond that bindsAnd that has bound us both for ten blest years.E’en this same hour, filled with a portent deepIn which we both have heard and learned so muchThat lightens all the darkest depths of soul,Brought naught but shade and shadow unto thee.Aye, after many of the speakers’ words,My listening heart could feel the very dartThat deeply wounded thine. Once did I gazeInto thine eyes and saw but happinessAnd joy in all the essence of the world.In pictures beauty-steeped thy soul held fastEach fleeting moment, bathed by sunshine’s glow—Flooding with air and light the forms of menUnsealing all the depths and doubts of Life.Unskilled as yet thine hand to body forthIn concrete colour-schemes, those living formsThat hovered in thy soul; but in the heartsOf both of us there throbbed the joyous faithAnd certain hope that future days would teachThine hand this art—to pour forth happinessInto the very fundaments of Being;That all the wonders of thy spirit’s searchUnfolding visibly Creation’s powersThrough every creature of thine art would pourSoul rapture deep into the hearts of men.Such were our dreams through all those days of yoreThat to thy skill, mirrored in beauty’s guise,The weal of future men would trace its source.So dreamed mine own soul of the goal of thine.Yet now the vital spark of fashioning fireThat burned within thee seems extinct and dead.Dead thy creative joy: and well-nigh maimedThe hand, which once with fresh and youthful strengthGuided thy steadfast brush from year to year.Johannes:Alas, ’tis true; I feel as if the firesThat erstwhile quickened in my soul are quenched.Mine eye, grown dull, doth no more catch the gleamShed by the flickering sunlight o’er the earth.No feeling stirs my heart, when changing moodsOf light and shade flow o’er the scenes around.Still lies my hand, seeking no more to chainInto a lasting present fleeting charms,Shown forth by magic elemental powersFrom utmost depths of Life before mine eyes.No new creative fire thrills me with joy.For me dull monotone obscures all life.Maria:My heart is deeply grieved to hear that thouDost find such emptiness in everythingWhich thrives as highest good and very sourceOf sacred life itself within my heart.Ah, friend, behind the changing scenes of lifeThat men call ‘Being,’ true life lies concealedSpiritual, everlasting, infinite.And in that life each soul doth weave its thread.I feel afloat in spirit potencies,That work, as in an ocean’s unseen depths,And see revealéd all the life of men,As wavelets on the ocean’s upturned face.I am at one with all the sense of LifeFor which men restless strive, and which to meIs but their inner self that stands revealed.I see, how oftentimes it binds itselfUnto the very kernel of man’s soul,And lifts him to the highest that his heartCan ever crave. Yet as it lives in meIt turns to bitter fruitage, when mine ownTouches another’s being. Even soHath this, my destiny, worked out in allI willed to give thee, when thou cam’st in love.Thy wish it was to travel at my sideUnhesitating all the way, that soonShould lead thee to a full and perfect art.Yet what hath happened? All, that in mine eyesStood forth revealed in its own naked TruthAs purest life, brought death, my friend, to theeAnd slew thy spirit.Johannes:And slew thy spirit.Aye.’Tisso indeed.What lifts thy soul to Heaven’s sun-kissed heightsWhen through thy life it comes into mine ownThrusts my soul down, to death’s abysmal gloom.When in our friendship’s rosy-fingered dawnTo this revealment thou didst lead me on,Which sheds its light into the darkened realms,Where human souls do enter every night,Bereft of conscious life, and where full oftMan’s being wanders erring: whilst the nightOf Death makes mock at Life’s reality.And when thou didst reveal to me the truthOf life’s return, then did I know full wellThat I should grow to perfect spirit-man.Surely, it seemed, the artist’s clear keen eye,And certain touch of a creator’s hand,Would blossom for me through thy spirit’s fireAnd noble might. Full deep I breathed this fireInto my being; when—behold—it robbedThe ebb and flow of all my spirit’s power.Remorselessly it drove out from my heartAll faith in this our world. And now I reachA point where I no longer clearly see,Whether to doubt or whether to believeThe revelation of the spirit-worlds.Nay more, I even lack the power to loveThat which in thee the spirit’s beauty shows.Maria:Alas! The years that pass have taught me this:That mine own way to live the spirit-lifeDoth change into its opposite, whene’erIt penetrates another’s character.And I must also see how spirit-powerGrows rich in blessing when, by other paths,It pours itself into the souls of men.(Enter Philia, Astrid, and Luna.)It floweth forth in speech, and in these wordsLies power to raise to realms celestialMan’s common mode of thinking; and createA world of joy, where erstwhile brooded gloom.Aye, it can change the spirit’s shallownessTo depths of earnest feeling; and can castMan’s character in sure and noble mould.And I—yes, I am altogether filledBy just this spirit-power, and must beholdThe pain and desolation that it bringsTo other hearts, when from mine own it pours.Philia:It seemed as though the voices of some choir(Enter Prof. Capesius and Dr. Strader.)Mingled together, uttering manifoldConceptions and opinions, each his own,Of these who formed our recent gathering.Full many harmonies there were indeed,But also many a harsh-toned dissonance.Maria:Ah, when the words and speech of many menPresent themselves in such wise to the soul,It seems as though man’s very prototypeStood centred there in secret mystery:Become through many souls articulate,As in the rainbow’s arch pure Light itselfGrows visible in many-coloured rays.Capesius:Through changing scenes of many centuriesWe wandered year on year in earnest search;Striving to fathom deep the living forceThat dwelt within the souls of those who soughtTo probe and scan the fundaments of being,And set before man’s soul the goals of life.We thought that in the depths of our own soulsWe lived the higher powers of thought itself;And thus could solve the riddles set by Fate.We felt we had, or seemed at least to feel,Sure basis in the logic of our mindWhen new experiences crossed our pathQuestioning there the judgment of our soul.Yet now such basis wavers, when amazedI hear today, as I have heard before,The mode of thought taught by these people here.And more and more uncertain do I grow,When I perceive, how powerfully in lifeThis mode of thought doth work. Full many a dayHave I spent thus, thinking how I might shapeTime’s riddles as they solved themselves to meIn words, that hearts might grasp and trembling feel.Happy indeed was I, if I could fillOnly the smallest corner of some soulAmongst my audience with the warmth of life.And oftentimes it seemed success was mine,Nor would I make complaint of fruitless days.Yet all results of teaching thus could leadOnly to recognition of this truthSo loved and emphasized by men of deeds,That in the clash of life’s realities,Thoughts are dim shadows, nothing more nor less:They may indeed wing life’s creative powersTo due fruition, but they cannot shapeAnd mould our life themselves. So have I judgedAnd with this modest comment was content:Where pale thoughts only work, all life is lamedAnd likewise all that joins itself to life.More potent than the ripest form of words,However art might weave therein her spell,Seemed nature’s gift, man’s talents—and more strongThe hand of destiny to mould his life.Tradition’s mountainweight, and prejudiceWith dull oppressive hand will always quenchThe strength of e’en the very best of words.But that which here reveals itself in speechGives men, who think as I do, food for thought.Clearly we saw the kind of consequenceThat comes when sects, in superheated speech,Blind souls of men with dogma’s seething stream.But nought here of such spirit do we find;Here only reason greets the soul, and yetThese words create the actual powers of life,Speaking unto the spirit’s inmost depths.Nay even to the kingdom of the WillThis strange and mystic Something penetrates;This Something, which to such as I, who stillWander in ancient ways, seems but pale thought.Impossible, it seems, to disavowIts consequences; none the less, myselfI cannot quite surrender to it yet.But it all speaks with such peculiar charmAnd not as though it really meant for meThe contradiction of experience.It almost seems as if this Something foundThe kind of man I am, insufferable.Strader:I would associate myself in fullest senseWith every one of thy last spoken words:And still more sharply would I emphasizeThat all results in our soul-life, which seemTo spring forth from the influence of ideas,Cannot in any wise decide for usWhat actual worth of knowledge they conceal.Whether there lives within our mode of thought,Error or truth—’tis certain this aloneThe verdict of true science can decide.And no one would with honesty denyThat words, which are, in seeming only, clear,Yet claim to solve life’s deepest mysteries,Are quite unfit for such a scrutiny.They fascinate the spirit of mankind,And only tempt the heart’s credulity;Seeming to open door into that realmBefore which, humble and perplexed, now standsThe strict and cautious search of modern minds.And he who truly follows such researchIs bound in honour to confess that noneCan know whence streams thewell-springof his thought,Nor fathom where the depths of Being lie.And though confession such as this is hardFor souls who all too willingly would gaugeWhat lies beyond the ken of mortal mind,Yet every glance of every thinker’s soulWhether directed to the outer side,Or turned towards the inner depths of life,Scans but that boundary and naught beside.If we deny our rational intellectOr set aside experience, we sinkIn depths unfathomable, bottomless.And who can fail to see how utterlyWhat passeth here for revelation new,Fails to fit in with modern modes of thought.Indeed it needs but little thought to see,How totally devoid this method isOf that, which gives all thought its sure supportAnd guarantees a sense of certainty.Such revelations may warm listening hearts,But thinkers see in them mere mystic dreams.Philia:Aye, thus would always speak the science, wonBy stern sobriety and intellect.But that suffices not unto the soul,That needs a steadfast faith in its own self.She ever will give heed to words that speakTo her of spirit. All she dimly sensedIn former days, she striveth now to grasp.To speak of the Unknown may well enticeThe thinker, but no more the hearts of men.Strader:I too can realize how much there liesIn that objection; how it seems to strikeThe idle dreamer, who would only spinThe threads of thought, and seek the consequenceOf this or that premise, which he himselfHath formed beforehand. Me—it touches not—No outer motive guided me to thought.In childhood I grew up ’mid pious folkAnd, following their custom, steeped my soulIn sense-intoxicating imagesOf future sojourn in celestial realms,Wherewith they seek to comfort and beguileMan’s ignorance and man’s simplicity.Within my boyish soul I sensed the throbOf utmost ecstasy, when reverentlyI raised my thoughts to highest spirit-worlds;And prayer was then my heart’s necessity.Thereafter in a cloister was I trained;Monks were my teachers, and in mine own heartThe deepest longing was to be a monk,—An echo of my parents’ ardent wish.For consecration did I stand preparedWhen chance did drive me from the cloistered cell;And to this chance I owe deep gratitude.For, many days before chance saved my soulIt had been robbed of inward peace and quiet;For I had read and learned of many things,That have no place within the cloister-gate.Knowledge of nature’s working came to meFrom books that were forbidden to mine eyes.And thus I learned new scientific thought.Hard was the struggle as I sought the pathWandering through many a way to find mine own;Nor did I ever gain by cunning thoughtWhate’er of truth revealed itself to me.In fierce-fought battles have I torn the rootsFrom out my spirit’s soil of all that broughtPeace and contentment to me when a child.I understand indeed the heart that fainWould soar up to the heights—but for myself,When once I recognized that all I learnedFrom spirit-teaching was an empty dream,I was compelled to find the surer soilThat science and discovery create.Luna:We may surmise, each after his own kind,Where sense and goal of life doth lie for each.I altogether lack the power to proveAccording to the science of today,What spirit-teaching I have here received:But clear within my heart I feel and knowMy soul would die without this spirit-lore,As would my body, if deprived of blood.And thou, dear doctor, ’gainst our cause dost fightWith many words, and what thou now hast toldOf thy life’s conflict lends them weight indeedEven with those who do not understandThy learned argument. Yet would I ask(Enter Theodora.)Exactly why it is that hearts of menReceive the word of Spirit readily,As though self-understood: yet when man seeksFood for his spirit in such learned wordsAs thou didst use his heart grows chill and cold.Theodora:Although I am at home ’mid just such menAs circle round me here, yet strangely soundsThis speech I have just heard.Capesius:This speech I have just heard.What strangeness there?Theodora:I may not say. Do thou, Maria, tell.Maria:Our friend has oftentimes explained to usWhat strange experiences come to her.One day she felt herself completely changed,And none could understand her altered state.Estrangement met her wheresoe’er she turnedUntil she came into our circle here.Not that we fully understand ourselvesWhat she possesses and what no one shares.Yet we are trained by this our mode of thoughtThe unaccustomed to appreciate,And feel with every mood of humankind.One moment in her life, our friend perceived,All that seemed hers aforetime, disappear;The past was all extinguished in her soul.And since these wondrous changes came to her,This mood of soul hath oft renewed itself;It doth not long endure; and other timesShe lives her life as ordinary folk.Yet whensoe’er she falls into this state,The gift of memory doth fade away.She loseth from her eyes the power to seeAnd senseth her surroundings, seeing not.With a peculiar light her eyes then glow,And pictured forms appear to her. At firstThey seemed like dreams; anon they grew so clear,That we could recognize without a doubtSome prophecy of distant future days.Full many a time have we seen this occur.Capesius:It is just this that little pleaseth meAmongst these men; who mingle with good senseAnd logic, superstition’s fallacies.’Twas ever thus where men have walked this path.Maria:If thou canst still speak so, thou dost not yetPerceive our attitude towards these things.Strader:Well, as for me, I freely must confess,That I would sooner revelations hearThan speak of questionable spirit-themes.For even if I fail to read arightThe riddle of such dreams, yet those at leastI count as facts; and would ’twere possibleTo see one instance of the mysteryOf this strange spirit-mood before mine eyes.Maria:Perchance it is—for look, she comes again.And it doth seem to me as though e’en nowThis mystic spirit-mood would show itself.Theodora:I am compelled to speak. Before my soulA pictured form stands wrapped in robes of light;From which strange words are sounding in mine ears.I feel myself in future centuries,And men do I behold as yet unborn:—They also see the pictured form; they tooCan hear the words it speaks, which thus resound—‘O ye, who lived in faith’s sincerity,Take comfort now in sight, and look on Me.Receive new life through Me. For I am HeWho lived within the souls of those who soughtTo find Me in themselves, by followingThe gospel-words My messengers did bringAnd by their own devotion’s inward power.The light of sense ye saw—believe ye nowIn the creative spirit-world beyond.For now indeed ye have yourselves achievedOne atom of divine prophetic sight.Oh, breathe it deep, and feel it in your souls.’A human form steps from that sphere of light.And speaks to me: ‘Thou shalt make known to allWho will give ear to thee, that thou hast seenWhat all mankind shall soon experience:Once, long ago, Christ lived upon the earth,And from this life ensued the consequenceThat in soul-substance clad He hovers o’erThe evolution of humanity,In union with the earth’s own spirit-sphere;And though as yet invisible to men,When in such form He manifests Himself,Since now their being lacks that spirit sight,Which first will show itself in future times;Yet even now this future draweth nighWhen that new sight shall come to men on earth.What once the senses saw, when Christ did liveUpon the earth; this shall be seen by soulsWhen soon the time shall reach its fulness due.’(Exit.)Maria:This is the first time we have heard her speakIn such a manner to so many folk.At other times she felt constrained to speech,Only when two or three were gathered round.Capesius:To me indeed it seems most curious,That she, as though commanded or required,Should find herself to revelation urged.Maria:It may so seem; but we know well her ways.If at this moment she desired to sendHer inward soul-voice deep into your souls,The only reason was, that unto youThe source, whence came her voice, desired to speak.Capesius:Concerning this strange future gift of sight,Whereof she spake, as dreaming, we have heardThat he, who of this circle is the soul,Hath oft already given full report.Is it not possible that from his wordsThe content of her speech hath origin,The mode of utterance coming from herself?Maria:If matters thus did stand, we should not deemHer words of any consequence or weight:But we have tested this condition well.Before she came into our circle here,Our friend had never heard in any wayOf that same leader’s speeches, nor had weHeard aught of her before she came to us.Capesius:Then what we have to deal with is a state,Such as so often happens, contraryTo all the laws of nature; and which weMust merely estimate as some disease.And only healthy thought, securely basedOn fully conscious sense-impressions, canPass judgment on the riddles set by life.Strader:Yet even here one fact presents itself;And what we now have heard must have some worth—For, even if we set aside all elseIt doth compel the thought that spirit-powerCan cause thought-transference from soul to soul.Astrid:Ah me, if ye would only dare to treadThe ground your mode of thought doth choose to shun:As snow before the sunlight’s piercing glareYour vain delusion needs must melt away,Which makes the moods revealéd, in such mindsAppear diseased, abnormal, wonderful.They are suggestive, but they are not strange.And small this wonder doth appear to meWhen I compare it with the myriadOf wonders that make up my daily life.Capesius:Nay, nay, one thing it is to recognizeWhat lies before our eyes on every side,But quite another, what is shown us here.Strader:Of spirit ’tis not necessary to speakUntil there are things shown to us which lieOutside the strictly circled boundarySet by the laws of scientific thought.Astrid:The clear shaft of the sunlight on the dewWhich glistens in the morning’s golden light,(Enter Felix Balde.)The hurling stream that riseth ’neath the rock,The thunder rumbling in the cloud-wrapped sky,All these do speak to me a spirit tongue:I strove to understand it; and I knowThat of this speech’s meaning and its might,Only a faint reflection can be glimpsedThrough your investigations, as they are.And when that kind of speech sank deep withinMy heart, I found my soul’s true joy at last.Nor could aught else, but human words aloneAnd spirit teaching grant this gift to me.Felix Balde:Those words rang true indeed.Maria:Those words rang true indeed.I must essayTo tell what joy fills all my heart to see(Enter Felicia Balde.)For the first time here with us yonder man,Of whom we oft have heard; and joy doth causeThe wish to see him here full many times.Felix Balde:It is not usual for me that I shouldAssociate with such a crowd of men:And not alone unusual——Felicia:And not alone unusual——Aye, ’tis so.His nature drives us into solitudeAway from all; year in, year out, we hearScarce any other converse save our own.And if this good man here from time to time(Pointing to Capesius.)Came not to linger in our cottage home,We scarce should realize that other men,Besides ourselves, live on the earth at all.And if the man, who spake such wondrous wordsBut recently in yonder lecture-hall,And who affected us so potently,Did not full many a time my Felix meet,When he is gone about his daily tasks,Ye would know nought of our forgotten life.Maria:So the professor often visits you?Capesius:Assuredly. And I may tell you all,The very deep indebtedness I feelTo this good woman, who doth give to meIn rich abundance, what none other can.Maria:And of what nature are these gifts of hers?Capesius:If I would tell the tale, then must I touchA thing that verily doth seem to meMore wonderful than much that here I’ve heard,In that it speaks more nearly to my soul.And were I in some other place, these wordsWould hardly pass the barrier of my lips;Yet here they seem to flow therefrom with ease.In my soul-life there often comes a timeWhen it doth feel itself pumped out and dry.It seems as though the very fountain-headOf knowledge had run dry within my heart.Then can I find no word of any kindWorthy to speak or worthy to be heard.And when I feel such spirit barrennessI flee to these good people, and seek restIn their reviving, peaceful solitudeThen Mistress Felix tells me many a taleSet forth in wondrous pictures, manifold,Of beings, dwelling in the land of dreams,Who lead a joyous life in fairy realms.When thus she speaks, her tone and speech recallSome legend oft-told of the ancient days.I ask no question whence she finds these wordsBut this one thing alone I clearly know:That new life flows therefrom into my soul,And sweeps away its dull paralysis.Maria:To hear such splendid witness to the skillOf Dame Felicia doth, in wondrous wise,Harmoniously blend in every wayWith all that Benedictus told to usAbout his friend’s deep hidden knowledge-founts.Felix Balde:He who spake words to us just now, which showed(Benedictus appears at the door.)How in the realm of universal space,And vast eternities his spirit dwelt,Hath surely little need to speak o’er muchOf simple men.Benedictus:Of simple men.Thou errest friend. For meInfinite value hath each word of thine.Felix Balde:It was presumption only, and the bentOf idle talk, when thou didst honour meTo wander at thy side our mountain paths.Only because thou didst conceal from meHow much thyself dost know, I dared to speak.But now our time is up, and we must go—A long way hence doth lie our quiet home.Felicia:It hath been most refreshing once againTo come amongst mankind: and yet I fearIt will not happen very soon again:There is no other life which Felix deemsBetter than living in his mountain heights.(Exeunt Felix and his wife.)Benedictus:Indeed I well believe his wife is right,Nor will he come again for many days.It needed much to bring him here today.And yet the reason lies not in himselfWhy no one knoweth aught of him or his.Capesius:He only seemed to me eccentric, strange;And many an hour I found him talkativeWhen I was with him; but his mystic speechAnd strange discourse remained obscure to me,When he revealed all that he claims to know.He spoke of solar beings housed in rocks;Of lunar demons, who disturb their work;And of the sense of number hid in plants;And he who listens to him cannot longKeep clear the thread of meaning in his words.Benedictus:And yet ’tis also possible to feelAs if the powers of Nature, through these words,Sought to reveal themselves in their true state.(Exit.)Strader:Already do I feel forebodings strangeThat now dark hours are coming in my life.For since the days of cloistered solitude,Where I was taught such knowledge, and therebyStruck to the very darkest depth of soul,Not one experience has stirred me so,As this weird vision of the seeress here.Capesius:Indeed I cannot see that aught of thatShould prove unnerving. And I fear, my friend,That if thou once dost lose thy certainty,Dark doubt will soon envelop all thy thought.Strader:Too true! And ’tis the fear of just this doubtThat causeth me full many an anxious hourFrom my experience I know nought elseOf this strange gift of seership, save that whenLife’s vexing problems sorely trouble me,Then, ghostlike, riseth from dark spirit-depths,Before my spirit’s eyes, some phantom formLike some dream-being, grim and terrible,Pressing with fearful weight upon my soul,And clutching horribly around my heart.It seems to speak right through me words like these:‘If thou dost fail to gain the victoryO’er me with those blunt weapons of thy thought,Thou art a fleeting phantom, nothing more,Formed by thine own deluded imagery.’Theodosius:That is the destiny of all such men,As do approach the world by thought alone.The spirit’s voice dwells deep in every soul.Nor have we strength to pierce the coveringThat spreads itself before our faculties.Thought doth bring knowledge of things temporal,Of things that vanish in the course of time:The everlasting and all spirit-truthAre found but in the inner depths of man.Strader:If, then, the fruitage of a pious faithIs able to give rest to weary souls,Such souls may wander safely in that path,And find sufficiency within themselves.And yet the power of knowledge, pure and true,Doth never bloom on such a path as this.Theodosius:Yet there can be no other way to lightTrue spirit-knowledge in the hearts of men.Pride may seduce and change to fantasiesThe soul’s true depths of feeling, and may seeA vision only where faith’s beauty lies.One thing alone of all we here have heardFrom spirit-teaching of the higher worlds,Strikes clear upon our honest human sense:That only in the spirit-world itselfThe soul can feel itself in its true home.The Other Maria:So long as man feels need of speech alone,And nought besides, so long such words as theseMay satisfy him: but the fuller lifeWith all its strife, its yearnings after joy,And all its sorrow, needeth other foodTo nourish and sustain the fainting soul.For me, an inner voice did drive me onTo spend all the remaining days of lifeWhich were allotted me, in helping thoseWhom stress of destiny had smitten downAnd plunged in deepest poverty and need.And far more oft I found it necessaryTo soothe the anguish of the soul of manThan heal his body’s pain and suffering.But I have felt indeed in many waysMy will’s weak impotence to comfort men.So that I am compelled to seek fresh strengthFrom out the treasured store which floweth forthAbundantly from spirit-sources here.The quickening warmth of words which greet mine ear,Flows forth with magic force into my hands;And thence, like healing balsam, forth again,When those hands touch some sorrow-laden soul.It changeth on my lips to strengthening wordsWhich carry comfort unto pain-racked hearts.The source of words like these I do not ask;I feel their truth—they give me living life.And every day more clearly do I see,That they derive their strength not from my willIn all its weakness, but create anewMyself each day unto myself again.Capesius:Yet surely there are men enough on earthWho, though they lack such revelation’s aid,Perform innumerable deeds of good?Maria:In sooth there is no lack of men like theseIn many places; but my friend doth meanA different thing; and if thou didst but knowThe life she led, thou wouldst speak otherwise.Where unused powers in full abundance dwellThere love will cause the seed to germinateIn rich abundance in the heart’s good soil.But our friend here exhausted life’s best powersIn never-ending toil beyond her strength;And all her will to live lay crushed and deadBeneath the cruel weight of destiny,Which fell upon her. All her strength she gaveTo careful guidance of her children’s weal:And low already had her courage ebbedWhen early death took her loved husband home.In such a state as this, days dull and drearSeemed all fate had in store whilst life remained.But then the powers of destiny prevailedTo bring her ’neath the spell of spirit-lore;And soon with us she felt the vital forceOf life break forth in her a second time.Fresh aims in life she found, and with them cameFresh courage once again to fight and strive.And thus in her the spirit hath achievedIn very truth to fashion from decayA new and living personality.And when the spirit in such fruit as thisShows its creative potency, we learnIts nature, and the way it speaks to us.And, if no pride lies hidden in our speech,And highest moral aims live in our hearts;If we believe that in no way at allOur teaching is our own;—but that aloneThe spirit shows itself within our souls—Then may we surely venture to assertThat in thy mode of thinking may be foundBut feeble shadows waving to and froAthwart the real true source of human life:And that the spirit, which ensouls our workIs linked in inward harmony with allThat weaves the web of destiny for manDeep in the very fundaments of life.I have been privileged for many yearsTo give myself to vital work in life:And during all this time more bleeding heartsAnd yearning souls have come before mine eyes,Than many would conceive were possible.I do esteem thy high ideal flight,The proud assurance of thy sciences:I like to see the student-audience,Respectful, sit and listen at thy feet:And that to many souls thy work doth bringEnnobling clarity of thought, I know.But yet regarding thought like this, it seems,Trustworthiness can only dwell thereinSo long as thought lives in itself alone.Whereas the realm of which I am a partSends into deep realities of lifeThe fruitage of its words, since it desiresTo plant in deep realities its roots.Far, far away from all thy thought doth lieThe written word upon the spirit-heavenWhich with momentous tokens doth announceNew growth upon the tree of humankind.And though indeed such thought seems clear and sureAs follows faithfully the ancient path,Yet can it only touch the tree’s coarse bark,And never reach the marrow’s living power.Romanus:For my part I do seek in vain the bridgeThat truly leadeth from ideas to deeds.Capesius:On one side thou dost over-estimateThe power which can be wielded by ideas,And on the other thou dost fail to graspThe actual course of true reality:For it is certain that ideas must formThe germ of all the actual deeds of men.Romanus:If this friend doth so many deeds of good,The impulse thereunto lies in herselfAnd her warm-hearted nature, not in thought.Most certainly ’tis necessary for man,Whene’er he hath accomplished any work,To find foundation for it in ideas.But yet ’tis only schooling of man’s willIn harmony with all his skill and powerTo undertake some real work in lifeWhich will help forward all the human race.When whirr of busy wheels sounds in mine ears,Or when I see some creaking windlass drawnBy strong stout hands of men content to work,Then do I sense indeed the powers of Life.Germanus:Often in careless speech have I maintainedThat I preferred things droll and humorousAnd held these only full of wit and charm,Deeming that for my brain at any rate,They always would provide materialBest fitted to fill up the time that liesBetween my recreation and my work.But now quite tasteless to me seem such things;The Power Invisible hath conquered me;And I have learned to feel that there may beMore powerful forces in humanity,Than all our wit’s frail castles in the air.Capesius:And did it seem that nowhere else but here’Twas possible to find such spirit-powers?Germanus:Indeed the life I lived did offer meFull many a type of intellectual works:Yet cared I not to pluck or taste their fruit.But this strange mode of thought which blossoms hereSeemed to attract and draw me to itselfHowever little I desired to come.Capesius:Most pleasant hath this hour of converse been,And we are debtors to our hostess here.(Exeunt all, except Maria and Johannes.)Johannes:Oh, stay a little while yet by my side,I am afraid:—so desperately afraid:—Maria:What is it aileth thee, my friend? Speak forth.Johannes:The first cause was our leader’s speech; and thenThe chequered converse of these people here.It all hath moved and stirred me through and through.Maria:But how could simple speeches such as theseSeize on thine heart with such intensity?Johannes:Each word seemed in that moment unto meA dreadful symbol of our nothingness.Maria:Indeed it was significant to seePour forth in such short time so many kindsOf life and man’s conflicting tendencies,In all the speeches that we lately heard.Yet ’tis indeed a most peculiar traitOf life, as it is lived amongst us here,To bring to speech the inner mind of man;And much that otherwise comes slowly forth,Stands here revealed in little space of time.Johannes:A mirrored picture ’twas of fullest lifeThat showed me to myself in clearest lines:This spirit-revelation makes me feelThat most of us protect and train one traitAnd one alone in all our character,Which thus persuades itself it is the whole.I sought to unify these many traitsIn mine own self and boldly trod the pathWhich here is shown, to lead unto that goal;And it hath made of me a nothingness.Keenly I feel what all these others lack,And yet I sense as keenly that they allHave actual part in life itself, whilst IStand but on unsubstantial nothingness.It seemed whole lines of life ran into oneSignificant in those brief speeches here.But then mine own life’s portrait also roseAnd stood forth vividly within my soul.The days of childhood first were painted there,With all its fulness and its joy in life:Then came the picture of my youthful primeWith that proud hopefulness in parent-heartsAwakened by the talents of their son.Then dreams concerning my career in art,Which formed life’s all in those old happy days,Surged up from out my spirit’s inmost depthsExhorting to fulfil my cherished hopes;And then those dreams in which thyself didst seeHow I translated into coloured formThe spirit-life that liveth in thy soul.Then saw I tongues of fire spring up and lickAround my youthful dreams and artist hopes,Reducing all to dust and nothingness.Thereafter rose another pictured formFrom out that drear and dreadful nothingness—A human form, which once had linked its fateIn faithful love with mine in days long past.She sought to hold me by her when I turnedLong years ago unto my home again,Called to attend my mother’s funeral rites.I heeded not, but tore myself away.For mighty was the power that drew me hereTo this thy circle and the goals of lifeWhich here are set before our eager gaze.In those dark days I felt no sense of guiltWhen I did rend in twain the bond of love,That was unto another soul its life.Nor later when the message came to meHow that her life did slowly pine away,And finally was altogether quenchedDid I feel aught of guilt until today;But full of meaning were those recent wordsIn yonder chamber which our leader spake;How that we may destroy by power misusedAnd perverse thought the destiny of thoseWhom bonds of loving trust link to our souls.Ah, hideously these words again resoundOut of the picture, thence re-echoingWith ghastly repetition from all sides:‘Her murderer thou art! her hast thou slain!’Thus whilst this weighty speech hath been for allThe motive to probe deep within themselves,Within my heart it hath brought forth aloneThe consciousness of this most grievous guilt.By this new means of sight I can perceiveHow far astray my striving footsteps erred.Maria:And at this moment, friend, in dark domainsThou walkest, and none else can help thee there,Save he, in whom we all do put our trust.(Maria is called away; re-enter Helena.)Helena:I feel constrained to linger by thy sideA little while; since now for many weeksThy gaze hath held so much of grief and care.How can the light, which streams so radiantlyBring gloom unto thy soul, which only strivesWith utmost strength to seek and know the truth?Johannes:Hath then this light brought naught but joy to thee?Helena:Not the same joy as that which once I knew,But that new joy which springeth from those words,Through which the spirit doth reveal itself.Johannes:Natheless I tell thee that the self-same power,Which doth in thee create, can also crush.Helena:Some error must have crept into thy soulWith cunning tread, if this be possible;And if dull care instead of happiness,And moods of sorrow flow forth from the sourceOf truth itself instead of spirit-blissIn free abundance: seek then in thyselfThe stumbling-blocks that thus impede thy way.How often are we told that only healthIs the true fruitage of our teaching here,Which makes to blossom forth the powers of life.Shall it then show the contrary in thee?I see its fruitage in so many lives,Which, trusting me, find union in themselves.Their former mode of life grows day by dayStrange and still stranger to such souls as these;As well-springs are fresh opened in their hearts,Thenceforth renewing life within themselves.To gaze into the primal depths of beingDoth not create those passionate desiresWhich torture and torment the souls of men.(Exit.)Johannes:It took me many years to understandAnd know the vanity of things of senseWhen spirit-knowledge is not joined with themIn close and intimate companionship:And yet one single moment proves to meThat e’en the highest wisdom’s words may beBut vanity of soul in man’s own self.Curtain

PreludeSophia’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 floodingThe breadths of space;The song of the birds is fillingThe heights of the air;The blessing of plant-life unfoldethElemental Beings of earth;And human souls in reverent gratitude,Rise up to the spirits of the world.Sophia:Now, children, go to your room 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 make 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 calledOutcasts from Body and from Soul. I should so like to hear it with you.Sophia:I’m sorry, my dear Estelle, but tonight is the date set for the performance of the play, whichoursociety 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 yetyou 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 notfinally 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 by the circuitous route of a 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 inand 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 which 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 ofwhich 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, naïve and original. Our conception of the world unites a full and conscious freedom with the power of naïve creation. We absorb consciously that which is naïve, and do not thereby rob it of its freshness, its fulness, and its originality. You believe that the character of man shapes itself, and that we can merely form thoughts and considerationsaboutit. 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 notteach, any more than the seed-power within a plantteachesit 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 degenerate beings is shown upon the stage. And the customary method of that presentation is unspeakably distant from the true depths of life, and the true relationship 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 tonight.(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.)Curtain

PreludeSophia’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 floodingThe breadths of space;The song of the birds is fillingThe heights of the air;The blessing of plant-life unfoldethElemental Beings of earth;And human souls in reverent gratitude,Rise up to the spirits of the world.Sophia:Now, children, go to your room 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 make 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 calledOutcasts from Body and from Soul. I should so like to hear it with you.Sophia:I’m sorry, my dear Estelle, but tonight is the date set for the performance of the play, whichoursociety 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 yetyou 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 notfinally 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 by the circuitous route of a 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 inand 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 which 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 ofwhich 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, naïve and original. Our conception of the world unites a full and conscious freedom with the power of naïve creation. We absorb consciously that which is naïve, and do not thereby rob it of its freshness, its fulness, and its originality. You believe that the character of man shapes itself, and that we can merely form thoughts and considerationsaboutit. 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 notteach, any more than the seed-power within a plantteachesit 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 degenerate beings is shown upon the stage. And the customary method of that presentation is unspeakably distant from the true depths of life, and the true relationship 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 tonight.(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.)Curtain

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 floodingThe breadths of space;The song of the birds is fillingThe heights of the air;The blessing of plant-life unfoldethElemental Beings of earth;And human souls in reverent gratitude,Rise up to the spirits of the world.

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 the air;

The blessing of plant-life unfoldeth

Elemental Beings of earth;

And human souls in reverent gratitude,

Rise up to the spirits of the world.

Sophia:Now, children, go to your room and think over the words we have just practised.

Sophia:

Now, children, go to your room 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?

Estella:

How do you do, Sophy? I hope I’m not intruding?

Sophia:Oh no, Estelle. I am very glad to see you.

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?

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 make it impossible for men to obtain a clear view of essential mysteries.

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 make it impossible for men to obtain a clear view of essential mysteries.

Estella:Does he not intend speaking on an important subject, himself?

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.

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 calledOutcasts from Body and from Soul. I should so like to hear it with you.

Estella:

I really came in, dear Sophy, to ask whether you would come with me this evening to a new play calledOutcasts from Body and from Soul. I should so like to hear it with you.

Sophia:I’m sorry, my dear Estelle, but tonight is the date set for the performance of the play, whichoursociety has been rehearsing for a long time.

Sophia:

I’m sorry, my dear Estelle, but tonight is the date set for the performance of the play, whichoursociety 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.

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 yetyou 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.

Sophia:

You have often said that before; and yetyou 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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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 notfinally 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.

Sophia:

But you realize, I hope, from our previous discussions, that those who think as I do, do notfinally 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 by the circuitous route of a 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.

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 by the circuitous route of a 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?

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 inand 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 which 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.

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 inand 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 which 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 ofwhich 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, naïve and original. Our conception of the world unites a full and conscious freedom with the power of naïve creation. We absorb consciously that which is naïve, and do not thereby rob it of its freshness, its fulness, and its originality. You believe that the character of man shapes itself, and that we can merely form thoughts and considerationsaboutit. 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 notteach, any more than the seed-power within a plantteachesit 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 degenerate beings is shown upon the stage. And the customary method of that presentation is unspeakably distant from the true depths of life, and the true relationship between beings.

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 ofwhich 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, naïve and original. Our conception of the world unites a full and conscious freedom with the power of naïve creation. We absorb consciously that which is naïve, and do not thereby rob it of its freshness, its fulness, and its originality. You believe that the character of man shapes itself, and that we can merely form thoughts and considerationsaboutit. 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 notteach, any more than the seed-power within a plantteachesit 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 degenerate beings is shown upon the stage. And the customary method of that presentation is unspeakably distant from the true depths of life, and the true relationship 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 tonight.(Rises.)I must leave you now. But we remain friends, as of old, do we not?

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 tonight.(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.)

Sophia:

We must indeed remain friends.(While these last words are spoken, Sophia conducts her friend to the door.)

Curtain

Scene 1Room. Dominant note rose-red. Large rose-red chairs are arranged in a semicircle. To the left of the stage a door leads to the auditorium. One after the other, the speakers introduced enter by this door; each stopping in the room for a time. While they do so, they discuss the discourse they have just heard in the auditorium, and what it suggests to them.Enter first Maria and Johannes, then others. The speeches which follow are continuations of discussions already begun in the auditorium.Maria:My friend, I am indeed distressed to seeThy spirit and thy soul in sadness droop,And powerless to help the bond that bindsAnd that has bound us both for ten blest years.E’en this same hour, filled with a portent deepIn which we both have heard and learned so muchThat lightens all the darkest depths of soul,Brought naught but shade and shadow unto thee.Aye, after many of the speakers’ words,My listening heart could feel the very dartThat deeply wounded thine. Once did I gazeInto thine eyes and saw but happinessAnd joy in all the essence of the world.In pictures beauty-steeped thy soul held fastEach fleeting moment, bathed by sunshine’s glow—Flooding with air and light the forms of menUnsealing all the depths and doubts of Life.Unskilled as yet thine hand to body forthIn concrete colour-schemes, those living formsThat hovered in thy soul; but in the heartsOf both of us there throbbed the joyous faithAnd certain hope that future days would teachThine hand this art—to pour forth happinessInto the very fundaments of Being;That all the wonders of thy spirit’s searchUnfolding visibly Creation’s powersThrough every creature of thine art would pourSoul rapture deep into the hearts of men.Such were our dreams through all those days of yoreThat to thy skill, mirrored in beauty’s guise,The weal of future men would trace its source.So dreamed mine own soul of the goal of thine.Yet now the vital spark of fashioning fireThat burned within thee seems extinct and dead.Dead thy creative joy: and well-nigh maimedThe hand, which once with fresh and youthful strengthGuided thy steadfast brush from year to year.Johannes:Alas, ’tis true; I feel as if the firesThat erstwhile quickened in my soul are quenched.Mine eye, grown dull, doth no more catch the gleamShed by the flickering sunlight o’er the earth.No feeling stirs my heart, when changing moodsOf light and shade flow o’er the scenes around.Still lies my hand, seeking no more to chainInto a lasting present fleeting charms,Shown forth by magic elemental powersFrom utmost depths of Life before mine eyes.No new creative fire thrills me with joy.For me dull monotone obscures all life.Maria:My heart is deeply grieved to hear that thouDost find such emptiness in everythingWhich thrives as highest good and very sourceOf sacred life itself within my heart.Ah, friend, behind the changing scenes of lifeThat men call ‘Being,’ true life lies concealedSpiritual, everlasting, infinite.And in that life each soul doth weave its thread.I feel afloat in spirit potencies,That work, as in an ocean’s unseen depths,And see revealéd all the life of men,As wavelets on the ocean’s upturned face.I am at one with all the sense of LifeFor which men restless strive, and which to meIs but their inner self that stands revealed.I see, how oftentimes it binds itselfUnto the very kernel of man’s soul,And lifts him to the highest that his heartCan ever crave. Yet as it lives in meIt turns to bitter fruitage, when mine ownTouches another’s being. Even soHath this, my destiny, worked out in allI willed to give thee, when thou cam’st in love.Thy wish it was to travel at my sideUnhesitating all the way, that soonShould lead thee to a full and perfect art.Yet what hath happened? All, that in mine eyesStood forth revealed in its own naked TruthAs purest life, brought death, my friend, to theeAnd slew thy spirit.Johannes:And slew thy spirit.Aye.’Tisso indeed.What lifts thy soul to Heaven’s sun-kissed heightsWhen through thy life it comes into mine ownThrusts my soul down, to death’s abysmal gloom.When in our friendship’s rosy-fingered dawnTo this revealment thou didst lead me on,Which sheds its light into the darkened realms,Where human souls do enter every night,Bereft of conscious life, and where full oftMan’s being wanders erring: whilst the nightOf Death makes mock at Life’s reality.And when thou didst reveal to me the truthOf life’s return, then did I know full wellThat I should grow to perfect spirit-man.Surely, it seemed, the artist’s clear keen eye,And certain touch of a creator’s hand,Would blossom for me through thy spirit’s fireAnd noble might. Full deep I breathed this fireInto my being; when—behold—it robbedThe ebb and flow of all my spirit’s power.Remorselessly it drove out from my heartAll faith in this our world. And now I reachA point where I no longer clearly see,Whether to doubt or whether to believeThe revelation of the spirit-worlds.Nay more, I even lack the power to loveThat which in thee the spirit’s beauty shows.Maria:Alas! The years that pass have taught me this:That mine own way to live the spirit-lifeDoth change into its opposite, whene’erIt penetrates another’s character.And I must also see how spirit-powerGrows rich in blessing when, by other paths,It pours itself into the souls of men.(Enter Philia, Astrid, and Luna.)It floweth forth in speech, and in these wordsLies power to raise to realms celestialMan’s common mode of thinking; and createA world of joy, where erstwhile brooded gloom.Aye, it can change the spirit’s shallownessTo depths of earnest feeling; and can castMan’s character in sure and noble mould.And I—yes, I am altogether filledBy just this spirit-power, and must beholdThe pain and desolation that it bringsTo other hearts, when from mine own it pours.Philia:It seemed as though the voices of some choir(Enter Prof. Capesius and Dr. Strader.)Mingled together, uttering manifoldConceptions and opinions, each his own,Of these who formed our recent gathering.Full many harmonies there were indeed,But also many a harsh-toned dissonance.Maria:Ah, when the words and speech of many menPresent themselves in such wise to the soul,It seems as though man’s very prototypeStood centred there in secret mystery:Become through many souls articulate,As in the rainbow’s arch pure Light itselfGrows visible in many-coloured rays.Capesius:Through changing scenes of many centuriesWe wandered year on year in earnest search;Striving to fathom deep the living forceThat dwelt within the souls of those who soughtTo probe and scan the fundaments of being,And set before man’s soul the goals of life.We thought that in the depths of our own soulsWe lived the higher powers of thought itself;And thus could solve the riddles set by Fate.We felt we had, or seemed at least to feel,Sure basis in the logic of our mindWhen new experiences crossed our pathQuestioning there the judgment of our soul.Yet now such basis wavers, when amazedI hear today, as I have heard before,The mode of thought taught by these people here.And more and more uncertain do I grow,When I perceive, how powerfully in lifeThis mode of thought doth work. Full many a dayHave I spent thus, thinking how I might shapeTime’s riddles as they solved themselves to meIn words, that hearts might grasp and trembling feel.Happy indeed was I, if I could fillOnly the smallest corner of some soulAmongst my audience with the warmth of life.And oftentimes it seemed success was mine,Nor would I make complaint of fruitless days.Yet all results of teaching thus could leadOnly to recognition of this truthSo loved and emphasized by men of deeds,That in the clash of life’s realities,Thoughts are dim shadows, nothing more nor less:They may indeed wing life’s creative powersTo due fruition, but they cannot shapeAnd mould our life themselves. So have I judgedAnd with this modest comment was content:Where pale thoughts only work, all life is lamedAnd likewise all that joins itself to life.More potent than the ripest form of words,However art might weave therein her spell,Seemed nature’s gift, man’s talents—and more strongThe hand of destiny to mould his life.Tradition’s mountainweight, and prejudiceWith dull oppressive hand will always quenchThe strength of e’en the very best of words.But that which here reveals itself in speechGives men, who think as I do, food for thought.Clearly we saw the kind of consequenceThat comes when sects, in superheated speech,Blind souls of men with dogma’s seething stream.But nought here of such spirit do we find;Here only reason greets the soul, and yetThese words create the actual powers of life,Speaking unto the spirit’s inmost depths.Nay even to the kingdom of the WillThis strange and mystic Something penetrates;This Something, which to such as I, who stillWander in ancient ways, seems but pale thought.Impossible, it seems, to disavowIts consequences; none the less, myselfI cannot quite surrender to it yet.But it all speaks with such peculiar charmAnd not as though it really meant for meThe contradiction of experience.It almost seems as if this Something foundThe kind of man I am, insufferable.Strader:I would associate myself in fullest senseWith every one of thy last spoken words:And still more sharply would I emphasizeThat all results in our soul-life, which seemTo spring forth from the influence of ideas,Cannot in any wise decide for usWhat actual worth of knowledge they conceal.Whether there lives within our mode of thought,Error or truth—’tis certain this aloneThe verdict of true science can decide.And no one would with honesty denyThat words, which are, in seeming only, clear,Yet claim to solve life’s deepest mysteries,Are quite unfit for such a scrutiny.They fascinate the spirit of mankind,And only tempt the heart’s credulity;Seeming to open door into that realmBefore which, humble and perplexed, now standsThe strict and cautious search of modern minds.And he who truly follows such researchIs bound in honour to confess that noneCan know whence streams thewell-springof his thought,Nor fathom where the depths of Being lie.And though confession such as this is hardFor souls who all too willingly would gaugeWhat lies beyond the ken of mortal mind,Yet every glance of every thinker’s soulWhether directed to the outer side,Or turned towards the inner depths of life,Scans but that boundary and naught beside.If we deny our rational intellectOr set aside experience, we sinkIn depths unfathomable, bottomless.And who can fail to see how utterlyWhat passeth here for revelation new,Fails to fit in with modern modes of thought.Indeed it needs but little thought to see,How totally devoid this method isOf that, which gives all thought its sure supportAnd guarantees a sense of certainty.Such revelations may warm listening hearts,But thinkers see in them mere mystic dreams.Philia:Aye, thus would always speak the science, wonBy stern sobriety and intellect.But that suffices not unto the soul,That needs a steadfast faith in its own self.She ever will give heed to words that speakTo her of spirit. All she dimly sensedIn former days, she striveth now to grasp.To speak of the Unknown may well enticeThe thinker, but no more the hearts of men.Strader:I too can realize how much there liesIn that objection; how it seems to strikeThe idle dreamer, who would only spinThe threads of thought, and seek the consequenceOf this or that premise, which he himselfHath formed beforehand. Me—it touches not—No outer motive guided me to thought.In childhood I grew up ’mid pious folkAnd, following their custom, steeped my soulIn sense-intoxicating imagesOf future sojourn in celestial realms,Wherewith they seek to comfort and beguileMan’s ignorance and man’s simplicity.Within my boyish soul I sensed the throbOf utmost ecstasy, when reverentlyI raised my thoughts to highest spirit-worlds;And prayer was then my heart’s necessity.Thereafter in a cloister was I trained;Monks were my teachers, and in mine own heartThe deepest longing was to be a monk,—An echo of my parents’ ardent wish.For consecration did I stand preparedWhen chance did drive me from the cloistered cell;And to this chance I owe deep gratitude.For, many days before chance saved my soulIt had been robbed of inward peace and quiet;For I had read and learned of many things,That have no place within the cloister-gate.Knowledge of nature’s working came to meFrom books that were forbidden to mine eyes.And thus I learned new scientific thought.Hard was the struggle as I sought the pathWandering through many a way to find mine own;Nor did I ever gain by cunning thoughtWhate’er of truth revealed itself to me.In fierce-fought battles have I torn the rootsFrom out my spirit’s soil of all that broughtPeace and contentment to me when a child.I understand indeed the heart that fainWould soar up to the heights—but for myself,When once I recognized that all I learnedFrom spirit-teaching was an empty dream,I was compelled to find the surer soilThat science and discovery create.Luna:We may surmise, each after his own kind,Where sense and goal of life doth lie for each.I altogether lack the power to proveAccording to the science of today,What spirit-teaching I have here received:But clear within my heart I feel and knowMy soul would die without this spirit-lore,As would my body, if deprived of blood.And thou, dear doctor, ’gainst our cause dost fightWith many words, and what thou now hast toldOf thy life’s conflict lends them weight indeedEven with those who do not understandThy learned argument. Yet would I ask(Enter Theodora.)Exactly why it is that hearts of menReceive the word of Spirit readily,As though self-understood: yet when man seeksFood for his spirit in such learned wordsAs thou didst use his heart grows chill and cold.Theodora:Although I am at home ’mid just such menAs circle round me here, yet strangely soundsThis speech I have just heard.Capesius:This speech I have just heard.What strangeness there?Theodora:I may not say. Do thou, Maria, tell.Maria:Our friend has oftentimes explained to usWhat strange experiences come to her.One day she felt herself completely changed,And none could understand her altered state.Estrangement met her wheresoe’er she turnedUntil she came into our circle here.Not that we fully understand ourselvesWhat she possesses and what no one shares.Yet we are trained by this our mode of thoughtThe unaccustomed to appreciate,And feel with every mood of humankind.One moment in her life, our friend perceived,All that seemed hers aforetime, disappear;The past was all extinguished in her soul.And since these wondrous changes came to her,This mood of soul hath oft renewed itself;It doth not long endure; and other timesShe lives her life as ordinary folk.Yet whensoe’er she falls into this state,The gift of memory doth fade away.She loseth from her eyes the power to seeAnd senseth her surroundings, seeing not.With a peculiar light her eyes then glow,And pictured forms appear to her. At firstThey seemed like dreams; anon they grew so clear,That we could recognize without a doubtSome prophecy of distant future days.Full many a time have we seen this occur.Capesius:It is just this that little pleaseth meAmongst these men; who mingle with good senseAnd logic, superstition’s fallacies.’Twas ever thus where men have walked this path.Maria:If thou canst still speak so, thou dost not yetPerceive our attitude towards these things.Strader:Well, as for me, I freely must confess,That I would sooner revelations hearThan speak of questionable spirit-themes.For even if I fail to read arightThe riddle of such dreams, yet those at leastI count as facts; and would ’twere possibleTo see one instance of the mysteryOf this strange spirit-mood before mine eyes.Maria:Perchance it is—for look, she comes again.And it doth seem to me as though e’en nowThis mystic spirit-mood would show itself.Theodora:I am compelled to speak. Before my soulA pictured form stands wrapped in robes of light;From which strange words are sounding in mine ears.I feel myself in future centuries,And men do I behold as yet unborn:—They also see the pictured form; they tooCan hear the words it speaks, which thus resound—‘O ye, who lived in faith’s sincerity,Take comfort now in sight, and look on Me.Receive new life through Me. For I am HeWho lived within the souls of those who soughtTo find Me in themselves, by followingThe gospel-words My messengers did bringAnd by their own devotion’s inward power.The light of sense ye saw—believe ye nowIn the creative spirit-world beyond.For now indeed ye have yourselves achievedOne atom of divine prophetic sight.Oh, breathe it deep, and feel it in your souls.’A human form steps from that sphere of light.And speaks to me: ‘Thou shalt make known to allWho will give ear to thee, that thou hast seenWhat all mankind shall soon experience:Once, long ago, Christ lived upon the earth,And from this life ensued the consequenceThat in soul-substance clad He hovers o’erThe evolution of humanity,In union with the earth’s own spirit-sphere;And though as yet invisible to men,When in such form He manifests Himself,Since now their being lacks that spirit sight,Which first will show itself in future times;Yet even now this future draweth nighWhen that new sight shall come to men on earth.What once the senses saw, when Christ did liveUpon the earth; this shall be seen by soulsWhen soon the time shall reach its fulness due.’(Exit.)Maria:This is the first time we have heard her speakIn such a manner to so many folk.At other times she felt constrained to speech,Only when two or three were gathered round.Capesius:To me indeed it seems most curious,That she, as though commanded or required,Should find herself to revelation urged.Maria:It may so seem; but we know well her ways.If at this moment she desired to sendHer inward soul-voice deep into your souls,The only reason was, that unto youThe source, whence came her voice, desired to speak.Capesius:Concerning this strange future gift of sight,Whereof she spake, as dreaming, we have heardThat he, who of this circle is the soul,Hath oft already given full report.Is it not possible that from his wordsThe content of her speech hath origin,The mode of utterance coming from herself?Maria:If matters thus did stand, we should not deemHer words of any consequence or weight:But we have tested this condition well.Before she came into our circle here,Our friend had never heard in any wayOf that same leader’s speeches, nor had weHeard aught of her before she came to us.Capesius:Then what we have to deal with is a state,Such as so often happens, contraryTo all the laws of nature; and which weMust merely estimate as some disease.And only healthy thought, securely basedOn fully conscious sense-impressions, canPass judgment on the riddles set by life.Strader:Yet even here one fact presents itself;And what we now have heard must have some worth—For, even if we set aside all elseIt doth compel the thought that spirit-powerCan cause thought-transference from soul to soul.Astrid:Ah me, if ye would only dare to treadThe ground your mode of thought doth choose to shun:As snow before the sunlight’s piercing glareYour vain delusion needs must melt away,Which makes the moods revealéd, in such mindsAppear diseased, abnormal, wonderful.They are suggestive, but they are not strange.And small this wonder doth appear to meWhen I compare it with the myriadOf wonders that make up my daily life.Capesius:Nay, nay, one thing it is to recognizeWhat lies before our eyes on every side,But quite another, what is shown us here.Strader:Of spirit ’tis not necessary to speakUntil there are things shown to us which lieOutside the strictly circled boundarySet by the laws of scientific thought.Astrid:The clear shaft of the sunlight on the dewWhich glistens in the morning’s golden light,(Enter Felix Balde.)The hurling stream that riseth ’neath the rock,The thunder rumbling in the cloud-wrapped sky,All these do speak to me a spirit tongue:I strove to understand it; and I knowThat of this speech’s meaning and its might,Only a faint reflection can be glimpsedThrough your investigations, as they are.And when that kind of speech sank deep withinMy heart, I found my soul’s true joy at last.Nor could aught else, but human words aloneAnd spirit teaching grant this gift to me.Felix Balde:Those words rang true indeed.Maria:Those words rang true indeed.I must essayTo tell what joy fills all my heart to see(Enter Felicia Balde.)For the first time here with us yonder man,Of whom we oft have heard; and joy doth causeThe wish to see him here full many times.Felix Balde:It is not usual for me that I shouldAssociate with such a crowd of men:And not alone unusual——Felicia:And not alone unusual——Aye, ’tis so.His nature drives us into solitudeAway from all; year in, year out, we hearScarce any other converse save our own.And if this good man here from time to time(Pointing to Capesius.)Came not to linger in our cottage home,We scarce should realize that other men,Besides ourselves, live on the earth at all.And if the man, who spake such wondrous wordsBut recently in yonder lecture-hall,And who affected us so potently,Did not full many a time my Felix meet,When he is gone about his daily tasks,Ye would know nought of our forgotten life.Maria:So the professor often visits you?Capesius:Assuredly. And I may tell you all,The very deep indebtedness I feelTo this good woman, who doth give to meIn rich abundance, what none other can.Maria:And of what nature are these gifts of hers?Capesius:If I would tell the tale, then must I touchA thing that verily doth seem to meMore wonderful than much that here I’ve heard,In that it speaks more nearly to my soul.And were I in some other place, these wordsWould hardly pass the barrier of my lips;Yet here they seem to flow therefrom with ease.In my soul-life there often comes a timeWhen it doth feel itself pumped out and dry.It seems as though the very fountain-headOf knowledge had run dry within my heart.Then can I find no word of any kindWorthy to speak or worthy to be heard.And when I feel such spirit barrennessI flee to these good people, and seek restIn their reviving, peaceful solitudeThen Mistress Felix tells me many a taleSet forth in wondrous pictures, manifold,Of beings, dwelling in the land of dreams,Who lead a joyous life in fairy realms.When thus she speaks, her tone and speech recallSome legend oft-told of the ancient days.I ask no question whence she finds these wordsBut this one thing alone I clearly know:That new life flows therefrom into my soul,And sweeps away its dull paralysis.Maria:To hear such splendid witness to the skillOf Dame Felicia doth, in wondrous wise,Harmoniously blend in every wayWith all that Benedictus told to usAbout his friend’s deep hidden knowledge-founts.Felix Balde:He who spake words to us just now, which showed(Benedictus appears at the door.)How in the realm of universal space,And vast eternities his spirit dwelt,Hath surely little need to speak o’er muchOf simple men.Benedictus:Of simple men.Thou errest friend. For meInfinite value hath each word of thine.Felix Balde:It was presumption only, and the bentOf idle talk, when thou didst honour meTo wander at thy side our mountain paths.Only because thou didst conceal from meHow much thyself dost know, I dared to speak.But now our time is up, and we must go—A long way hence doth lie our quiet home.Felicia:It hath been most refreshing once againTo come amongst mankind: and yet I fearIt will not happen very soon again:There is no other life which Felix deemsBetter than living in his mountain heights.(Exeunt Felix and his wife.)Benedictus:Indeed I well believe his wife is right,Nor will he come again for many days.It needed much to bring him here today.And yet the reason lies not in himselfWhy no one knoweth aught of him or his.Capesius:He only seemed to me eccentric, strange;And many an hour I found him talkativeWhen I was with him; but his mystic speechAnd strange discourse remained obscure to me,When he revealed all that he claims to know.He spoke of solar beings housed in rocks;Of lunar demons, who disturb their work;And of the sense of number hid in plants;And he who listens to him cannot longKeep clear the thread of meaning in his words.Benedictus:And yet ’tis also possible to feelAs if the powers of Nature, through these words,Sought to reveal themselves in their true state.(Exit.)Strader:Already do I feel forebodings strangeThat now dark hours are coming in my life.For since the days of cloistered solitude,Where I was taught such knowledge, and therebyStruck to the very darkest depth of soul,Not one experience has stirred me so,As this weird vision of the seeress here.Capesius:Indeed I cannot see that aught of thatShould prove unnerving. And I fear, my friend,That if thou once dost lose thy certainty,Dark doubt will soon envelop all thy thought.Strader:Too true! And ’tis the fear of just this doubtThat causeth me full many an anxious hourFrom my experience I know nought elseOf this strange gift of seership, save that whenLife’s vexing problems sorely trouble me,Then, ghostlike, riseth from dark spirit-depths,Before my spirit’s eyes, some phantom formLike some dream-being, grim and terrible,Pressing with fearful weight upon my soul,And clutching horribly around my heart.It seems to speak right through me words like these:‘If thou dost fail to gain the victoryO’er me with those blunt weapons of thy thought,Thou art a fleeting phantom, nothing more,Formed by thine own deluded imagery.’Theodosius:That is the destiny of all such men,As do approach the world by thought alone.The spirit’s voice dwells deep in every soul.Nor have we strength to pierce the coveringThat spreads itself before our faculties.Thought doth bring knowledge of things temporal,Of things that vanish in the course of time:The everlasting and all spirit-truthAre found but in the inner depths of man.Strader:If, then, the fruitage of a pious faithIs able to give rest to weary souls,Such souls may wander safely in that path,And find sufficiency within themselves.And yet the power of knowledge, pure and true,Doth never bloom on such a path as this.Theodosius:Yet there can be no other way to lightTrue spirit-knowledge in the hearts of men.Pride may seduce and change to fantasiesThe soul’s true depths of feeling, and may seeA vision only where faith’s beauty lies.One thing alone of all we here have heardFrom spirit-teaching of the higher worlds,Strikes clear upon our honest human sense:That only in the spirit-world itselfThe soul can feel itself in its true home.The Other Maria:So long as man feels need of speech alone,And nought besides, so long such words as theseMay satisfy him: but the fuller lifeWith all its strife, its yearnings after joy,And all its sorrow, needeth other foodTo nourish and sustain the fainting soul.For me, an inner voice did drive me onTo spend all the remaining days of lifeWhich were allotted me, in helping thoseWhom stress of destiny had smitten downAnd plunged in deepest poverty and need.And far more oft I found it necessaryTo soothe the anguish of the soul of manThan heal his body’s pain and suffering.But I have felt indeed in many waysMy will’s weak impotence to comfort men.So that I am compelled to seek fresh strengthFrom out the treasured store which floweth forthAbundantly from spirit-sources here.The quickening warmth of words which greet mine ear,Flows forth with magic force into my hands;And thence, like healing balsam, forth again,When those hands touch some sorrow-laden soul.It changeth on my lips to strengthening wordsWhich carry comfort unto pain-racked hearts.The source of words like these I do not ask;I feel their truth—they give me living life.And every day more clearly do I see,That they derive their strength not from my willIn all its weakness, but create anewMyself each day unto myself again.Capesius:Yet surely there are men enough on earthWho, though they lack such revelation’s aid,Perform innumerable deeds of good?Maria:In sooth there is no lack of men like theseIn many places; but my friend doth meanA different thing; and if thou didst but knowThe life she led, thou wouldst speak otherwise.Where unused powers in full abundance dwellThere love will cause the seed to germinateIn rich abundance in the heart’s good soil.But our friend here exhausted life’s best powersIn never-ending toil beyond her strength;And all her will to live lay crushed and deadBeneath the cruel weight of destiny,Which fell upon her. All her strength she gaveTo careful guidance of her children’s weal:And low already had her courage ebbedWhen early death took her loved husband home.In such a state as this, days dull and drearSeemed all fate had in store whilst life remained.But then the powers of destiny prevailedTo bring her ’neath the spell of spirit-lore;And soon with us she felt the vital forceOf life break forth in her a second time.Fresh aims in life she found, and with them cameFresh courage once again to fight and strive.And thus in her the spirit hath achievedIn very truth to fashion from decayA new and living personality.And when the spirit in such fruit as thisShows its creative potency, we learnIts nature, and the way it speaks to us.And, if no pride lies hidden in our speech,And highest moral aims live in our hearts;If we believe that in no way at allOur teaching is our own;—but that aloneThe spirit shows itself within our souls—Then may we surely venture to assertThat in thy mode of thinking may be foundBut feeble shadows waving to and froAthwart the real true source of human life:And that the spirit, which ensouls our workIs linked in inward harmony with allThat weaves the web of destiny for manDeep in the very fundaments of life.I have been privileged for many yearsTo give myself to vital work in life:And during all this time more bleeding heartsAnd yearning souls have come before mine eyes,Than many would conceive were possible.I do esteem thy high ideal flight,The proud assurance of thy sciences:I like to see the student-audience,Respectful, sit and listen at thy feet:And that to many souls thy work doth bringEnnobling clarity of thought, I know.But yet regarding thought like this, it seems,Trustworthiness can only dwell thereinSo long as thought lives in itself alone.Whereas the realm of which I am a partSends into deep realities of lifeThe fruitage of its words, since it desiresTo plant in deep realities its roots.Far, far away from all thy thought doth lieThe written word upon the spirit-heavenWhich with momentous tokens doth announceNew growth upon the tree of humankind.And though indeed such thought seems clear and sureAs follows faithfully the ancient path,Yet can it only touch the tree’s coarse bark,And never reach the marrow’s living power.Romanus:For my part I do seek in vain the bridgeThat truly leadeth from ideas to deeds.Capesius:On one side thou dost over-estimateThe power which can be wielded by ideas,And on the other thou dost fail to graspThe actual course of true reality:For it is certain that ideas must formThe germ of all the actual deeds of men.Romanus:If this friend doth so many deeds of good,The impulse thereunto lies in herselfAnd her warm-hearted nature, not in thought.Most certainly ’tis necessary for man,Whene’er he hath accomplished any work,To find foundation for it in ideas.But yet ’tis only schooling of man’s willIn harmony with all his skill and powerTo undertake some real work in lifeWhich will help forward all the human race.When whirr of busy wheels sounds in mine ears,Or when I see some creaking windlass drawnBy strong stout hands of men content to work,Then do I sense indeed the powers of Life.Germanus:Often in careless speech have I maintainedThat I preferred things droll and humorousAnd held these only full of wit and charm,Deeming that for my brain at any rate,They always would provide materialBest fitted to fill up the time that liesBetween my recreation and my work.But now quite tasteless to me seem such things;The Power Invisible hath conquered me;And I have learned to feel that there may beMore powerful forces in humanity,Than all our wit’s frail castles in the air.Capesius:And did it seem that nowhere else but here’Twas possible to find such spirit-powers?Germanus:Indeed the life I lived did offer meFull many a type of intellectual works:Yet cared I not to pluck or taste their fruit.But this strange mode of thought which blossoms hereSeemed to attract and draw me to itselfHowever little I desired to come.Capesius:Most pleasant hath this hour of converse been,And we are debtors to our hostess here.(Exeunt all, except Maria and Johannes.)Johannes:Oh, stay a little while yet by my side,I am afraid:—so desperately afraid:—Maria:What is it aileth thee, my friend? Speak forth.Johannes:The first cause was our leader’s speech; and thenThe chequered converse of these people here.It all hath moved and stirred me through and through.Maria:But how could simple speeches such as theseSeize on thine heart with such intensity?Johannes:Each word seemed in that moment unto meA dreadful symbol of our nothingness.Maria:Indeed it was significant to seePour forth in such short time so many kindsOf life and man’s conflicting tendencies,In all the speeches that we lately heard.Yet ’tis indeed a most peculiar traitOf life, as it is lived amongst us here,To bring to speech the inner mind of man;And much that otherwise comes slowly forth,Stands here revealed in little space of time.Johannes:A mirrored picture ’twas of fullest lifeThat showed me to myself in clearest lines:This spirit-revelation makes me feelThat most of us protect and train one traitAnd one alone in all our character,Which thus persuades itself it is the whole.I sought to unify these many traitsIn mine own self and boldly trod the pathWhich here is shown, to lead unto that goal;And it hath made of me a nothingness.Keenly I feel what all these others lack,And yet I sense as keenly that they allHave actual part in life itself, whilst IStand but on unsubstantial nothingness.It seemed whole lines of life ran into oneSignificant in those brief speeches here.But then mine own life’s portrait also roseAnd stood forth vividly within my soul.The days of childhood first were painted there,With all its fulness and its joy in life:Then came the picture of my youthful primeWith that proud hopefulness in parent-heartsAwakened by the talents of their son.Then dreams concerning my career in art,Which formed life’s all in those old happy days,Surged up from out my spirit’s inmost depthsExhorting to fulfil my cherished hopes;And then those dreams in which thyself didst seeHow I translated into coloured formThe spirit-life that liveth in thy soul.Then saw I tongues of fire spring up and lickAround my youthful dreams and artist hopes,Reducing all to dust and nothingness.Thereafter rose another pictured formFrom out that drear and dreadful nothingness—A human form, which once had linked its fateIn faithful love with mine in days long past.She sought to hold me by her when I turnedLong years ago unto my home again,Called to attend my mother’s funeral rites.I heeded not, but tore myself away.For mighty was the power that drew me hereTo this thy circle and the goals of lifeWhich here are set before our eager gaze.In those dark days I felt no sense of guiltWhen I did rend in twain the bond of love,That was unto another soul its life.Nor later when the message came to meHow that her life did slowly pine away,And finally was altogether quenchedDid I feel aught of guilt until today;But full of meaning were those recent wordsIn yonder chamber which our leader spake;How that we may destroy by power misusedAnd perverse thought the destiny of thoseWhom bonds of loving trust link to our souls.Ah, hideously these words again resoundOut of the picture, thence re-echoingWith ghastly repetition from all sides:‘Her murderer thou art! her hast thou slain!’Thus whilst this weighty speech hath been for allThe motive to probe deep within themselves,Within my heart it hath brought forth aloneThe consciousness of this most grievous guilt.By this new means of sight I can perceiveHow far astray my striving footsteps erred.Maria:And at this moment, friend, in dark domainsThou walkest, and none else can help thee there,Save he, in whom we all do put our trust.(Maria is called away; re-enter Helena.)Helena:I feel constrained to linger by thy sideA little while; since now for many weeksThy gaze hath held so much of grief and care.How can the light, which streams so radiantlyBring gloom unto thy soul, which only strivesWith utmost strength to seek and know the truth?Johannes:Hath then this light brought naught but joy to thee?Helena:Not the same joy as that which once I knew,But that new joy which springeth from those words,Through which the spirit doth reveal itself.Johannes:Natheless I tell thee that the self-same power,Which doth in thee create, can also crush.Helena:Some error must have crept into thy soulWith cunning tread, if this be possible;And if dull care instead of happiness,And moods of sorrow flow forth from the sourceOf truth itself instead of spirit-blissIn free abundance: seek then in thyselfThe stumbling-blocks that thus impede thy way.How often are we told that only healthIs the true fruitage of our teaching here,Which makes to blossom forth the powers of life.Shall it then show the contrary in thee?I see its fruitage in so many lives,Which, trusting me, find union in themselves.Their former mode of life grows day by dayStrange and still stranger to such souls as these;As well-springs are fresh opened in their hearts,Thenceforth renewing life within themselves.To gaze into the primal depths of beingDoth not create those passionate desiresWhich torture and torment the souls of men.(Exit.)Johannes:It took me many years to understandAnd know the vanity of things of senseWhen spirit-knowledge is not joined with themIn close and intimate companionship:And yet one single moment proves to meThat e’en the highest wisdom’s words may beBut vanity of soul in man’s own self.Curtain

Scene 1Room. Dominant note rose-red. Large rose-red chairs are arranged in a semicircle. To the left of the stage a door leads to the auditorium. One after the other, the speakers introduced enter by this door; each stopping in the room for a time. While they do so, they discuss the discourse they have just heard in the auditorium, and what it suggests to them.Enter first Maria and Johannes, then others. The speeches which follow are continuations of discussions already begun in the auditorium.Maria:My friend, I am indeed distressed to seeThy spirit and thy soul in sadness droop,And powerless to help the bond that bindsAnd that has bound us both for ten blest years.E’en this same hour, filled with a portent deepIn which we both have heard and learned so muchThat lightens all the darkest depths of soul,Brought naught but shade and shadow unto thee.Aye, after many of the speakers’ words,My listening heart could feel the very dartThat deeply wounded thine. Once did I gazeInto thine eyes and saw but happinessAnd joy in all the essence of the world.In pictures beauty-steeped thy soul held fastEach fleeting moment, bathed by sunshine’s glow—Flooding with air and light the forms of menUnsealing all the depths and doubts of Life.Unskilled as yet thine hand to body forthIn concrete colour-schemes, those living formsThat hovered in thy soul; but in the heartsOf both of us there throbbed the joyous faithAnd certain hope that future days would teachThine hand this art—to pour forth happinessInto the very fundaments of Being;That all the wonders of thy spirit’s searchUnfolding visibly Creation’s powersThrough every creature of thine art would pourSoul rapture deep into the hearts of men.Such were our dreams through all those days of yoreThat to thy skill, mirrored in beauty’s guise,The weal of future men would trace its source.So dreamed mine own soul of the goal of thine.Yet now the vital spark of fashioning fireThat burned within thee seems extinct and dead.Dead thy creative joy: and well-nigh maimedThe hand, which once with fresh and youthful strengthGuided thy steadfast brush from year to year.Johannes:Alas, ’tis true; I feel as if the firesThat erstwhile quickened in my soul are quenched.Mine eye, grown dull, doth no more catch the gleamShed by the flickering sunlight o’er the earth.No feeling stirs my heart, when changing moodsOf light and shade flow o’er the scenes around.Still lies my hand, seeking no more to chainInto a lasting present fleeting charms,Shown forth by magic elemental powersFrom utmost depths of Life before mine eyes.No new creative fire thrills me with joy.For me dull monotone obscures all life.Maria:My heart is deeply grieved to hear that thouDost find such emptiness in everythingWhich thrives as highest good and very sourceOf sacred life itself within my heart.Ah, friend, behind the changing scenes of lifeThat men call ‘Being,’ true life lies concealedSpiritual, everlasting, infinite.And in that life each soul doth weave its thread.I feel afloat in spirit potencies,That work, as in an ocean’s unseen depths,And see revealéd all the life of men,As wavelets on the ocean’s upturned face.I am at one with all the sense of LifeFor which men restless strive, and which to meIs but their inner self that stands revealed.I see, how oftentimes it binds itselfUnto the very kernel of man’s soul,And lifts him to the highest that his heartCan ever crave. Yet as it lives in meIt turns to bitter fruitage, when mine ownTouches another’s being. Even soHath this, my destiny, worked out in allI willed to give thee, when thou cam’st in love.Thy wish it was to travel at my sideUnhesitating all the way, that soonShould lead thee to a full and perfect art.Yet what hath happened? All, that in mine eyesStood forth revealed in its own naked TruthAs purest life, brought death, my friend, to theeAnd slew thy spirit.Johannes:And slew thy spirit.Aye.’Tisso indeed.What lifts thy soul to Heaven’s sun-kissed heightsWhen through thy life it comes into mine ownThrusts my soul down, to death’s abysmal gloom.When in our friendship’s rosy-fingered dawnTo this revealment thou didst lead me on,Which sheds its light into the darkened realms,Where human souls do enter every night,Bereft of conscious life, and where full oftMan’s being wanders erring: whilst the nightOf Death makes mock at Life’s reality.And when thou didst reveal to me the truthOf life’s return, then did I know full wellThat I should grow to perfect spirit-man.Surely, it seemed, the artist’s clear keen eye,And certain touch of a creator’s hand,Would blossom for me through thy spirit’s fireAnd noble might. Full deep I breathed this fireInto my being; when—behold—it robbedThe ebb and flow of all my spirit’s power.Remorselessly it drove out from my heartAll faith in this our world. And now I reachA point where I no longer clearly see,Whether to doubt or whether to believeThe revelation of the spirit-worlds.Nay more, I even lack the power to loveThat which in thee the spirit’s beauty shows.Maria:Alas! The years that pass have taught me this:That mine own way to live the spirit-lifeDoth change into its opposite, whene’erIt penetrates another’s character.And I must also see how spirit-powerGrows rich in blessing when, by other paths,It pours itself into the souls of men.(Enter Philia, Astrid, and Luna.)It floweth forth in speech, and in these wordsLies power to raise to realms celestialMan’s common mode of thinking; and createA world of joy, where erstwhile brooded gloom.Aye, it can change the spirit’s shallownessTo depths of earnest feeling; and can castMan’s character in sure and noble mould.And I—yes, I am altogether filledBy just this spirit-power, and must beholdThe pain and desolation that it bringsTo other hearts, when from mine own it pours.Philia:It seemed as though the voices of some choir(Enter Prof. Capesius and Dr. Strader.)Mingled together, uttering manifoldConceptions and opinions, each his own,Of these who formed our recent gathering.Full many harmonies there were indeed,But also many a harsh-toned dissonance.Maria:Ah, when the words and speech of many menPresent themselves in such wise to the soul,It seems as though man’s very prototypeStood centred there in secret mystery:Become through many souls articulate,As in the rainbow’s arch pure Light itselfGrows visible in many-coloured rays.Capesius:Through changing scenes of many centuriesWe wandered year on year in earnest search;Striving to fathom deep the living forceThat dwelt within the souls of those who soughtTo probe and scan the fundaments of being,And set before man’s soul the goals of life.We thought that in the depths of our own soulsWe lived the higher powers of thought itself;And thus could solve the riddles set by Fate.We felt we had, or seemed at least to feel,Sure basis in the logic of our mindWhen new experiences crossed our pathQuestioning there the judgment of our soul.Yet now such basis wavers, when amazedI hear today, as I have heard before,The mode of thought taught by these people here.And more and more uncertain do I grow,When I perceive, how powerfully in lifeThis mode of thought doth work. Full many a dayHave I spent thus, thinking how I might shapeTime’s riddles as they solved themselves to meIn words, that hearts might grasp and trembling feel.Happy indeed was I, if I could fillOnly the smallest corner of some soulAmongst my audience with the warmth of life.And oftentimes it seemed success was mine,Nor would I make complaint of fruitless days.Yet all results of teaching thus could leadOnly to recognition of this truthSo loved and emphasized by men of deeds,That in the clash of life’s realities,Thoughts are dim shadows, nothing more nor less:They may indeed wing life’s creative powersTo due fruition, but they cannot shapeAnd mould our life themselves. So have I judgedAnd with this modest comment was content:Where pale thoughts only work, all life is lamedAnd likewise all that joins itself to life.More potent than the ripest form of words,However art might weave therein her spell,Seemed nature’s gift, man’s talents—and more strongThe hand of destiny to mould his life.Tradition’s mountainweight, and prejudiceWith dull oppressive hand will always quenchThe strength of e’en the very best of words.But that which here reveals itself in speechGives men, who think as I do, food for thought.Clearly we saw the kind of consequenceThat comes when sects, in superheated speech,Blind souls of men with dogma’s seething stream.But nought here of such spirit do we find;Here only reason greets the soul, and yetThese words create the actual powers of life,Speaking unto the spirit’s inmost depths.Nay even to the kingdom of the WillThis strange and mystic Something penetrates;This Something, which to such as I, who stillWander in ancient ways, seems but pale thought.Impossible, it seems, to disavowIts consequences; none the less, myselfI cannot quite surrender to it yet.But it all speaks with such peculiar charmAnd not as though it really meant for meThe contradiction of experience.It almost seems as if this Something foundThe kind of man I am, insufferable.Strader:I would associate myself in fullest senseWith every one of thy last spoken words:And still more sharply would I emphasizeThat all results in our soul-life, which seemTo spring forth from the influence of ideas,Cannot in any wise decide for usWhat actual worth of knowledge they conceal.Whether there lives within our mode of thought,Error or truth—’tis certain this aloneThe verdict of true science can decide.And no one would with honesty denyThat words, which are, in seeming only, clear,Yet claim to solve life’s deepest mysteries,Are quite unfit for such a scrutiny.They fascinate the spirit of mankind,And only tempt the heart’s credulity;Seeming to open door into that realmBefore which, humble and perplexed, now standsThe strict and cautious search of modern minds.And he who truly follows such researchIs bound in honour to confess that noneCan know whence streams thewell-springof his thought,Nor fathom where the depths of Being lie.And though confession such as this is hardFor souls who all too willingly would gaugeWhat lies beyond the ken of mortal mind,Yet every glance of every thinker’s soulWhether directed to the outer side,Or turned towards the inner depths of life,Scans but that boundary and naught beside.If we deny our rational intellectOr set aside experience, we sinkIn depths unfathomable, bottomless.And who can fail to see how utterlyWhat passeth here for revelation new,Fails to fit in with modern modes of thought.Indeed it needs but little thought to see,How totally devoid this method isOf that, which gives all thought its sure supportAnd guarantees a sense of certainty.Such revelations may warm listening hearts,But thinkers see in them mere mystic dreams.Philia:Aye, thus would always speak the science, wonBy stern sobriety and intellect.But that suffices not unto the soul,That needs a steadfast faith in its own self.She ever will give heed to words that speakTo her of spirit. All she dimly sensedIn former days, she striveth now to grasp.To speak of the Unknown may well enticeThe thinker, but no more the hearts of men.Strader:I too can realize how much there liesIn that objection; how it seems to strikeThe idle dreamer, who would only spinThe threads of thought, and seek the consequenceOf this or that premise, which he himselfHath formed beforehand. Me—it touches not—No outer motive guided me to thought.In childhood I grew up ’mid pious folkAnd, following their custom, steeped my soulIn sense-intoxicating imagesOf future sojourn in celestial realms,Wherewith they seek to comfort and beguileMan’s ignorance and man’s simplicity.Within my boyish soul I sensed the throbOf utmost ecstasy, when reverentlyI raised my thoughts to highest spirit-worlds;And prayer was then my heart’s necessity.Thereafter in a cloister was I trained;Monks were my teachers, and in mine own heartThe deepest longing was to be a monk,—An echo of my parents’ ardent wish.For consecration did I stand preparedWhen chance did drive me from the cloistered cell;And to this chance I owe deep gratitude.For, many days before chance saved my soulIt had been robbed of inward peace and quiet;For I had read and learned of many things,That have no place within the cloister-gate.Knowledge of nature’s working came to meFrom books that were forbidden to mine eyes.And thus I learned new scientific thought.Hard was the struggle as I sought the pathWandering through many a way to find mine own;Nor did I ever gain by cunning thoughtWhate’er of truth revealed itself to me.In fierce-fought battles have I torn the rootsFrom out my spirit’s soil of all that broughtPeace and contentment to me when a child.I understand indeed the heart that fainWould soar up to the heights—but for myself,When once I recognized that all I learnedFrom spirit-teaching was an empty dream,I was compelled to find the surer soilThat science and discovery create.Luna:We may surmise, each after his own kind,Where sense and goal of life doth lie for each.I altogether lack the power to proveAccording to the science of today,What spirit-teaching I have here received:But clear within my heart I feel and knowMy soul would die without this spirit-lore,As would my body, if deprived of blood.And thou, dear doctor, ’gainst our cause dost fightWith many words, and what thou now hast toldOf thy life’s conflict lends them weight indeedEven with those who do not understandThy learned argument. Yet would I ask(Enter Theodora.)Exactly why it is that hearts of menReceive the word of Spirit readily,As though self-understood: yet when man seeksFood for his spirit in such learned wordsAs thou didst use his heart grows chill and cold.Theodora:Although I am at home ’mid just such menAs circle round me here, yet strangely soundsThis speech I have just heard.Capesius:This speech I have just heard.What strangeness there?Theodora:I may not say. Do thou, Maria, tell.Maria:Our friend has oftentimes explained to usWhat strange experiences come to her.One day she felt herself completely changed,And none could understand her altered state.Estrangement met her wheresoe’er she turnedUntil she came into our circle here.Not that we fully understand ourselvesWhat she possesses and what no one shares.Yet we are trained by this our mode of thoughtThe unaccustomed to appreciate,And feel with every mood of humankind.One moment in her life, our friend perceived,All that seemed hers aforetime, disappear;The past was all extinguished in her soul.And since these wondrous changes came to her,This mood of soul hath oft renewed itself;It doth not long endure; and other timesShe lives her life as ordinary folk.Yet whensoe’er she falls into this state,The gift of memory doth fade away.She loseth from her eyes the power to seeAnd senseth her surroundings, seeing not.With a peculiar light her eyes then glow,And pictured forms appear to her. At firstThey seemed like dreams; anon they grew so clear,That we could recognize without a doubtSome prophecy of distant future days.Full many a time have we seen this occur.Capesius:It is just this that little pleaseth meAmongst these men; who mingle with good senseAnd logic, superstition’s fallacies.’Twas ever thus where men have walked this path.Maria:If thou canst still speak so, thou dost not yetPerceive our attitude towards these things.Strader:Well, as for me, I freely must confess,That I would sooner revelations hearThan speak of questionable spirit-themes.For even if I fail to read arightThe riddle of such dreams, yet those at leastI count as facts; and would ’twere possibleTo see one instance of the mysteryOf this strange spirit-mood before mine eyes.Maria:Perchance it is—for look, she comes again.And it doth seem to me as though e’en nowThis mystic spirit-mood would show itself.Theodora:I am compelled to speak. Before my soulA pictured form stands wrapped in robes of light;From which strange words are sounding in mine ears.I feel myself in future centuries,And men do I behold as yet unborn:—They also see the pictured form; they tooCan hear the words it speaks, which thus resound—‘O ye, who lived in faith’s sincerity,Take comfort now in sight, and look on Me.Receive new life through Me. For I am HeWho lived within the souls of those who soughtTo find Me in themselves, by followingThe gospel-words My messengers did bringAnd by their own devotion’s inward power.The light of sense ye saw—believe ye nowIn the creative spirit-world beyond.For now indeed ye have yourselves achievedOne atom of divine prophetic sight.Oh, breathe it deep, and feel it in your souls.’A human form steps from that sphere of light.And speaks to me: ‘Thou shalt make known to allWho will give ear to thee, that thou hast seenWhat all mankind shall soon experience:Once, long ago, Christ lived upon the earth,And from this life ensued the consequenceThat in soul-substance clad He hovers o’erThe evolution of humanity,In union with the earth’s own spirit-sphere;And though as yet invisible to men,When in such form He manifests Himself,Since now their being lacks that spirit sight,Which first will show itself in future times;Yet even now this future draweth nighWhen that new sight shall come to men on earth.What once the senses saw, when Christ did liveUpon the earth; this shall be seen by soulsWhen soon the time shall reach its fulness due.’(Exit.)Maria:This is the first time we have heard her speakIn such a manner to so many folk.At other times she felt constrained to speech,Only when two or three were gathered round.Capesius:To me indeed it seems most curious,That she, as though commanded or required,Should find herself to revelation urged.Maria:It may so seem; but we know well her ways.If at this moment she desired to sendHer inward soul-voice deep into your souls,The only reason was, that unto youThe source, whence came her voice, desired to speak.Capesius:Concerning this strange future gift of sight,Whereof she spake, as dreaming, we have heardThat he, who of this circle is the soul,Hath oft already given full report.Is it not possible that from his wordsThe content of her speech hath origin,The mode of utterance coming from herself?Maria:If matters thus did stand, we should not deemHer words of any consequence or weight:But we have tested this condition well.Before she came into our circle here,Our friend had never heard in any wayOf that same leader’s speeches, nor had weHeard aught of her before she came to us.Capesius:Then what we have to deal with is a state,Such as so often happens, contraryTo all the laws of nature; and which weMust merely estimate as some disease.And only healthy thought, securely basedOn fully conscious sense-impressions, canPass judgment on the riddles set by life.Strader:Yet even here one fact presents itself;And what we now have heard must have some worth—For, even if we set aside all elseIt doth compel the thought that spirit-powerCan cause thought-transference from soul to soul.Astrid:Ah me, if ye would only dare to treadThe ground your mode of thought doth choose to shun:As snow before the sunlight’s piercing glareYour vain delusion needs must melt away,Which makes the moods revealéd, in such mindsAppear diseased, abnormal, wonderful.They are suggestive, but they are not strange.And small this wonder doth appear to meWhen I compare it with the myriadOf wonders that make up my daily life.Capesius:Nay, nay, one thing it is to recognizeWhat lies before our eyes on every side,But quite another, what is shown us here.Strader:Of spirit ’tis not necessary to speakUntil there are things shown to us which lieOutside the strictly circled boundarySet by the laws of scientific thought.Astrid:The clear shaft of the sunlight on the dewWhich glistens in the morning’s golden light,(Enter Felix Balde.)The hurling stream that riseth ’neath the rock,The thunder rumbling in the cloud-wrapped sky,All these do speak to me a spirit tongue:I strove to understand it; and I knowThat of this speech’s meaning and its might,Only a faint reflection can be glimpsedThrough your investigations, as they are.And when that kind of speech sank deep withinMy heart, I found my soul’s true joy at last.Nor could aught else, but human words aloneAnd spirit teaching grant this gift to me.Felix Balde:Those words rang true indeed.Maria:Those words rang true indeed.I must essayTo tell what joy fills all my heart to see(Enter Felicia Balde.)For the first time here with us yonder man,Of whom we oft have heard; and joy doth causeThe wish to see him here full many times.Felix Balde:It is not usual for me that I shouldAssociate with such a crowd of men:And not alone unusual——Felicia:And not alone unusual——Aye, ’tis so.His nature drives us into solitudeAway from all; year in, year out, we hearScarce any other converse save our own.And if this good man here from time to time(Pointing to Capesius.)Came not to linger in our cottage home,We scarce should realize that other men,Besides ourselves, live on the earth at all.And if the man, who spake such wondrous wordsBut recently in yonder lecture-hall,And who affected us so potently,Did not full many a time my Felix meet,When he is gone about his daily tasks,Ye would know nought of our forgotten life.Maria:So the professor often visits you?Capesius:Assuredly. And I may tell you all,The very deep indebtedness I feelTo this good woman, who doth give to meIn rich abundance, what none other can.Maria:And of what nature are these gifts of hers?Capesius:If I would tell the tale, then must I touchA thing that verily doth seem to meMore wonderful than much that here I’ve heard,In that it speaks more nearly to my soul.And were I in some other place, these wordsWould hardly pass the barrier of my lips;Yet here they seem to flow therefrom with ease.In my soul-life there often comes a timeWhen it doth feel itself pumped out and dry.It seems as though the very fountain-headOf knowledge had run dry within my heart.Then can I find no word of any kindWorthy to speak or worthy to be heard.And when I feel such spirit barrennessI flee to these good people, and seek restIn their reviving, peaceful solitudeThen Mistress Felix tells me many a taleSet forth in wondrous pictures, manifold,Of beings, dwelling in the land of dreams,Who lead a joyous life in fairy realms.When thus she speaks, her tone and speech recallSome legend oft-told of the ancient days.I ask no question whence she finds these wordsBut this one thing alone I clearly know:That new life flows therefrom into my soul,And sweeps away its dull paralysis.Maria:To hear such splendid witness to the skillOf Dame Felicia doth, in wondrous wise,Harmoniously blend in every wayWith all that Benedictus told to usAbout his friend’s deep hidden knowledge-founts.Felix Balde:He who spake words to us just now, which showed(Benedictus appears at the door.)How in the realm of universal space,And vast eternities his spirit dwelt,Hath surely little need to speak o’er muchOf simple men.Benedictus:Of simple men.Thou errest friend. For meInfinite value hath each word of thine.Felix Balde:It was presumption only, and the bentOf idle talk, when thou didst honour meTo wander at thy side our mountain paths.Only because thou didst conceal from meHow much thyself dost know, I dared to speak.But now our time is up, and we must go—A long way hence doth lie our quiet home.Felicia:It hath been most refreshing once againTo come amongst mankind: and yet I fearIt will not happen very soon again:There is no other life which Felix deemsBetter than living in his mountain heights.(Exeunt Felix and his wife.)Benedictus:Indeed I well believe his wife is right,Nor will he come again for many days.It needed much to bring him here today.And yet the reason lies not in himselfWhy no one knoweth aught of him or his.Capesius:He only seemed to me eccentric, strange;And many an hour I found him talkativeWhen I was with him; but his mystic speechAnd strange discourse remained obscure to me,When he revealed all that he claims to know.He spoke of solar beings housed in rocks;Of lunar demons, who disturb their work;And of the sense of number hid in plants;And he who listens to him cannot longKeep clear the thread of meaning in his words.Benedictus:And yet ’tis also possible to feelAs if the powers of Nature, through these words,Sought to reveal themselves in their true state.(Exit.)Strader:Already do I feel forebodings strangeThat now dark hours are coming in my life.For since the days of cloistered solitude,Where I was taught such knowledge, and therebyStruck to the very darkest depth of soul,Not one experience has stirred me so,As this weird vision of the seeress here.Capesius:Indeed I cannot see that aught of thatShould prove unnerving. And I fear, my friend,That if thou once dost lose thy certainty,Dark doubt will soon envelop all thy thought.Strader:Too true! And ’tis the fear of just this doubtThat causeth me full many an anxious hourFrom my experience I know nought elseOf this strange gift of seership, save that whenLife’s vexing problems sorely trouble me,Then, ghostlike, riseth from dark spirit-depths,Before my spirit’s eyes, some phantom formLike some dream-being, grim and terrible,Pressing with fearful weight upon my soul,And clutching horribly around my heart.It seems to speak right through me words like these:‘If thou dost fail to gain the victoryO’er me with those blunt weapons of thy thought,Thou art a fleeting phantom, nothing more,Formed by thine own deluded imagery.’Theodosius:That is the destiny of all such men,As do approach the world by thought alone.The spirit’s voice dwells deep in every soul.Nor have we strength to pierce the coveringThat spreads itself before our faculties.Thought doth bring knowledge of things temporal,Of things that vanish in the course of time:The everlasting and all spirit-truthAre found but in the inner depths of man.Strader:If, then, the fruitage of a pious faithIs able to give rest to weary souls,Such souls may wander safely in that path,And find sufficiency within themselves.And yet the power of knowledge, pure and true,Doth never bloom on such a path as this.Theodosius:Yet there can be no other way to lightTrue spirit-knowledge in the hearts of men.Pride may seduce and change to fantasiesThe soul’s true depths of feeling, and may seeA vision only where faith’s beauty lies.One thing alone of all we here have heardFrom spirit-teaching of the higher worlds,Strikes clear upon our honest human sense:That only in the spirit-world itselfThe soul can feel itself in its true home.The Other Maria:So long as man feels need of speech alone,And nought besides, so long such words as theseMay satisfy him: but the fuller lifeWith all its strife, its yearnings after joy,And all its sorrow, needeth other foodTo nourish and sustain the fainting soul.For me, an inner voice did drive me onTo spend all the remaining days of lifeWhich were allotted me, in helping thoseWhom stress of destiny had smitten downAnd plunged in deepest poverty and need.And far more oft I found it necessaryTo soothe the anguish of the soul of manThan heal his body’s pain and suffering.But I have felt indeed in many waysMy will’s weak impotence to comfort men.So that I am compelled to seek fresh strengthFrom out the treasured store which floweth forthAbundantly from spirit-sources here.The quickening warmth of words which greet mine ear,Flows forth with magic force into my hands;And thence, like healing balsam, forth again,When those hands touch some sorrow-laden soul.It changeth on my lips to strengthening wordsWhich carry comfort unto pain-racked hearts.The source of words like these I do not ask;I feel their truth—they give me living life.And every day more clearly do I see,That they derive their strength not from my willIn all its weakness, but create anewMyself each day unto myself again.Capesius:Yet surely there are men enough on earthWho, though they lack such revelation’s aid,Perform innumerable deeds of good?Maria:In sooth there is no lack of men like theseIn many places; but my friend doth meanA different thing; and if thou didst but knowThe life she led, thou wouldst speak otherwise.Where unused powers in full abundance dwellThere love will cause the seed to germinateIn rich abundance in the heart’s good soil.But our friend here exhausted life’s best powersIn never-ending toil beyond her strength;And all her will to live lay crushed and deadBeneath the cruel weight of destiny,Which fell upon her. All her strength she gaveTo careful guidance of her children’s weal:And low already had her courage ebbedWhen early death took her loved husband home.In such a state as this, days dull and drearSeemed all fate had in store whilst life remained.But then the powers of destiny prevailedTo bring her ’neath the spell of spirit-lore;And soon with us she felt the vital forceOf life break forth in her a second time.Fresh aims in life she found, and with them cameFresh courage once again to fight and strive.And thus in her the spirit hath achievedIn very truth to fashion from decayA new and living personality.And when the spirit in such fruit as thisShows its creative potency, we learnIts nature, and the way it speaks to us.And, if no pride lies hidden in our speech,And highest moral aims live in our hearts;If we believe that in no way at allOur teaching is our own;—but that aloneThe spirit shows itself within our souls—Then may we surely venture to assertThat in thy mode of thinking may be foundBut feeble shadows waving to and froAthwart the real true source of human life:And that the spirit, which ensouls our workIs linked in inward harmony with allThat weaves the web of destiny for manDeep in the very fundaments of life.I have been privileged for many yearsTo give myself to vital work in life:And during all this time more bleeding heartsAnd yearning souls have come before mine eyes,Than many would conceive were possible.I do esteem thy high ideal flight,The proud assurance of thy sciences:I like to see the student-audience,Respectful, sit and listen at thy feet:And that to many souls thy work doth bringEnnobling clarity of thought, I know.But yet regarding thought like this, it seems,Trustworthiness can only dwell thereinSo long as thought lives in itself alone.Whereas the realm of which I am a partSends into deep realities of lifeThe fruitage of its words, since it desiresTo plant in deep realities its roots.Far, far away from all thy thought doth lieThe written word upon the spirit-heavenWhich with momentous tokens doth announceNew growth upon the tree of humankind.And though indeed such thought seems clear and sureAs follows faithfully the ancient path,Yet can it only touch the tree’s coarse bark,And never reach the marrow’s living power.Romanus:For my part I do seek in vain the bridgeThat truly leadeth from ideas to deeds.Capesius:On one side thou dost over-estimateThe power which can be wielded by ideas,And on the other thou dost fail to graspThe actual course of true reality:For it is certain that ideas must formThe germ of all the actual deeds of men.Romanus:If this friend doth so many deeds of good,The impulse thereunto lies in herselfAnd her warm-hearted nature, not in thought.Most certainly ’tis necessary for man,Whene’er he hath accomplished any work,To find foundation for it in ideas.But yet ’tis only schooling of man’s willIn harmony with all his skill and powerTo undertake some real work in lifeWhich will help forward all the human race.When whirr of busy wheels sounds in mine ears,Or when I see some creaking windlass drawnBy strong stout hands of men content to work,Then do I sense indeed the powers of Life.Germanus:Often in careless speech have I maintainedThat I preferred things droll and humorousAnd held these only full of wit and charm,Deeming that for my brain at any rate,They always would provide materialBest fitted to fill up the time that liesBetween my recreation and my work.But now quite tasteless to me seem such things;The Power Invisible hath conquered me;And I have learned to feel that there may beMore powerful forces in humanity,Than all our wit’s frail castles in the air.Capesius:And did it seem that nowhere else but here’Twas possible to find such spirit-powers?Germanus:Indeed the life I lived did offer meFull many a type of intellectual works:Yet cared I not to pluck or taste their fruit.But this strange mode of thought which blossoms hereSeemed to attract and draw me to itselfHowever little I desired to come.Capesius:Most pleasant hath this hour of converse been,And we are debtors to our hostess here.(Exeunt all, except Maria and Johannes.)Johannes:Oh, stay a little while yet by my side,I am afraid:—so desperately afraid:—Maria:What is it aileth thee, my friend? Speak forth.Johannes:The first cause was our leader’s speech; and thenThe chequered converse of these people here.It all hath moved and stirred me through and through.Maria:But how could simple speeches such as theseSeize on thine heart with such intensity?Johannes:Each word seemed in that moment unto meA dreadful symbol of our nothingness.Maria:Indeed it was significant to seePour forth in such short time so many kindsOf life and man’s conflicting tendencies,In all the speeches that we lately heard.Yet ’tis indeed a most peculiar traitOf life, as it is lived amongst us here,To bring to speech the inner mind of man;And much that otherwise comes slowly forth,Stands here revealed in little space of time.Johannes:A mirrored picture ’twas of fullest lifeThat showed me to myself in clearest lines:This spirit-revelation makes me feelThat most of us protect and train one traitAnd one alone in all our character,Which thus persuades itself it is the whole.I sought to unify these many traitsIn mine own self and boldly trod the pathWhich here is shown, to lead unto that goal;And it hath made of me a nothingness.Keenly I feel what all these others lack,And yet I sense as keenly that they allHave actual part in life itself, whilst IStand but on unsubstantial nothingness.It seemed whole lines of life ran into oneSignificant in those brief speeches here.But then mine own life’s portrait also roseAnd stood forth vividly within my soul.The days of childhood first were painted there,With all its fulness and its joy in life:Then came the picture of my youthful primeWith that proud hopefulness in parent-heartsAwakened by the talents of their son.Then dreams concerning my career in art,Which formed life’s all in those old happy days,Surged up from out my spirit’s inmost depthsExhorting to fulfil my cherished hopes;And then those dreams in which thyself didst seeHow I translated into coloured formThe spirit-life that liveth in thy soul.Then saw I tongues of fire spring up and lickAround my youthful dreams and artist hopes,Reducing all to dust and nothingness.Thereafter rose another pictured formFrom out that drear and dreadful nothingness—A human form, which once had linked its fateIn faithful love with mine in days long past.She sought to hold me by her when I turnedLong years ago unto my home again,Called to attend my mother’s funeral rites.I heeded not, but tore myself away.For mighty was the power that drew me hereTo this thy circle and the goals of lifeWhich here are set before our eager gaze.In those dark days I felt no sense of guiltWhen I did rend in twain the bond of love,That was unto another soul its life.Nor later when the message came to meHow that her life did slowly pine away,And finally was altogether quenchedDid I feel aught of guilt until today;But full of meaning were those recent wordsIn yonder chamber which our leader spake;How that we may destroy by power misusedAnd perverse thought the destiny of thoseWhom bonds of loving trust link to our souls.Ah, hideously these words again resoundOut of the picture, thence re-echoingWith ghastly repetition from all sides:‘Her murderer thou art! her hast thou slain!’Thus whilst this weighty speech hath been for allThe motive to probe deep within themselves,Within my heart it hath brought forth aloneThe consciousness of this most grievous guilt.By this new means of sight I can perceiveHow far astray my striving footsteps erred.Maria:And at this moment, friend, in dark domainsThou walkest, and none else can help thee there,Save he, in whom we all do put our trust.(Maria is called away; re-enter Helena.)Helena:I feel constrained to linger by thy sideA little while; since now for many weeksThy gaze hath held so much of grief and care.How can the light, which streams so radiantlyBring gloom unto thy soul, which only strivesWith utmost strength to seek and know the truth?Johannes:Hath then this light brought naught but joy to thee?Helena:Not the same joy as that which once I knew,But that new joy which springeth from those words,Through which the spirit doth reveal itself.Johannes:Natheless I tell thee that the self-same power,Which doth in thee create, can also crush.Helena:Some error must have crept into thy soulWith cunning tread, if this be possible;And if dull care instead of happiness,And moods of sorrow flow forth from the sourceOf truth itself instead of spirit-blissIn free abundance: seek then in thyselfThe stumbling-blocks that thus impede thy way.How often are we told that only healthIs the true fruitage of our teaching here,Which makes to blossom forth the powers of life.Shall it then show the contrary in thee?I see its fruitage in so many lives,Which, trusting me, find union in themselves.Their former mode of life grows day by dayStrange and still stranger to such souls as these;As well-springs are fresh opened in their hearts,Thenceforth renewing life within themselves.To gaze into the primal depths of beingDoth not create those passionate desiresWhich torture and torment the souls of men.(Exit.)Johannes:It took me many years to understandAnd know the vanity of things of senseWhen spirit-knowledge is not joined with themIn close and intimate companionship:And yet one single moment proves to meThat e’en the highest wisdom’s words may beBut vanity of soul in man’s own self.Curtain

Room. Dominant note rose-red. Large rose-red chairs are arranged in a semicircle. To the left of the stage a door leads to the auditorium. One after the other, the speakers introduced enter by this door; each stopping in the room for a time. While they do so, they discuss the discourse they have just heard in the auditorium, and what it suggests to them.

Enter first Maria and Johannes, then others. The speeches which follow are continuations of discussions already begun in the auditorium.

Maria:My friend, I am indeed distressed to seeThy spirit and thy soul in sadness droop,And powerless to help the bond that bindsAnd that has bound us both for ten blest years.E’en this same hour, filled with a portent deepIn which we both have heard and learned so muchThat lightens all the darkest depths of soul,Brought naught but shade and shadow unto thee.Aye, after many of the speakers’ words,My listening heart could feel the very dartThat deeply wounded thine. Once did I gazeInto thine eyes and saw but happinessAnd joy in all the essence of the world.In pictures beauty-steeped thy soul held fastEach fleeting moment, bathed by sunshine’s glow—Flooding with air and light the forms of menUnsealing all the depths and doubts of Life.Unskilled as yet thine hand to body forthIn concrete colour-schemes, those living formsThat hovered in thy soul; but in the heartsOf both of us there throbbed the joyous faithAnd certain hope that future days would teachThine hand this art—to pour forth happinessInto the very fundaments of Being;That all the wonders of thy spirit’s searchUnfolding visibly Creation’s powersThrough every creature of thine art would pourSoul rapture deep into the hearts of men.Such were our dreams through all those days of yoreThat to thy skill, mirrored in beauty’s guise,The weal of future men would trace its source.So dreamed mine own soul of the goal of thine.Yet now the vital spark of fashioning fireThat burned within thee seems extinct and dead.Dead thy creative joy: and well-nigh maimedThe hand, which once with fresh and youthful strengthGuided thy steadfast brush from year to year.

Maria:

My friend, I am indeed distressed to see

Thy spirit and thy soul in sadness droop,

And powerless to help the bond that binds

And that has bound us both for ten blest years.

E’en this same hour, filled with a portent deep

In which we both have heard and learned so much

That lightens all the darkest depths of soul,

Brought naught but shade and shadow unto thee.

Aye, after many of the speakers’ words,

My listening heart could feel the very dart

That deeply wounded thine. Once did I gaze

Into thine eyes and saw but happiness

And joy in all the essence of the world.

In pictures beauty-steeped thy soul held fast

Each fleeting moment, bathed by sunshine’s glow—

Flooding with air and light the forms of men

Unsealing all the depths and doubts of Life.

Unskilled as yet thine hand to body forth

In concrete colour-schemes, those living forms

That hovered in thy soul; but in the hearts

Of both of us there throbbed the joyous faith

And certain hope that future days would teach

Thine hand this art—to pour forth happiness

Into the very fundaments of Being;

That all the wonders of thy spirit’s search

Unfolding visibly Creation’s powers

Through every creature of thine art would pour

Soul rapture deep into the hearts of men.

Such were our dreams through all those days of yore

That to thy skill, mirrored in beauty’s guise,

The weal of future men would trace its source.

So dreamed mine own soul of the goal of thine.

Yet now the vital spark of fashioning fire

That burned within thee seems extinct and dead.

Dead thy creative joy: and well-nigh maimed

The hand, which once with fresh and youthful strength

Guided thy steadfast brush from year to year.

Johannes:Alas, ’tis true; I feel as if the firesThat erstwhile quickened in my soul are quenched.Mine eye, grown dull, doth no more catch the gleamShed by the flickering sunlight o’er the earth.No feeling stirs my heart, when changing moodsOf light and shade flow o’er the scenes around.Still lies my hand, seeking no more to chainInto a lasting present fleeting charms,Shown forth by magic elemental powersFrom utmost depths of Life before mine eyes.No new creative fire thrills me with joy.For me dull monotone obscures all life.

Johannes:

Alas, ’tis true; I feel as if the fires

That erstwhile quickened in my soul are quenched.

Mine eye, grown dull, doth no more catch the gleam

Shed by the flickering sunlight o’er the earth.

No feeling stirs my heart, when changing moods

Of light and shade flow o’er the scenes around.

Still lies my hand, seeking no more to chain

Into a lasting present fleeting charms,

Shown forth by magic elemental powers

From utmost depths of Life before mine eyes.

No new creative fire thrills me with joy.

For me dull monotone obscures all life.

Maria:My heart is deeply grieved to hear that thouDost find such emptiness in everythingWhich thrives as highest good and very sourceOf sacred life itself within my heart.Ah, friend, behind the changing scenes of lifeThat men call ‘Being,’ true life lies concealedSpiritual, everlasting, infinite.And in that life each soul doth weave its thread.I feel afloat in spirit potencies,That work, as in an ocean’s unseen depths,And see revealéd all the life of men,As wavelets on the ocean’s upturned face.I am at one with all the sense of LifeFor which men restless strive, and which to meIs but their inner self that stands revealed.I see, how oftentimes it binds itselfUnto the very kernel of man’s soul,And lifts him to the highest that his heartCan ever crave. Yet as it lives in meIt turns to bitter fruitage, when mine ownTouches another’s being. Even soHath this, my destiny, worked out in allI willed to give thee, when thou cam’st in love.Thy wish it was to travel at my sideUnhesitating all the way, that soonShould lead thee to a full and perfect art.Yet what hath happened? All, that in mine eyesStood forth revealed in its own naked TruthAs purest life, brought death, my friend, to theeAnd slew thy spirit.

Maria:

My heart is deeply grieved to hear that thou

Dost find such emptiness in everything

Which thrives as highest good and very source

Of sacred life itself within my heart.

Ah, friend, behind the changing scenes of life

That men call ‘Being,’ true life lies concealed

Spiritual, everlasting, infinite.

And in that life each soul doth weave its thread.

I feel afloat in spirit potencies,

That work, as in an ocean’s unseen depths,

And see revealéd all the life of men,

As wavelets on the ocean’s upturned face.

I am at one with all the sense of Life

For which men restless strive, and which to me

Is but their inner self that stands revealed.

I see, how oftentimes it binds itself

Unto the very kernel of man’s soul,

And lifts him to the highest that his heart

Can ever crave. Yet as it lives in me

It turns to bitter fruitage, when mine own

Touches another’s being. Even so

Hath this, my destiny, worked out in all

I willed to give thee, when thou cam’st in love.

Thy wish it was to travel at my side

Unhesitating all the way, that soon

Should lead thee to a full and perfect art.

Yet what hath happened? All, that in mine eyes

Stood forth revealed in its own naked Truth

As purest life, brought death, my friend, to thee

And slew thy spirit.

Johannes:And slew thy spirit.Aye.’Tisso indeed.What lifts thy soul to Heaven’s sun-kissed heightsWhen through thy life it comes into mine ownThrusts my soul down, to death’s abysmal gloom.When in our friendship’s rosy-fingered dawnTo this revealment thou didst lead me on,Which sheds its light into the darkened realms,Where human souls do enter every night,Bereft of conscious life, and where full oftMan’s being wanders erring: whilst the nightOf Death makes mock at Life’s reality.And when thou didst reveal to me the truthOf life’s return, then did I know full wellThat I should grow to perfect spirit-man.Surely, it seemed, the artist’s clear keen eye,And certain touch of a creator’s hand,Would blossom for me through thy spirit’s fireAnd noble might. Full deep I breathed this fireInto my being; when—behold—it robbedThe ebb and flow of all my spirit’s power.Remorselessly it drove out from my heartAll faith in this our world. And now I reachA point where I no longer clearly see,Whether to doubt or whether to believeThe revelation of the spirit-worlds.Nay more, I even lack the power to loveThat which in thee the spirit’s beauty shows.

Johannes:

And slew thy spirit.Aye.’Tisso indeed.

What lifts thy soul to Heaven’s sun-kissed heights

When through thy life it comes into mine own

Thrusts my soul down, to death’s abysmal gloom.

When in our friendship’s rosy-fingered dawn

To this revealment thou didst lead me on,

Which sheds its light into the darkened realms,

Where human souls do enter every night,

Bereft of conscious life, and where full oft

Man’s being wanders erring: whilst the night

Of Death makes mock at Life’s reality.

And when thou didst reveal to me the truth

Of life’s return, then did I know full well

That I should grow to perfect spirit-man.

Surely, it seemed, the artist’s clear keen eye,

And certain touch of a creator’s hand,

Would blossom for me through thy spirit’s fire

And noble might. Full deep I breathed this fire

Into my being; when—behold—it robbed

The ebb and flow of all my spirit’s power.

Remorselessly it drove out from my heart

All faith in this our world. And now I reach

A point where I no longer clearly see,

Whether to doubt or whether to believe

The revelation of the spirit-worlds.

Nay more, I even lack the power to love

That which in thee the spirit’s beauty shows.

Maria:Alas! The years that pass have taught me this:That mine own way to live the spirit-lifeDoth change into its opposite, whene’erIt penetrates another’s character.And I must also see how spirit-powerGrows rich in blessing when, by other paths,It pours itself into the souls of men.

Maria:

Alas! The years that pass have taught me this:

That mine own way to live the spirit-life

Doth change into its opposite, whene’er

It penetrates another’s character.

And I must also see how spirit-power

Grows rich in blessing when, by other paths,

It pours itself into the souls of men.

(Enter Philia, Astrid, and Luna.)

(Enter Philia, Astrid, and Luna.)

It floweth forth in speech, and in these wordsLies power to raise to realms celestialMan’s common mode of thinking; and createA world of joy, where erstwhile brooded gloom.Aye, it can change the spirit’s shallownessTo depths of earnest feeling; and can castMan’s character in sure and noble mould.And I—yes, I am altogether filledBy just this spirit-power, and must beholdThe pain and desolation that it bringsTo other hearts, when from mine own it pours.

It floweth forth in speech, and in these words

Lies power to raise to realms celestial

Man’s common mode of thinking; and create

A world of joy, where erstwhile brooded gloom.

Aye, it can change the spirit’s shallowness

To depths of earnest feeling; and can cast

Man’s character in sure and noble mould.

And I—yes, I am altogether filled

By just this spirit-power, and must behold

The pain and desolation that it brings

To other hearts, when from mine own it pours.

Philia:It seemed as though the voices of some choir

Philia:

It seemed as though the voices of some choir

(Enter Prof. Capesius and Dr. Strader.)

Mingled together, uttering manifoldConceptions and opinions, each his own,Of these who formed our recent gathering.Full many harmonies there were indeed,But also many a harsh-toned dissonance.

Mingled together, uttering manifold

Conceptions and opinions, each his own,

Of these who formed our recent gathering.

Full many harmonies there were indeed,

But also many a harsh-toned dissonance.

Maria:Ah, when the words and speech of many menPresent themselves in such wise to the soul,It seems as though man’s very prototypeStood centred there in secret mystery:Become through many souls articulate,As in the rainbow’s arch pure Light itselfGrows visible in many-coloured rays.

Maria:

Ah, when the words and speech of many men

Present themselves in such wise to the soul,

It seems as though man’s very prototype

Stood centred there in secret mystery:

Become through many souls articulate,

As in the rainbow’s arch pure Light itself

Grows visible in many-coloured rays.

Capesius:Through changing scenes of many centuriesWe wandered year on year in earnest search;Striving to fathom deep the living forceThat dwelt within the souls of those who soughtTo probe and scan the fundaments of being,And set before man’s soul the goals of life.We thought that in the depths of our own soulsWe lived the higher powers of thought itself;And thus could solve the riddles set by Fate.We felt we had, or seemed at least to feel,Sure basis in the logic of our mindWhen new experiences crossed our pathQuestioning there the judgment of our soul.Yet now such basis wavers, when amazedI hear today, as I have heard before,The mode of thought taught by these people here.And more and more uncertain do I grow,When I perceive, how powerfully in lifeThis mode of thought doth work. Full many a dayHave I spent thus, thinking how I might shapeTime’s riddles as they solved themselves to meIn words, that hearts might grasp and trembling feel.Happy indeed was I, if I could fillOnly the smallest corner of some soulAmongst my audience with the warmth of life.And oftentimes it seemed success was mine,Nor would I make complaint of fruitless days.Yet all results of teaching thus could leadOnly to recognition of this truthSo loved and emphasized by men of deeds,That in the clash of life’s realities,Thoughts are dim shadows, nothing more nor less:They may indeed wing life’s creative powersTo due fruition, but they cannot shapeAnd mould our life themselves. So have I judgedAnd with this modest comment was content:Where pale thoughts only work, all life is lamedAnd likewise all that joins itself to life.More potent than the ripest form of words,However art might weave therein her spell,Seemed nature’s gift, man’s talents—and more strongThe hand of destiny to mould his life.Tradition’s mountainweight, and prejudiceWith dull oppressive hand will always quenchThe strength of e’en the very best of words.But that which here reveals itself in speechGives men, who think as I do, food for thought.Clearly we saw the kind of consequenceThat comes when sects, in superheated speech,Blind souls of men with dogma’s seething stream.But nought here of such spirit do we find;Here only reason greets the soul, and yetThese words create the actual powers of life,Speaking unto the spirit’s inmost depths.Nay even to the kingdom of the WillThis strange and mystic Something penetrates;This Something, which to such as I, who stillWander in ancient ways, seems but pale thought.Impossible, it seems, to disavowIts consequences; none the less, myselfI cannot quite surrender to it yet.But it all speaks with such peculiar charmAnd not as though it really meant for meThe contradiction of experience.It almost seems as if this Something foundThe kind of man I am, insufferable.

Capesius:

Through changing scenes of many centuries

We wandered year on year in earnest search;

Striving to fathom deep the living force

That dwelt within the souls of those who sought

To probe and scan the fundaments of being,

And set before man’s soul the goals of life.

We thought that in the depths of our own souls

We lived the higher powers of thought itself;

And thus could solve the riddles set by Fate.

We felt we had, or seemed at least to feel,

Sure basis in the logic of our mind

When new experiences crossed our path

Questioning there the judgment of our soul.

Yet now such basis wavers, when amazed

I hear today, as I have heard before,

The mode of thought taught by these people here.

And more and more uncertain do I grow,

When I perceive, how powerfully in life

This mode of thought doth work. Full many a day

Have I spent thus, thinking how I might shape

Time’s riddles as they solved themselves to me

In words, that hearts might grasp and trembling feel.

Happy indeed was I, if I could fill

Only the smallest corner of some soul

Amongst my audience with the warmth of life.

And oftentimes it seemed success was mine,

Nor would I make complaint of fruitless days.

Yet all results of teaching thus could lead

Only to recognition of this truth

So loved and emphasized by men of deeds,

That in the clash of life’s realities,

Thoughts are dim shadows, nothing more nor less:

They may indeed wing life’s creative powers

To due fruition, but they cannot shape

And mould our life themselves. So have I judged

And with this modest comment was content:

Where pale thoughts only work, all life is lamed

And likewise all that joins itself to life.

More potent than the ripest form of words,

However art might weave therein her spell,

Seemed nature’s gift, man’s talents—and more strong

The hand of destiny to mould his life.

Tradition’s mountainweight, and prejudice

With dull oppressive hand will always quench

The strength of e’en the very best of words.

But that which here reveals itself in speech

Gives men, who think as I do, food for thought.

Clearly we saw the kind of consequence

That comes when sects, in superheated speech,

Blind souls of men with dogma’s seething stream.

But nought here of such spirit do we find;

Here only reason greets the soul, and yet

These words create the actual powers of life,

Speaking unto the spirit’s inmost depths.

Nay even to the kingdom of the Will

This strange and mystic Something penetrates;

This Something, which to such as I, who still

Wander in ancient ways, seems but pale thought.

Impossible, it seems, to disavow

Its consequences; none the less, myself

I cannot quite surrender to it yet.

But it all speaks with such peculiar charm

And not as though it really meant for me

The contradiction of experience.

It almost seems as if this Something found

The kind of man I am, insufferable.

Strader:I would associate myself in fullest senseWith every one of thy last spoken words:And still more sharply would I emphasizeThat all results in our soul-life, which seemTo spring forth from the influence of ideas,Cannot in any wise decide for usWhat actual worth of knowledge they conceal.Whether there lives within our mode of thought,Error or truth—’tis certain this aloneThe verdict of true science can decide.And no one would with honesty denyThat words, which are, in seeming only, clear,Yet claim to solve life’s deepest mysteries,Are quite unfit for such a scrutiny.They fascinate the spirit of mankind,And only tempt the heart’s credulity;Seeming to open door into that realmBefore which, humble and perplexed, now standsThe strict and cautious search of modern minds.And he who truly follows such researchIs bound in honour to confess that noneCan know whence streams thewell-springof his thought,Nor fathom where the depths of Being lie.And though confession such as this is hardFor souls who all too willingly would gaugeWhat lies beyond the ken of mortal mind,Yet every glance of every thinker’s soulWhether directed to the outer side,Or turned towards the inner depths of life,Scans but that boundary and naught beside.If we deny our rational intellectOr set aside experience, we sinkIn depths unfathomable, bottomless.And who can fail to see how utterlyWhat passeth here for revelation new,Fails to fit in with modern modes of thought.Indeed it needs but little thought to see,How totally devoid this method isOf that, which gives all thought its sure supportAnd guarantees a sense of certainty.Such revelations may warm listening hearts,But thinkers see in them mere mystic dreams.

Strader:

I would associate myself in fullest sense

With every one of thy last spoken words:

And still more sharply would I emphasize

That all results in our soul-life, which seem

To spring forth from the influence of ideas,

Cannot in any wise decide for us

What actual worth of knowledge they conceal.

Whether there lives within our mode of thought,

Error or truth—’tis certain this alone

The verdict of true science can decide.

And no one would with honesty deny

That words, which are, in seeming only, clear,

Yet claim to solve life’s deepest mysteries,

Are quite unfit for such a scrutiny.

They fascinate the spirit of mankind,

And only tempt the heart’s credulity;

Seeming to open door into that realm

Before which, humble and perplexed, now stands

The strict and cautious search of modern minds.

And he who truly follows such research

Is bound in honour to confess that none

Can know whence streams thewell-springof his thought,

Nor fathom where the depths of Being lie.

And though confession such as this is hard

For souls who all too willingly would gauge

What lies beyond the ken of mortal mind,

Yet every glance of every thinker’s soul

Whether directed to the outer side,

Or turned towards the inner depths of life,

Scans but that boundary and naught beside.

If we deny our rational intellect

Or set aside experience, we sink

In depths unfathomable, bottomless.

And who can fail to see how utterly

What passeth here for revelation new,

Fails to fit in with modern modes of thought.

Indeed it needs but little thought to see,

How totally devoid this method is

Of that, which gives all thought its sure support

And guarantees a sense of certainty.

Such revelations may warm listening hearts,

But thinkers see in them mere mystic dreams.

Philia:Aye, thus would always speak the science, wonBy stern sobriety and intellect.But that suffices not unto the soul,That needs a steadfast faith in its own self.She ever will give heed to words that speakTo her of spirit. All she dimly sensedIn former days, she striveth now to grasp.To speak of the Unknown may well enticeThe thinker, but no more the hearts of men.

Philia:

Aye, thus would always speak the science, won

By stern sobriety and intellect.

But that suffices not unto the soul,

That needs a steadfast faith in its own self.

She ever will give heed to words that speak

To her of spirit. All she dimly sensed

In former days, she striveth now to grasp.

To speak of the Unknown may well entice

The thinker, but no more the hearts of men.

Strader:I too can realize how much there liesIn that objection; how it seems to strikeThe idle dreamer, who would only spinThe threads of thought, and seek the consequenceOf this or that premise, which he himselfHath formed beforehand. Me—it touches not—No outer motive guided me to thought.In childhood I grew up ’mid pious folkAnd, following their custom, steeped my soulIn sense-intoxicating imagesOf future sojourn in celestial realms,Wherewith they seek to comfort and beguileMan’s ignorance and man’s simplicity.Within my boyish soul I sensed the throbOf utmost ecstasy, when reverentlyI raised my thoughts to highest spirit-worlds;And prayer was then my heart’s necessity.Thereafter in a cloister was I trained;Monks were my teachers, and in mine own heartThe deepest longing was to be a monk,—An echo of my parents’ ardent wish.For consecration did I stand preparedWhen chance did drive me from the cloistered cell;And to this chance I owe deep gratitude.For, many days before chance saved my soulIt had been robbed of inward peace and quiet;For I had read and learned of many things,That have no place within the cloister-gate.Knowledge of nature’s working came to meFrom books that were forbidden to mine eyes.And thus I learned new scientific thought.Hard was the struggle as I sought the pathWandering through many a way to find mine own;Nor did I ever gain by cunning thoughtWhate’er of truth revealed itself to me.In fierce-fought battles have I torn the rootsFrom out my spirit’s soil of all that broughtPeace and contentment to me when a child.I understand indeed the heart that fainWould soar up to the heights—but for myself,When once I recognized that all I learnedFrom spirit-teaching was an empty dream,I was compelled to find the surer soilThat science and discovery create.

Strader:

I too can realize how much there lies

In that objection; how it seems to strike

The idle dreamer, who would only spin

The threads of thought, and seek the consequence

Of this or that premise, which he himself

Hath formed beforehand. Me—it touches not—

No outer motive guided me to thought.

In childhood I grew up ’mid pious folk

And, following their custom, steeped my soul

In sense-intoxicating images

Of future sojourn in celestial realms,

Wherewith they seek to comfort and beguile

Man’s ignorance and man’s simplicity.

Within my boyish soul I sensed the throb

Of utmost ecstasy, when reverently

I raised my thoughts to highest spirit-worlds;

And prayer was then my heart’s necessity.

Thereafter in a cloister was I trained;

Monks were my teachers, and in mine own heart

The deepest longing was to be a monk,—

An echo of my parents’ ardent wish.

For consecration did I stand prepared

When chance did drive me from the cloistered cell;

And to this chance I owe deep gratitude.

For, many days before chance saved my soul

It had been robbed of inward peace and quiet;

For I had read and learned of many things,

That have no place within the cloister-gate.

Knowledge of nature’s working came to me

From books that were forbidden to mine eyes.

And thus I learned new scientific thought.

Hard was the struggle as I sought the path

Wandering through many a way to find mine own;

Nor did I ever gain by cunning thought

Whate’er of truth revealed itself to me.

In fierce-fought battles have I torn the roots

From out my spirit’s soil of all that brought

Peace and contentment to me when a child.

I understand indeed the heart that fain

Would soar up to the heights—but for myself,

When once I recognized that all I learned

From spirit-teaching was an empty dream,

I was compelled to find the surer soil

That science and discovery create.

Luna:We may surmise, each after his own kind,Where sense and goal of life doth lie for each.I altogether lack the power to proveAccording to the science of today,What spirit-teaching I have here received:But clear within my heart I feel and knowMy soul would die without this spirit-lore,As would my body, if deprived of blood.And thou, dear doctor, ’gainst our cause dost fightWith many words, and what thou now hast toldOf thy life’s conflict lends them weight indeedEven with those who do not understandThy learned argument. Yet would I ask

Luna:

We may surmise, each after his own kind,

Where sense and goal of life doth lie for each.

I altogether lack the power to prove

According to the science of today,

What spirit-teaching I have here received:

But clear within my heart I feel and know

My soul would die without this spirit-lore,

As would my body, if deprived of blood.

And thou, dear doctor, ’gainst our cause dost fight

With many words, and what thou now hast told

Of thy life’s conflict lends them weight indeed

Even with those who do not understand

Thy learned argument. Yet would I ask

(Enter Theodora.)

Exactly why it is that hearts of menReceive the word of Spirit readily,As though self-understood: yet when man seeksFood for his spirit in such learned wordsAs thou didst use his heart grows chill and cold.

Exactly why it is that hearts of men

Receive the word of Spirit readily,

As though self-understood: yet when man seeks

Food for his spirit in such learned words

As thou didst use his heart grows chill and cold.

Theodora:Although I am at home ’mid just such menAs circle round me here, yet strangely soundsThis speech I have just heard.

Theodora:

Although I am at home ’mid just such men

As circle round me here, yet strangely sounds

This speech I have just heard.

Capesius:This speech I have just heard.What strangeness there?

Capesius:

This speech I have just heard.What strangeness there?

Theodora:I may not say. Do thou, Maria, tell.

Theodora:

I may not say. Do thou, Maria, tell.

Maria:Our friend has oftentimes explained to usWhat strange experiences come to her.One day she felt herself completely changed,And none could understand her altered state.Estrangement met her wheresoe’er she turnedUntil she came into our circle here.Not that we fully understand ourselvesWhat she possesses and what no one shares.Yet we are trained by this our mode of thoughtThe unaccustomed to appreciate,And feel with every mood of humankind.One moment in her life, our friend perceived,All that seemed hers aforetime, disappear;The past was all extinguished in her soul.And since these wondrous changes came to her,This mood of soul hath oft renewed itself;It doth not long endure; and other timesShe lives her life as ordinary folk.Yet whensoe’er she falls into this state,The gift of memory doth fade away.She loseth from her eyes the power to seeAnd senseth her surroundings, seeing not.With a peculiar light her eyes then glow,And pictured forms appear to her. At firstThey seemed like dreams; anon they grew so clear,That we could recognize without a doubtSome prophecy of distant future days.Full many a time have we seen this occur.

Maria:

Our friend has oftentimes explained to us

What strange experiences come to her.

One day she felt herself completely changed,

And none could understand her altered state.

Estrangement met her wheresoe’er she turned

Until she came into our circle here.

Not that we fully understand ourselves

What she possesses and what no one shares.

Yet we are trained by this our mode of thought

The unaccustomed to appreciate,

And feel with every mood of humankind.

One moment in her life, our friend perceived,

All that seemed hers aforetime, disappear;

The past was all extinguished in her soul.

And since these wondrous changes came to her,

This mood of soul hath oft renewed itself;

It doth not long endure; and other times

She lives her life as ordinary folk.

Yet whensoe’er she falls into this state,

The gift of memory doth fade away.

She loseth from her eyes the power to see

And senseth her surroundings, seeing not.

With a peculiar light her eyes then glow,

And pictured forms appear to her. At first

They seemed like dreams; anon they grew so clear,

That we could recognize without a doubt

Some prophecy of distant future days.

Full many a time have we seen this occur.

Capesius:It is just this that little pleaseth meAmongst these men; who mingle with good senseAnd logic, superstition’s fallacies.’Twas ever thus where men have walked this path.

Capesius:

It is just this that little pleaseth me

Amongst these men; who mingle with good sense

And logic, superstition’s fallacies.

’Twas ever thus where men have walked this path.

Maria:If thou canst still speak so, thou dost not yetPerceive our attitude towards these things.

Maria:

If thou canst still speak so, thou dost not yet

Perceive our attitude towards these things.

Strader:Well, as for me, I freely must confess,That I would sooner revelations hearThan speak of questionable spirit-themes.For even if I fail to read arightThe riddle of such dreams, yet those at leastI count as facts; and would ’twere possibleTo see one instance of the mysteryOf this strange spirit-mood before mine eyes.

Strader:

Well, as for me, I freely must confess,

That I would sooner revelations hear

Than speak of questionable spirit-themes.

For even if I fail to read aright

The riddle of such dreams, yet those at least

I count as facts; and would ’twere possible

To see one instance of the mystery

Of this strange spirit-mood before mine eyes.

Maria:Perchance it is—for look, she comes again.And it doth seem to me as though e’en nowThis mystic spirit-mood would show itself.

Maria:

Perchance it is—for look, she comes again.

And it doth seem to me as though e’en now

This mystic spirit-mood would show itself.

Theodora:I am compelled to speak. Before my soulA pictured form stands wrapped in robes of light;From which strange words are sounding in mine ears.I feel myself in future centuries,And men do I behold as yet unborn:—They also see the pictured form; they tooCan hear the words it speaks, which thus resound—‘O ye, who lived in faith’s sincerity,Take comfort now in sight, and look on Me.Receive new life through Me. For I am HeWho lived within the souls of those who soughtTo find Me in themselves, by followingThe gospel-words My messengers did bringAnd by their own devotion’s inward power.The light of sense ye saw—believe ye nowIn the creative spirit-world beyond.For now indeed ye have yourselves achievedOne atom of divine prophetic sight.Oh, breathe it deep, and feel it in your souls.’A human form steps from that sphere of light.And speaks to me: ‘Thou shalt make known to allWho will give ear to thee, that thou hast seenWhat all mankind shall soon experience:Once, long ago, Christ lived upon the earth,And from this life ensued the consequenceThat in soul-substance clad He hovers o’erThe evolution of humanity,In union with the earth’s own spirit-sphere;And though as yet invisible to men,When in such form He manifests Himself,Since now their being lacks that spirit sight,Which first will show itself in future times;Yet even now this future draweth nighWhen that new sight shall come to men on earth.What once the senses saw, when Christ did liveUpon the earth; this shall be seen by soulsWhen soon the time shall reach its fulness due.’

Theodora:

I am compelled to speak. Before my soul

A pictured form stands wrapped in robes of light;

From which strange words are sounding in mine ears.

I feel myself in future centuries,

And men do I behold as yet unborn:—

They also see the pictured form; they too

Can hear the words it speaks, which thus resound—

‘O ye, who lived in faith’s sincerity,

Take comfort now in sight, and look on Me.

Receive new life through Me. For I am He

Who lived within the souls of those who sought

To find Me in themselves, by following

The gospel-words My messengers did bring

And by their own devotion’s inward power.

The light of sense ye saw—believe ye now

In the creative spirit-world beyond.

For now indeed ye have yourselves achieved

One atom of divine prophetic sight.

Oh, breathe it deep, and feel it in your souls.’

A human form steps from that sphere of light.

And speaks to me: ‘Thou shalt make known to all

Who will give ear to thee, that thou hast seen

What all mankind shall soon experience:

Once, long ago, Christ lived upon the earth,

And from this life ensued the consequence

That in soul-substance clad He hovers o’er

The evolution of humanity,

In union with the earth’s own spirit-sphere;

And though as yet invisible to men,

When in such form He manifests Himself,

Since now their being lacks that spirit sight,

Which first will show itself in future times;

Yet even now this future draweth nigh

When that new sight shall come to men on earth.

What once the senses saw, when Christ did live

Upon the earth; this shall be seen by souls

When soon the time shall reach its fulness due.’

(Exit.)

Maria:This is the first time we have heard her speakIn such a manner to so many folk.At other times she felt constrained to speech,Only when two or three were gathered round.

Maria:

This is the first time we have heard her speak

In such a manner to so many folk.

At other times she felt constrained to speech,

Only when two or three were gathered round.

Capesius:To me indeed it seems most curious,That she, as though commanded or required,Should find herself to revelation urged.

Capesius:

To me indeed it seems most curious,

That she, as though commanded or required,

Should find herself to revelation urged.

Maria:It may so seem; but we know well her ways.If at this moment she desired to sendHer inward soul-voice deep into your souls,The only reason was, that unto youThe source, whence came her voice, desired to speak.

Maria:

It may so seem; but we know well her ways.

If at this moment she desired to send

Her inward soul-voice deep into your souls,

The only reason was, that unto you

The source, whence came her voice, desired to speak.

Capesius:Concerning this strange future gift of sight,Whereof she spake, as dreaming, we have heardThat he, who of this circle is the soul,Hath oft already given full report.Is it not possible that from his wordsThe content of her speech hath origin,The mode of utterance coming from herself?

Capesius:

Concerning this strange future gift of sight,

Whereof she spake, as dreaming, we have heard

That he, who of this circle is the soul,

Hath oft already given full report.

Is it not possible that from his words

The content of her speech hath origin,

The mode of utterance coming from herself?

Maria:If matters thus did stand, we should not deemHer words of any consequence or weight:But we have tested this condition well.Before she came into our circle here,Our friend had never heard in any wayOf that same leader’s speeches, nor had weHeard aught of her before she came to us.

Maria:

If matters thus did stand, we should not deem

Her words of any consequence or weight:

But we have tested this condition well.

Before she came into our circle here,

Our friend had never heard in any way

Of that same leader’s speeches, nor had we

Heard aught of her before she came to us.

Capesius:Then what we have to deal with is a state,Such as so often happens, contraryTo all the laws of nature; and which weMust merely estimate as some disease.And only healthy thought, securely basedOn fully conscious sense-impressions, canPass judgment on the riddles set by life.

Capesius:

Then what we have to deal with is a state,

Such as so often happens, contrary

To all the laws of nature; and which we

Must merely estimate as some disease.

And only healthy thought, securely based

On fully conscious sense-impressions, can

Pass judgment on the riddles set by life.

Strader:Yet even here one fact presents itself;And what we now have heard must have some worth—For, even if we set aside all elseIt doth compel the thought that spirit-powerCan cause thought-transference from soul to soul.

Strader:

Yet even here one fact presents itself;

And what we now have heard must have some worth—

For, even if we set aside all else

It doth compel the thought that spirit-power

Can cause thought-transference from soul to soul.

Astrid:Ah me, if ye would only dare to treadThe ground your mode of thought doth choose to shun:As snow before the sunlight’s piercing glareYour vain delusion needs must melt away,Which makes the moods revealéd, in such mindsAppear diseased, abnormal, wonderful.They are suggestive, but they are not strange.And small this wonder doth appear to meWhen I compare it with the myriadOf wonders that make up my daily life.

Astrid:

Ah me, if ye would only dare to tread

The ground your mode of thought doth choose to shun:

As snow before the sunlight’s piercing glare

Your vain delusion needs must melt away,

Which makes the moods revealéd, in such minds

Appear diseased, abnormal, wonderful.

They are suggestive, but they are not strange.

And small this wonder doth appear to me

When I compare it with the myriad

Of wonders that make up my daily life.

Capesius:Nay, nay, one thing it is to recognizeWhat lies before our eyes on every side,But quite another, what is shown us here.

Capesius:

Nay, nay, one thing it is to recognize

What lies before our eyes on every side,

But quite another, what is shown us here.

Strader:Of spirit ’tis not necessary to speakUntil there are things shown to us which lieOutside the strictly circled boundarySet by the laws of scientific thought.

Strader:

Of spirit ’tis not necessary to speak

Until there are things shown to us which lie

Outside the strictly circled boundary

Set by the laws of scientific thought.

Astrid:The clear shaft of the sunlight on the dewWhich glistens in the morning’s golden light,

Astrid:

The clear shaft of the sunlight on the dew

Which glistens in the morning’s golden light,

(Enter Felix Balde.)

The hurling stream that riseth ’neath the rock,The thunder rumbling in the cloud-wrapped sky,All these do speak to me a spirit tongue:I strove to understand it; and I knowThat of this speech’s meaning and its might,Only a faint reflection can be glimpsedThrough your investigations, as they are.And when that kind of speech sank deep withinMy heart, I found my soul’s true joy at last.Nor could aught else, but human words aloneAnd spirit teaching grant this gift to me.

The hurling stream that riseth ’neath the rock,

The thunder rumbling in the cloud-wrapped sky,

All these do speak to me a spirit tongue:

I strove to understand it; and I know

That of this speech’s meaning and its might,

Only a faint reflection can be glimpsed

Through your investigations, as they are.

And when that kind of speech sank deep within

My heart, I found my soul’s true joy at last.

Nor could aught else, but human words alone

And spirit teaching grant this gift to me.

Felix Balde:Those words rang true indeed.

Felix Balde:

Those words rang true indeed.

Maria:Those words rang true indeed.I must essayTo tell what joy fills all my heart to see

Maria:

Those words rang true indeed.I must essay

To tell what joy fills all my heart to see

(Enter Felicia Balde.)

For the first time here with us yonder man,Of whom we oft have heard; and joy doth causeThe wish to see him here full many times.

For the first time here with us yonder man,

Of whom we oft have heard; and joy doth cause

The wish to see him here full many times.

Felix Balde:It is not usual for me that I shouldAssociate with such a crowd of men:And not alone unusual——

Felix Balde:

It is not usual for me that I should

Associate with such a crowd of men:

And not alone unusual——

Felicia:And not alone unusual——Aye, ’tis so.His nature drives us into solitudeAway from all; year in, year out, we hearScarce any other converse save our own.And if this good man here from time to time

Felicia:

And not alone unusual——Aye, ’tis so.

His nature drives us into solitude

Away from all; year in, year out, we hear

Scarce any other converse save our own.

And if this good man here from time to time

(Pointing to Capesius.)

Came not to linger in our cottage home,We scarce should realize that other men,Besides ourselves, live on the earth at all.And if the man, who spake such wondrous wordsBut recently in yonder lecture-hall,And who affected us so potently,Did not full many a time my Felix meet,When he is gone about his daily tasks,Ye would know nought of our forgotten life.

Came not to linger in our cottage home,

We scarce should realize that other men,

Besides ourselves, live on the earth at all.

And if the man, who spake such wondrous words

But recently in yonder lecture-hall,

And who affected us so potently,

Did not full many a time my Felix meet,

When he is gone about his daily tasks,

Ye would know nought of our forgotten life.

Maria:So the professor often visits you?

Maria:

So the professor often visits you?

Capesius:Assuredly. And I may tell you all,The very deep indebtedness I feelTo this good woman, who doth give to meIn rich abundance, what none other can.

Capesius:

Assuredly. And I may tell you all,

The very deep indebtedness I feel

To this good woman, who doth give to me

In rich abundance, what none other can.

Maria:And of what nature are these gifts of hers?

Maria:

And of what nature are these gifts of hers?

Capesius:If I would tell the tale, then must I touchA thing that verily doth seem to meMore wonderful than much that here I’ve heard,In that it speaks more nearly to my soul.And were I in some other place, these wordsWould hardly pass the barrier of my lips;Yet here they seem to flow therefrom with ease.In my soul-life there often comes a timeWhen it doth feel itself pumped out and dry.It seems as though the very fountain-headOf knowledge had run dry within my heart.Then can I find no word of any kindWorthy to speak or worthy to be heard.And when I feel such spirit barrennessI flee to these good people, and seek restIn their reviving, peaceful solitudeThen Mistress Felix tells me many a taleSet forth in wondrous pictures, manifold,Of beings, dwelling in the land of dreams,Who lead a joyous life in fairy realms.When thus she speaks, her tone and speech recallSome legend oft-told of the ancient days.I ask no question whence she finds these wordsBut this one thing alone I clearly know:That new life flows therefrom into my soul,And sweeps away its dull paralysis.

Capesius:

If I would tell the tale, then must I touch

A thing that verily doth seem to me

More wonderful than much that here I’ve heard,

In that it speaks more nearly to my soul.

And were I in some other place, these words

Would hardly pass the barrier of my lips;

Yet here they seem to flow therefrom with ease.

In my soul-life there often comes a time

When it doth feel itself pumped out and dry.

It seems as though the very fountain-head

Of knowledge had run dry within my heart.

Then can I find no word of any kind

Worthy to speak or worthy to be heard.

And when I feel such spirit barrenness

I flee to these good people, and seek rest

In their reviving, peaceful solitude

Then Mistress Felix tells me many a tale

Set forth in wondrous pictures, manifold,

Of beings, dwelling in the land of dreams,

Who lead a joyous life in fairy realms.

When thus she speaks, her tone and speech recall

Some legend oft-told of the ancient days.

I ask no question whence she finds these words

But this one thing alone I clearly know:

That new life flows therefrom into my soul,

And sweeps away its dull paralysis.

Maria:To hear such splendid witness to the skillOf Dame Felicia doth, in wondrous wise,Harmoniously blend in every wayWith all that Benedictus told to usAbout his friend’s deep hidden knowledge-founts.

Maria:

To hear such splendid witness to the skill

Of Dame Felicia doth, in wondrous wise,

Harmoniously blend in every way

With all that Benedictus told to us

About his friend’s deep hidden knowledge-founts.

Felix Balde:He who spake words to us just now, which showed

Felix Balde:

He who spake words to us just now, which showed

(Benedictus appears at the door.)

How in the realm of universal space,And vast eternities his spirit dwelt,Hath surely little need to speak o’er muchOf simple men.

How in the realm of universal space,

And vast eternities his spirit dwelt,

Hath surely little need to speak o’er much

Of simple men.

Benedictus:Of simple men.Thou errest friend. For meInfinite value hath each word of thine.

Benedictus:

Of simple men.Thou errest friend. For me

Infinite value hath each word of thine.

Felix Balde:It was presumption only, and the bentOf idle talk, when thou didst honour meTo wander at thy side our mountain paths.Only because thou didst conceal from meHow much thyself dost know, I dared to speak.But now our time is up, and we must go—A long way hence doth lie our quiet home.

Felix Balde:

It was presumption only, and the bent

Of idle talk, when thou didst honour me

To wander at thy side our mountain paths.

Only because thou didst conceal from me

How much thyself dost know, I dared to speak.

But now our time is up, and we must go—

A long way hence doth lie our quiet home.

Felicia:It hath been most refreshing once againTo come amongst mankind: and yet I fearIt will not happen very soon again:There is no other life which Felix deemsBetter than living in his mountain heights.

Felicia:

It hath been most refreshing once again

To come amongst mankind: and yet I fear

It will not happen very soon again:

There is no other life which Felix deems

Better than living in his mountain heights.

(Exeunt Felix and his wife.)

Benedictus:Indeed I well believe his wife is right,Nor will he come again for many days.It needed much to bring him here today.And yet the reason lies not in himselfWhy no one knoweth aught of him or his.

Benedictus:

Indeed I well believe his wife is right,

Nor will he come again for many days.

It needed much to bring him here today.

And yet the reason lies not in himself

Why no one knoweth aught of him or his.

Capesius:He only seemed to me eccentric, strange;And many an hour I found him talkativeWhen I was with him; but his mystic speechAnd strange discourse remained obscure to me,When he revealed all that he claims to know.He spoke of solar beings housed in rocks;Of lunar demons, who disturb their work;And of the sense of number hid in plants;And he who listens to him cannot longKeep clear the thread of meaning in his words.

Capesius:

He only seemed to me eccentric, strange;

And many an hour I found him talkative

When I was with him; but his mystic speech

And strange discourse remained obscure to me,

When he revealed all that he claims to know.

He spoke of solar beings housed in rocks;

Of lunar demons, who disturb their work;

And of the sense of number hid in plants;

And he who listens to him cannot long

Keep clear the thread of meaning in his words.

Benedictus:And yet ’tis also possible to feelAs if the powers of Nature, through these words,Sought to reveal themselves in their true state.

Benedictus:

And yet ’tis also possible to feel

As if the powers of Nature, through these words,

Sought to reveal themselves in their true state.

(Exit.)

Strader:Already do I feel forebodings strangeThat now dark hours are coming in my life.For since the days of cloistered solitude,Where I was taught such knowledge, and therebyStruck to the very darkest depth of soul,Not one experience has stirred me so,As this weird vision of the seeress here.

Strader:

Already do I feel forebodings strange

That now dark hours are coming in my life.

For since the days of cloistered solitude,

Where I was taught such knowledge, and thereby

Struck to the very darkest depth of soul,

Not one experience has stirred me so,

As this weird vision of the seeress here.

Capesius:Indeed I cannot see that aught of thatShould prove unnerving. And I fear, my friend,That if thou once dost lose thy certainty,Dark doubt will soon envelop all thy thought.

Capesius:

Indeed I cannot see that aught of that

Should prove unnerving. And I fear, my friend,

That if thou once dost lose thy certainty,

Dark doubt will soon envelop all thy thought.

Strader:Too true! And ’tis the fear of just this doubtThat causeth me full many an anxious hourFrom my experience I know nought elseOf this strange gift of seership, save that whenLife’s vexing problems sorely trouble me,Then, ghostlike, riseth from dark spirit-depths,Before my spirit’s eyes, some phantom formLike some dream-being, grim and terrible,Pressing with fearful weight upon my soul,And clutching horribly around my heart.It seems to speak right through me words like these:‘If thou dost fail to gain the victoryO’er me with those blunt weapons of thy thought,Thou art a fleeting phantom, nothing more,Formed by thine own deluded imagery.’

Strader:

Too true! And ’tis the fear of just this doubt

That causeth me full many an anxious hour

From my experience I know nought else

Of this strange gift of seership, save that when

Life’s vexing problems sorely trouble me,

Then, ghostlike, riseth from dark spirit-depths,

Before my spirit’s eyes, some phantom form

Like some dream-being, grim and terrible,

Pressing with fearful weight upon my soul,

And clutching horribly around my heart.

It seems to speak right through me words like these:

‘If thou dost fail to gain the victory

O’er me with those blunt weapons of thy thought,

Thou art a fleeting phantom, nothing more,

Formed by thine own deluded imagery.’

Theodosius:That is the destiny of all such men,As do approach the world by thought alone.The spirit’s voice dwells deep in every soul.Nor have we strength to pierce the coveringThat spreads itself before our faculties.Thought doth bring knowledge of things temporal,Of things that vanish in the course of time:The everlasting and all spirit-truthAre found but in the inner depths of man.

Theodosius:

That is the destiny of all such men,

As do approach the world by thought alone.

The spirit’s voice dwells deep in every soul.

Nor have we strength to pierce the covering

That spreads itself before our faculties.

Thought doth bring knowledge of things temporal,

Of things that vanish in the course of time:

The everlasting and all spirit-truth

Are found but in the inner depths of man.

Strader:If, then, the fruitage of a pious faithIs able to give rest to weary souls,Such souls may wander safely in that path,And find sufficiency within themselves.And yet the power of knowledge, pure and true,Doth never bloom on such a path as this.

Strader:

If, then, the fruitage of a pious faith

Is able to give rest to weary souls,

Such souls may wander safely in that path,

And find sufficiency within themselves.

And yet the power of knowledge, pure and true,

Doth never bloom on such a path as this.

Theodosius:Yet there can be no other way to lightTrue spirit-knowledge in the hearts of men.Pride may seduce and change to fantasiesThe soul’s true depths of feeling, and may seeA vision only where faith’s beauty lies.One thing alone of all we here have heardFrom spirit-teaching of the higher worlds,Strikes clear upon our honest human sense:That only in the spirit-world itselfThe soul can feel itself in its true home.

Theodosius:

Yet there can be no other way to light

True spirit-knowledge in the hearts of men.

Pride may seduce and change to fantasies

The soul’s true depths of feeling, and may see

A vision only where faith’s beauty lies.

One thing alone of all we here have heard

From spirit-teaching of the higher worlds,

Strikes clear upon our honest human sense:

That only in the spirit-world itself

The soul can feel itself in its true home.

The Other Maria:So long as man feels need of speech alone,And nought besides, so long such words as theseMay satisfy him: but the fuller lifeWith all its strife, its yearnings after joy,And all its sorrow, needeth other foodTo nourish and sustain the fainting soul.For me, an inner voice did drive me onTo spend all the remaining days of lifeWhich were allotted me, in helping thoseWhom stress of destiny had smitten downAnd plunged in deepest poverty and need.And far more oft I found it necessaryTo soothe the anguish of the soul of manThan heal his body’s pain and suffering.But I have felt indeed in many waysMy will’s weak impotence to comfort men.So that I am compelled to seek fresh strengthFrom out the treasured store which floweth forthAbundantly from spirit-sources here.The quickening warmth of words which greet mine ear,Flows forth with magic force into my hands;And thence, like healing balsam, forth again,When those hands touch some sorrow-laden soul.It changeth on my lips to strengthening wordsWhich carry comfort unto pain-racked hearts.The source of words like these I do not ask;I feel their truth—they give me living life.And every day more clearly do I see,That they derive their strength not from my willIn all its weakness, but create anewMyself each day unto myself again.

The Other Maria:

So long as man feels need of speech alone,

And nought besides, so long such words as these

May satisfy him: but the fuller life

With all its strife, its yearnings after joy,

And all its sorrow, needeth other food

To nourish and sustain the fainting soul.

For me, an inner voice did drive me on

To spend all the remaining days of life

Which were allotted me, in helping those

Whom stress of destiny had smitten down

And plunged in deepest poverty and need.

And far more oft I found it necessary

To soothe the anguish of the soul of man

Than heal his body’s pain and suffering.

But I have felt indeed in many ways

My will’s weak impotence to comfort men.

So that I am compelled to seek fresh strength

From out the treasured store which floweth forth

Abundantly from spirit-sources here.

The quickening warmth of words which greet mine ear,

Flows forth with magic force into my hands;

And thence, like healing balsam, forth again,

When those hands touch some sorrow-laden soul.

It changeth on my lips to strengthening words

Which carry comfort unto pain-racked hearts.

The source of words like these I do not ask;

I feel their truth—they give me living life.

And every day more clearly do I see,

That they derive their strength not from my will

In all its weakness, but create anew

Myself each day unto myself again.

Capesius:Yet surely there are men enough on earthWho, though they lack such revelation’s aid,Perform innumerable deeds of good?

Capesius:

Yet surely there are men enough on earth

Who, though they lack such revelation’s aid,

Perform innumerable deeds of good?

Maria:In sooth there is no lack of men like theseIn many places; but my friend doth meanA different thing; and if thou didst but knowThe life she led, thou wouldst speak otherwise.Where unused powers in full abundance dwellThere love will cause the seed to germinateIn rich abundance in the heart’s good soil.But our friend here exhausted life’s best powersIn never-ending toil beyond her strength;And all her will to live lay crushed and deadBeneath the cruel weight of destiny,Which fell upon her. All her strength she gaveTo careful guidance of her children’s weal:And low already had her courage ebbedWhen early death took her loved husband home.In such a state as this, days dull and drearSeemed all fate had in store whilst life remained.But then the powers of destiny prevailedTo bring her ’neath the spell of spirit-lore;And soon with us she felt the vital forceOf life break forth in her a second time.Fresh aims in life she found, and with them cameFresh courage once again to fight and strive.And thus in her the spirit hath achievedIn very truth to fashion from decayA new and living personality.And when the spirit in such fruit as thisShows its creative potency, we learnIts nature, and the way it speaks to us.And, if no pride lies hidden in our speech,And highest moral aims live in our hearts;If we believe that in no way at allOur teaching is our own;—but that aloneThe spirit shows itself within our souls—Then may we surely venture to assertThat in thy mode of thinking may be foundBut feeble shadows waving to and froAthwart the real true source of human life:And that the spirit, which ensouls our workIs linked in inward harmony with allThat weaves the web of destiny for manDeep in the very fundaments of life.I have been privileged for many yearsTo give myself to vital work in life:And during all this time more bleeding heartsAnd yearning souls have come before mine eyes,Than many would conceive were possible.I do esteem thy high ideal flight,The proud assurance of thy sciences:I like to see the student-audience,Respectful, sit and listen at thy feet:And that to many souls thy work doth bringEnnobling clarity of thought, I know.But yet regarding thought like this, it seems,Trustworthiness can only dwell thereinSo long as thought lives in itself alone.Whereas the realm of which I am a partSends into deep realities of lifeThe fruitage of its words, since it desiresTo plant in deep realities its roots.Far, far away from all thy thought doth lieThe written word upon the spirit-heavenWhich with momentous tokens doth announceNew growth upon the tree of humankind.And though indeed such thought seems clear and sureAs follows faithfully the ancient path,Yet can it only touch the tree’s coarse bark,And never reach the marrow’s living power.

Maria:

In sooth there is no lack of men like these

In many places; but my friend doth mean

A different thing; and if thou didst but know

The life she led, thou wouldst speak otherwise.

Where unused powers in full abundance dwell

There love will cause the seed to germinate

In rich abundance in the heart’s good soil.

But our friend here exhausted life’s best powers

In never-ending toil beyond her strength;

And all her will to live lay crushed and dead

Beneath the cruel weight of destiny,

Which fell upon her. All her strength she gave

To careful guidance of her children’s weal:

And low already had her courage ebbed

When early death took her loved husband home.

In such a state as this, days dull and drear

Seemed all fate had in store whilst life remained.

But then the powers of destiny prevailed

To bring her ’neath the spell of spirit-lore;

And soon with us she felt the vital force

Of life break forth in her a second time.

Fresh aims in life she found, and with them came

Fresh courage once again to fight and strive.

And thus in her the spirit hath achieved

In very truth to fashion from decay

A new and living personality.

And when the spirit in such fruit as this

Shows its creative potency, we learn

Its nature, and the way it speaks to us.

And, if no pride lies hidden in our speech,

And highest moral aims live in our hearts;

If we believe that in no way at all

Our teaching is our own;—but that alone

The spirit shows itself within our souls—

Then may we surely venture to assert

That in thy mode of thinking may be found

But feeble shadows waving to and fro

Athwart the real true source of human life:

And that the spirit, which ensouls our work

Is linked in inward harmony with all

That weaves the web of destiny for man

Deep in the very fundaments of life.

I have been privileged for many years

To give myself to vital work in life:

And during all this time more bleeding hearts

And yearning souls have come before mine eyes,

Than many would conceive were possible.

I do esteem thy high ideal flight,

The proud assurance of thy sciences:

I like to see the student-audience,

Respectful, sit and listen at thy feet:

And that to many souls thy work doth bring

Ennobling clarity of thought, I know.

But yet regarding thought like this, it seems,

Trustworthiness can only dwell therein

So long as thought lives in itself alone.

Whereas the realm of which I am a part

Sends into deep realities of life

The fruitage of its words, since it desires

To plant in deep realities its roots.

Far, far away from all thy thought doth lie

The written word upon the spirit-heaven

Which with momentous tokens doth announce

New growth upon the tree of humankind.

And though indeed such thought seems clear and sure

As follows faithfully the ancient path,

Yet can it only touch the tree’s coarse bark,

And never reach the marrow’s living power.

Romanus:For my part I do seek in vain the bridgeThat truly leadeth from ideas to deeds.

Romanus:

For my part I do seek in vain the bridge

That truly leadeth from ideas to deeds.

Capesius:On one side thou dost over-estimateThe power which can be wielded by ideas,And on the other thou dost fail to graspThe actual course of true reality:For it is certain that ideas must formThe germ of all the actual deeds of men.

Capesius:

On one side thou dost over-estimate

The power which can be wielded by ideas,

And on the other thou dost fail to grasp

The actual course of true reality:

For it is certain that ideas must form

The germ of all the actual deeds of men.

Romanus:If this friend doth so many deeds of good,The impulse thereunto lies in herselfAnd her warm-hearted nature, not in thought.Most certainly ’tis necessary for man,Whene’er he hath accomplished any work,To find foundation for it in ideas.But yet ’tis only schooling of man’s willIn harmony with all his skill and powerTo undertake some real work in lifeWhich will help forward all the human race.When whirr of busy wheels sounds in mine ears,Or when I see some creaking windlass drawnBy strong stout hands of men content to work,Then do I sense indeed the powers of Life.

Romanus:

If this friend doth so many deeds of good,

The impulse thereunto lies in herself

And her warm-hearted nature, not in thought.

Most certainly ’tis necessary for man,

Whene’er he hath accomplished any work,

To find foundation for it in ideas.

But yet ’tis only schooling of man’s will

In harmony with all his skill and power

To undertake some real work in life

Which will help forward all the human race.

When whirr of busy wheels sounds in mine ears,

Or when I see some creaking windlass drawn

By strong stout hands of men content to work,

Then do I sense indeed the powers of Life.

Germanus:Often in careless speech have I maintainedThat I preferred things droll and humorousAnd held these only full of wit and charm,Deeming that for my brain at any rate,They always would provide materialBest fitted to fill up the time that liesBetween my recreation and my work.But now quite tasteless to me seem such things;The Power Invisible hath conquered me;And I have learned to feel that there may beMore powerful forces in humanity,Than all our wit’s frail castles in the air.

Germanus:

Often in careless speech have I maintained

That I preferred things droll and humorous

And held these only full of wit and charm,

Deeming that for my brain at any rate,

They always would provide material

Best fitted to fill up the time that lies

Between my recreation and my work.

But now quite tasteless to me seem such things;

The Power Invisible hath conquered me;

And I have learned to feel that there may be

More powerful forces in humanity,

Than all our wit’s frail castles in the air.

Capesius:And did it seem that nowhere else but here’Twas possible to find such spirit-powers?

Capesius:

And did it seem that nowhere else but here

’Twas possible to find such spirit-powers?

Germanus:Indeed the life I lived did offer meFull many a type of intellectual works:Yet cared I not to pluck or taste their fruit.But this strange mode of thought which blossoms hereSeemed to attract and draw me to itselfHowever little I desired to come.

Germanus:

Indeed the life I lived did offer me

Full many a type of intellectual works:

Yet cared I not to pluck or taste their fruit.

But this strange mode of thought which blossoms here

Seemed to attract and draw me to itself

However little I desired to come.

Capesius:Most pleasant hath this hour of converse been,And we are debtors to our hostess here.

Capesius:

Most pleasant hath this hour of converse been,

And we are debtors to our hostess here.

(Exeunt all, except Maria and Johannes.)

Johannes:Oh, stay a little while yet by my side,I am afraid:—so desperately afraid:—

Johannes:

Oh, stay a little while yet by my side,

I am afraid:—so desperately afraid:—

Maria:What is it aileth thee, my friend? Speak forth.

Maria:

What is it aileth thee, my friend? Speak forth.

Johannes:The first cause was our leader’s speech; and thenThe chequered converse of these people here.It all hath moved and stirred me through and through.

Johannes:

The first cause was our leader’s speech; and then

The chequered converse of these people here.

It all hath moved and stirred me through and through.

Maria:But how could simple speeches such as theseSeize on thine heart with such intensity?

Maria:

But how could simple speeches such as these

Seize on thine heart with such intensity?

Johannes:Each word seemed in that moment unto meA dreadful symbol of our nothingness.

Johannes:

Each word seemed in that moment unto me

A dreadful symbol of our nothingness.

Maria:Indeed it was significant to seePour forth in such short time so many kindsOf life and man’s conflicting tendencies,In all the speeches that we lately heard.Yet ’tis indeed a most peculiar traitOf life, as it is lived amongst us here,To bring to speech the inner mind of man;And much that otherwise comes slowly forth,Stands here revealed in little space of time.

Maria:

Indeed it was significant to see

Pour forth in such short time so many kinds

Of life and man’s conflicting tendencies,

In all the speeches that we lately heard.

Yet ’tis indeed a most peculiar trait

Of life, as it is lived amongst us here,

To bring to speech the inner mind of man;

And much that otherwise comes slowly forth,

Stands here revealed in little space of time.

Johannes:A mirrored picture ’twas of fullest lifeThat showed me to myself in clearest lines:This spirit-revelation makes me feelThat most of us protect and train one traitAnd one alone in all our character,Which thus persuades itself it is the whole.I sought to unify these many traitsIn mine own self and boldly trod the pathWhich here is shown, to lead unto that goal;And it hath made of me a nothingness.Keenly I feel what all these others lack,And yet I sense as keenly that they allHave actual part in life itself, whilst IStand but on unsubstantial nothingness.It seemed whole lines of life ran into oneSignificant in those brief speeches here.But then mine own life’s portrait also roseAnd stood forth vividly within my soul.The days of childhood first were painted there,With all its fulness and its joy in life:Then came the picture of my youthful primeWith that proud hopefulness in parent-heartsAwakened by the talents of their son.Then dreams concerning my career in art,Which formed life’s all in those old happy days,Surged up from out my spirit’s inmost depthsExhorting to fulfil my cherished hopes;And then those dreams in which thyself didst seeHow I translated into coloured formThe spirit-life that liveth in thy soul.

Johannes:

A mirrored picture ’twas of fullest life

That showed me to myself in clearest lines:

This spirit-revelation makes me feel

That most of us protect and train one trait

And one alone in all our character,

Which thus persuades itself it is the whole.

I sought to unify these many traits

In mine own self and boldly trod the path

Which here is shown, to lead unto that goal;

And it hath made of me a nothingness.

Keenly I feel what all these others lack,

And yet I sense as keenly that they all

Have actual part in life itself, whilst I

Stand but on unsubstantial nothingness.

It seemed whole lines of life ran into one

Significant in those brief speeches here.

But then mine own life’s portrait also rose

And stood forth vividly within my soul.

The days of childhood first were painted there,

With all its fulness and its joy in life:

Then came the picture of my youthful prime

With that proud hopefulness in parent-hearts

Awakened by the talents of their son.

Then dreams concerning my career in art,

Which formed life’s all in those old happy days,

Surged up from out my spirit’s inmost depths

Exhorting to fulfil my cherished hopes;

And then those dreams in which thyself didst see

How I translated into coloured form

The spirit-life that liveth in thy soul.

Then saw I tongues of fire spring up and lickAround my youthful dreams and artist hopes,Reducing all to dust and nothingness.Thereafter rose another pictured formFrom out that drear and dreadful nothingness—A human form, which once had linked its fateIn faithful love with mine in days long past.She sought to hold me by her when I turnedLong years ago unto my home again,Called to attend my mother’s funeral rites.I heeded not, but tore myself away.For mighty was the power that drew me hereTo this thy circle and the goals of lifeWhich here are set before our eager gaze.In those dark days I felt no sense of guiltWhen I did rend in twain the bond of love,That was unto another soul its life.Nor later when the message came to meHow that her life did slowly pine away,And finally was altogether quenchedDid I feel aught of guilt until today;But full of meaning were those recent wordsIn yonder chamber which our leader spake;How that we may destroy by power misusedAnd perverse thought the destiny of thoseWhom bonds of loving trust link to our souls.Ah, hideously these words again resoundOut of the picture, thence re-echoingWith ghastly repetition from all sides:‘Her murderer thou art! her hast thou slain!’Thus whilst this weighty speech hath been for allThe motive to probe deep within themselves,Within my heart it hath brought forth aloneThe consciousness of this most grievous guilt.By this new means of sight I can perceiveHow far astray my striving footsteps erred.

Then saw I tongues of fire spring up and lick

Around my youthful dreams and artist hopes,

Reducing all to dust and nothingness.

Thereafter rose another pictured form

From out that drear and dreadful nothingness—

A human form, which once had linked its fate

In faithful love with mine in days long past.

She sought to hold me by her when I turned

Long years ago unto my home again,

Called to attend my mother’s funeral rites.

I heeded not, but tore myself away.

For mighty was the power that drew me here

To this thy circle and the goals of life

Which here are set before our eager gaze.

In those dark days I felt no sense of guilt

When I did rend in twain the bond of love,

That was unto another soul its life.

Nor later when the message came to me

How that her life did slowly pine away,

And finally was altogether quenched

Did I feel aught of guilt until today;

But full of meaning were those recent words

In yonder chamber which our leader spake;

How that we may destroy by power misused

And perverse thought the destiny of those

Whom bonds of loving trust link to our souls.

Ah, hideously these words again resound

Out of the picture, thence re-echoing

With ghastly repetition from all sides:

‘Her murderer thou art! her hast thou slain!’

Thus whilst this weighty speech hath been for all

The motive to probe deep within themselves,

Within my heart it hath brought forth alone

The consciousness of this most grievous guilt.

By this new means of sight I can perceive

How far astray my striving footsteps erred.

Maria:And at this moment, friend, in dark domainsThou walkest, and none else can help thee there,Save he, in whom we all do put our trust.

Maria:

And at this moment, friend, in dark domains

Thou walkest, and none else can help thee there,

Save he, in whom we all do put our trust.

(Maria is called away; re-enter Helena.)

Helena:I feel constrained to linger by thy sideA little while; since now for many weeksThy gaze hath held so much of grief and care.How can the light, which streams so radiantlyBring gloom unto thy soul, which only strivesWith utmost strength to seek and know the truth?

Helena:

I feel constrained to linger by thy side

A little while; since now for many weeks

Thy gaze hath held so much of grief and care.

How can the light, which streams so radiantly

Bring gloom unto thy soul, which only strives

With utmost strength to seek and know the truth?

Johannes:Hath then this light brought naught but joy to thee?

Johannes:

Hath then this light brought naught but joy to thee?

Helena:Not the same joy as that which once I knew,But that new joy which springeth from those words,Through which the spirit doth reveal itself.

Helena:

Not the same joy as that which once I knew,

But that new joy which springeth from those words,

Through which the spirit doth reveal itself.

Johannes:Natheless I tell thee that the self-same power,Which doth in thee create, can also crush.

Johannes:

Natheless I tell thee that the self-same power,

Which doth in thee create, can also crush.

Helena:Some error must have crept into thy soulWith cunning tread, if this be possible;And if dull care instead of happiness,And moods of sorrow flow forth from the sourceOf truth itself instead of spirit-blissIn free abundance: seek then in thyselfThe stumbling-blocks that thus impede thy way.How often are we told that only healthIs the true fruitage of our teaching here,Which makes to blossom forth the powers of life.Shall it then show the contrary in thee?I see its fruitage in so many lives,Which, trusting me, find union in themselves.Their former mode of life grows day by dayStrange and still stranger to such souls as these;As well-springs are fresh opened in their hearts,Thenceforth renewing life within themselves.To gaze into the primal depths of beingDoth not create those passionate desiresWhich torture and torment the souls of men.

Helena:

Some error must have crept into thy soul

With cunning tread, if this be possible;

And if dull care instead of happiness,

And moods of sorrow flow forth from the source

Of truth itself instead of spirit-bliss

In free abundance: seek then in thyself

The stumbling-blocks that thus impede thy way.

How often are we told that only health

Is the true fruitage of our teaching here,

Which makes to blossom forth the powers of life.

Shall it then show the contrary in thee?

I see its fruitage in so many lives,

Which, trusting me, find union in themselves.

Their former mode of life grows day by day

Strange and still stranger to such souls as these;

As well-springs are fresh opened in their hearts,

Thenceforth renewing life within themselves.

To gaze into the primal depths of being

Doth not create those passionate desires

Which torture and torment the souls of men.

(Exit.)

Johannes:It took me many years to understandAnd know the vanity of things of senseWhen spirit-knowledge is not joined with themIn close and intimate companionship:And yet one single moment proves to meThat e’en the highest wisdom’s words may beBut vanity of soul in man’s own self.

Johannes:

It took me many years to understand

And know the vanity of things of sense

When spirit-knowledge is not joined with them

In close and intimate companionship:

And yet one single moment proves to me

That e’en the highest wisdom’s words may be

But vanity of soul in man’s own self.

Curtain

Back to IndexNext