Scene 7

The domain of spirit: a scene of various coloured crystal rocks and a few trees. Maria, Philia, Astrid, Luna; the child; Johannes, first at a distance, then coming nearer; Theodora; lastly Benedictus.

Maria:

Ye sisters, who so often proved of old

My helpers, help me also in this hour;

That I may cause to vibrate in itself

The ether of the worlds. Let it resound

In harmony, and thus resounding reach

And permeate a soul with knowledge true.

Signs can I see which guide us to our work;

For your work must unite itself with mine.

Johannes, he who strives, by our designs

To real existence shall be lifted up.

The brethren in the temple counsel took

How they should guide him to the heights of light

Out of the depths, and they expect of us

To fill his soul with power for such high flight.

Thou shalt absorb for me, my Philia,

The light’s clear essence from the breadths of space;

And fill thyself with all the charm of sound,

Which wells from out the soul’s creative power;

That thou mayst then impart to me the gifts

Which thou dost gather from the spirit’s depths.

Then can I weave their perfect harmonies

In the soul-stirring rhythmic dance of spheres.

Thou, Astrid, too, loved mirror of my soul,

Thou shalt produce within the flowing light,

The power of shade that colours may shine forth;

Thou shalt give shape to formless harmonies,

That as world-substance weaveth to and fro

It may sound forth upon its living way.

So am I able to entrust to man,

When he doth seek, a spirit-consciousness.

And thou, strong Luna, firm in thine own self,

E’en like the living marrow, which doth grow

Within the centre of the tree, do thou

Unite unto thy sisters’ gifts thine own;

Impress thereon thy personality,

That he who seeks may wisdom’s surety find.

Philia:

With clearest essence of the light will I

From world-wide breadths of space myself imbue;

From distant ether-bounds will I breathe deep

Living sound-substance that such things may cause

Thy work, beloved sister, to succeed.

Astrid:

I will weave through the beaming web of light

Subduing darkness, and I will condense

The living sounds, that, sounding, they may glow,

And glowing, sound; that thou mayst thus direct,

Beloved sister, soul-life’s radiant beam.

Luna:

Soul-substance will I warm; and will make hard

The living ether; that they may condense,

And feel themselves as living entities

With active power to fashion their own life;

That thou, beloved sister, mayst create

True wisdom’s surety in man’s seeking soul.

Maria:

From Philia’s realm shall stream forth conscious joy;

And water nymphs with their transforming power

Shall then unfold receptiveness of soul;

That the awakened one may undergo

And live the mirth and sorrow of the world.

From Astrid’s web shall grow the joy of love;

And sylphs, that live in air, shall then incite

The soul’s desire to willing sacrifice;

That thus the consecrated one may give

New life to sorrow-laden souls of men,

And comfort those who crave for happiness.

From Luna’s power shall stream forth solid strength;

And salamanders with their fiery breath

Shall then create security of soul;

That he who knows may find himself again

In weaving soul-streams and the life of worlds.

Philia:

I shall implore the spirits of the world

That their own being’s light may so enchant

The senses of the soul; and their words’ sound

So fill with happiness the spirit ears;

That he, whose wakening nears, may thus ascend

The path of souls unto celestial heights.

Astrid:

The streams of love, which warm the worlds, will I

Direct unto his consecrated heart;

That he may bring into his work on earth

The grace of heaven, and create desire

For consecration in the hearts of men.

Luna:

From earth’s primeval powers will I implore

Courage and strength, that may lay them deep

Within the seeker’s heart; that confidence

In his own Self may guide him through his life.

Then shall he feel secure in his own soul

And pluck each moment’s ripened fruit, and draw

The seeds therefrom to found eternities.

Maria:

With you, my sisters, joined in noble work

I shall succeed in what I long to do.

But hark! There rises to our world of light

The cry of him who hath been sorely tried.

(Johannes appears.)

Johannes:

’Tis thou, Maria! Then my suffering

Hath at the last born richest fruit for me.

It hath withdrawn me from the phantom shape

Which I at first did make out of myself,

And which then held me fast, a prisoner.

Pain do I thank for thus enabling me

To reach thee o’er the pathways of the soul.

Maria:

And what then was the path that led thee here?

Johannes:

I felt myself from bonds of sense released:

My sight was freed from that close barrier,

Which hid all but the present from mine eyes.

Quite otherwise I viewed the life of one

I knew on earth, and looked beyond the space

Bound by the present moment’s narrow ring.

Capesius, who in his older years

Hath but employed the sight of sense—this man

The spirit placed before my soul a youth,

As first he entered on life’s thorny path

Full of those dreams of hope, which ofttimes brought

A group of faithful hearers to his feet.

And Strader, also could I see e’en thus

As he appeared in earthly life when young,

E’er he had full outgrown his cloistered youth:

And I could see what he might once have been,

If he had followed out in that same way

The goal he set before himself of old.

And only those who in their earthly life

Are filled already with the spirit’s power

Appear unchanged within the spirit-realms.

Both Dame Felicia and good Felix too

Had kept the forms in which they lived on earth,

When I beheld them with my spirit’s sight.

And then my guides showed kindness unto me,

And spake of gifts which shall one day be mine

When I can reach to wisdom’s lofty heights.

And many things besides have I beheld

With spirit-organs which sense-sight at first

Had shown to me in its own narrow way.

For judgment’s all-illuminating light

Irradiated this new world of mine.

But whether I lived in some shadowy dream,

Or whether spirit-truth surrounded me

Already, I could not as yet decide.

Whether my spirit-sight was really stirred

By other things, or whether mine own self

Expanded into some world of its own,

I knew not. Then didst thou appear thyself;

Not as thou seemest at the present time,

Nor as the past beheld thee; nay—I saw

Thee as thou art in spirit evermore.

Not human was thy nature: in thy soul

Clear could I recognize the spirit-light,

Which worked not as man clothed in flesh doth work.

As spirit did it act, that strives to do

Such work as in eternity hath root.

And only now, when I dare stand complete

In spirit nigh thee, doth the full light glow.

In thee my sight of sense already grasped

Reality so fast, that certainty

Doth meet me even here in spirit-realms;

And well I know that now before me stands

No phantom shape. ’Tis thy true character

In which I met thee yonder, and in which

’Tis now permitted me to meet thee here.

Theodora:

I feel compelled to speak. A glow of light

From out thy brow, Maria, upward mounts.

This glow takes shape, and grows to human form.

It is a man with spirit deep imbued,

And other men do gather round his feet.

I gaze into dim times, long passed away

On that good man who rose from out thy head:

His eyes do shine with perfect peace of soul;

And deep true feeling glows in every line

And feature of his noble countenance.

A woman facing him mine eye doth see,

Who listens with devotion to the words

Proceeding from his mouth; which words I hear,

And thus they sound: ‘Ye have unto your gods

Looked up with awed devotion until now.

These gods I love, as ye love them yourselves.

They did present unto your thought its power,

And planted courage in your heart; but yet

Their gifts spring from a higher spirit still.’

I see how rage doth spread amongst the throng

At this man’s words. I hear their mad wild cries:

‘Kill him; for he desires to take from us

The gifts the gods have given to our race.’

But unconcernedly the man speaks on.

He tells now of that God in human form,

Who did descend to earth and conquer death.

He tells of Christ; and as his words flow on

The souls around grow calm and pacified.

One only of the heathen hearts resists,

And swears it will wreak vengeance on the man.

I recognize this heart; it beats again

In yonder child, that nestles at thy side.

The messenger of Christ speaks to it thus:

‘Thy fate doth not permit thee to draw nigh

In this life; but I shall wait patiently,

For thy path leads thee to me in the end.’

The woman who doth stand before the man

Falls at his feet and feels herself transformed.

A soul prays to the God in human form;

A heart doth love God’s messenger on earth.

(Johannes sinks upon his knees before Maria.)

Maria:

Johannes, that which dawneth in thy mind

Thou shalt awaken to full consciousness.

E’en now within thee hath thy memory

Wrenched itself free from fetterings of sense.

Thou hast found me, and thou hast felt myself,

As we were joined in former life on earth.

Thou wast the woman whom the seeress saw,

For so didst thou lie prostrate at my feet,

When I as messenger of Christ did come

Unto thy tribe in days long since gone by.

What in Hibernia’s consecrated shrines

Was then entrusted to me by that God,

Who dwelt in human form, and did become

A conqueror o’er all the powers of death,

I had to bring to tribes, in whom still lived

A soul that brought a willing sacrifice,

To mighty Odin, and with sorrow thought

Upon the death of Balder, god of light.

The power, which from that message grew in thee,

Attracted thee to me from the first day

Thine eyes of sense beheld me in this life.

And since it strove so mightily in us,

And yet remained unrecognized by both,

It wove into our life those sufferings,

Which we o’ercame. Yet in that pain itself

There lay the power to guide us on our way

To spirit-realms, where we might recognize

And know in very truth each other’s soul.

Intolerably did thy pain increase

Through all the men who thronged thee round about,

With whom by fate’s decree thou art conjoined.

Hence was the revelation of their selves

Able so fiercely to convulse thine heart.

These men hath Karma gathered round thee now,

To wake in thee the power that once did urge

Thee on the path of life, which selfsame power

Hath thus far roused thee, that, from body freed,

Thou couldst ascend into the spirit-world.

Thou standest nearest to my soul, since thou

Hast kept through pain thy steadfast faith in me.

And therefore hath it fallen to my lot

That consecration to complete in thee,

To which thou owest this thy spirit-light.

The brethren, who within the temple serve,

Have wakened sight in thee; yet canst thou know

That what thou seest is very truth indeed,

Only when thou dost find in spirit-realms

A being, unto whom in worlds of sense

Thou wast united in thine inmost soul.

And that this being might thus meet thee here,

Before thee did the brethren send me out.

And this did prove the hardest of thy tests,

When I was summoned here to wait for thee.

Our leader, Benedictus, did I ask

To solve for me the riddle of my life,

That seemed to be so cruel and unkind;

And blessedness streamed from his every word,

Telling of his own mission and of mine.

He told me of the spirit I must serve

With all the power which I have found in me.

And at his words it seemed to me as though,

All in a moment clearest spirit-light

Streamed through and through my soul, and suffering

Was changed to joyous blessedness; one thought

Alone then filled my soul;—he gave me light,

Yea, light, that gave to me the power of sight;—

It was the will that lived within the thought

Wholly to give myself to spirit-life,

To make me ready for the sacrifice

Which would unto our leader draw me near.

This thought did generate the highest power:

It gave wings to my soul and wafted me

Into that realm where thou hast found me now.

In that same moment when I felt released

From my sense body, I was free to turn

My spirit’s eye upon thee, and I saw

Not only thee, Johannes, standing there;

I saw the woman too, that followed me

In ancient times; and had bound close to mine

Her destiny. E’en thus was spirit-truth

Revealed to me in spirit-realms through thee,

Who in the world of sense already wast

Made one with me in inmost consciousness.

So did I gain this spirit-certainty

And was endowed to give it unto thee.

Sending a ray of highest, tenderest love

To Benedictus, I went on before;

And he hath given unto thee the power

To follow me into the spirit-spheres.

(Benedictus appears.)

Benedictus:

Ye here have found yourselves in spirit-realms

And so it is permitted unto me

To stand once more beside you in these realms.

I could confer the power that urged you here,

But I could not conduct you here myself.

Thus read the law, which I must needs obey:—

Ye must through your own selves first gain the eye

Of spirit, which doth here make visible

My spirit to you. Ye have just begun

E’en now the path of spirit-pilgrimage.

Henceforth indeed upon the plane of sense

Endowed with novel powers shall ye both stand,

And with the spirit in your hearts unsealed

The cause of human progress shall ye serve,

For Fate itself hath so united you,

That ye together may unfold the powers

Which needs must serve divine creative work.

And as ye journey on the path of souls

Wisdom herself will teach you that the heights

May only be obtained by souls of men,

Who have gained spirit-certainty, when they

Unite in faith to do salvation’s work.

My spirit-guidance hath united you

To realize each other: now do ye

Unite yourselves to do the spirit’s work.

May powers that dwell within this realm confer

On you through these my lips this Word of strength:—

‘The weaving essence of the light streams forth

From man to man to fill all worlds with truth.

The grace of love spreads warmth from soul to soul

To work out bliss eternal for all worlds.

And spirit-messengers come forth to wed

Man’s works of love and grace to cosmic aims.

And when a man who dwells amongst mankind

Can wed these twain, there doth stream forth on earth

True spirit-light from his warm loving soul.’

Curtain

Interlude

Scene: same as in the Prelude. The day after the play to which Estella, in the Prelude, invited her friend to accompany her.

Sophia:

Forgive me, dear Estelle, for keeping you waiting. I had to attend to something for the children.

Estella:

Here I am back again with you already. I long for your sympathy, whenever anything stirs me deeply.

Sophia:

Well, you know that I shall always sympathize most warmly with you in your interests.

Estella:

This play, of which I spoke to you, Outcasts from Body and from Soul touched me so deeply. Does it seem to you odd when I say that there were moments when all I had ever known of human sorrow stood before me? With highest artistic force the work not only gives the outer mischances, met with by so many people, but also points out with wonderful penetration the deepest agonies of the soul.

Sophia:

One cannot, I fear, form a proper conception of a work of art by simply hearing of its contents. But I would like you to tell me what stirred you so.

Estella:

The construction of the play was admirable. The artist wished to show how a young painter loses all his creative desire, because he begins to doubt his love for a woman. She had endowed him with the power to develop his promising talents. Pure enthusiasm for his art had produced in her the most beautiful love of sacrifice. To her he owed the fullest development of his abilities in his chosen field. He blossomed, as it were, in the sunshine of his benefactress. Constant association with this woman developed his gratitude into passionate love. This caused him to neglect, more and more, a poor creature who was faithfully devoted to him, and who finally died of grief, because she had to confess to herself that she had lost the heart of the man she loved. When he heard of her death, the news did not seriously disturb him, for his heart belonged entirely to his benefactress. Yet he grew ever more and more certain that her noble feeling of friendship for him would never turn to passionate love. This conviction drove all creative joy from his soul, and his inner life grew constantly more desolate. In this condition of life the poor girl, whom he had forsaken, came again into his mind, and a wrecked life was all that resulted from a hopeful and promising man. Without prospect of a single ray of light he pined away. All this is portrayed with intense dramatic vividness.

Sophia:

I can easily see how the play must have worked upon your feelings. As a girl you always suffered intensely at the destiny of such people, who had been driven to bitterness by heavy misfortunes in their life.

Estella:

My dear Sophy; you misunderstand me. I can easily distinguish between what is real and what is merely artistic. And criticism fails, I know, if one carries into it the feelings one had in life. What stirred me here so deeply was the really perfect representation of a deep problem of life. I was once again able to realize clearly how art can only mount to such heights, when it keeps close to the fulness of life. As soon as it departs therefrom, its works are untrue.

Sophia:

I understand you perfectly when you speak like that. I have always admired the artists who could represent what you call the reality of life. And I believe a great many have that power,—especially nowadays. Nevertheless even the very highest attainments leave behind them in my soul a certain discomfort. For a long time I was unable to explain this to myself, but one day the light came that brought the answer.

Estella:

You mean to tell me, that your conception of the world has dispelled your appreciation of so-called realistic art?

Sophia:

Dear Estelle, let us not speak of my conception of the world today. You know quite well, that the emotion you have just described was entirely familiar to me long before I knew anything at all about what you call my ‘conception of the world.’ And these feelings are not only aroused in me with reference to so-called realistic art: but other things also create a similar feeling in me. It grows especially marked when I become aware of what I might call, in a higher sense, the want of truth in certain works of art.

Estella:

There I really cannot follow you.

Sophia:

A vivid grasp of real truth must needs create in the heart a sense of a certain poverty in works of art. For of course the greatest artist is always a novice compared with nature in her perfection. The most accomplished artist fails to give me what I can get from the revelation of a landscape or a human countenance.

Estella:

But that is in the nature of the case and cannot be altered.

Sophia:

But it could be altered, if men would only become clear on one point. They could say that it is irrational for the soul to reproduce what higher powers have already set before us as the highest form of art. Yet these same powers have implanted in man a desire to continue to work upon creation in a certain sense, in order to give to the world what these powers have not yet placed before the senses. In all that man can create, the original powers of creation have left nature incomplete. Why should he reproduce her imperfections in an imperfect form, when he has the ability to change that imperfection into perfection? If you think of this assertion as changed into an elemental feeling you will understand why I feel a sense of distress towards much that you call art. This perception of an imperfect reproduction of some obvious truth must needs produce distress. On the other hand, the least perfect representation of what is concealed behind the outwardly observed phenomenon may prove a revelation.

Estella:

You are really talking of something that nowhere exists. No true artist really tries to give a bare reproduction of nature.

Sophia:

That is just why so many works of art are imperfect; for the creative function leads of itself beyond nature, and the artist cannot know the appearance of what is outside his senses.

Estella:

I see no possibility of our coming to any understanding with one another on this point. It is indeed sad that, in these most important problems of the soul, my best friend follows views so different from my own. I hope our friendship may yet fall on better days.

Sophia:

On such a point we shall surely be able to accept whatever life may bring us.

Estella:

Au revoir, dear Sophy.

Sophia:

Good-bye, dear Estelle.

Curtain