Four Mystery Plays
GA 14
The Portal of Initiation (Written 1910)
Scene 8
Same room as for Scene 1. Johannes at an easel, before which Capesius, Maria, and Strader are also seated.
Johannes:
I think those are the final
touches now,
And feel that I may call my work complete.
Especial pleasure hath it given me
Thy nature to interpret through
mine art.
Capesius:
This picture is a marvel unto me,
But
its creator still more wonderful.
For naught, which men like me
have up till now
Considered possible, can be compared
With
this change that hath taken place in thee.
One only can believe,
when actual sight
Compels belief. We met three years ago;
And I was then allowed to count myself
A visitor in that
community,
In which thou didst attain thine excellence.
A
man of sad demeanour wast thou then,
Witness each glance and
aspect of thy face.
Once did I hear a lecture in thy group,
And at the end felt urged to add thereto
Words that were wrenched
with pain from out my soul.
I spake in such a mood wherein one
doth
Think almost always of oneself alone;
And none the less
my gaze did ever rest
Upon that painter, whelmed 'neath sorrow's
load,
Who sat and kept still silence, far apart.
Silent he
pondered in a fashion strange,
And one might well believe that he
heard not
A single word of all those spoken near.
The sorrow
unto which he gave himself
Seemed of itself to have a separate
life;
It seemed as though the man himself heard not,
But
rather that his very grief had ears:
It is perhaps not
inappropriate
To say he was by sorrow quite obsessed.
Soon
after that day did we meet again,
And even then there was a change
in thee;
For happiness did beam forth from thine eyes;
Within thy nature power did dwell again,
And noble fire did ring
in all thy words.
Thou, didst express a wish to me that day
Which seemed to me most strange and curious —
To be my pupil
didst thou then desire.
of a truth thou hast throughout these
years
With utmost diligence absorbed thyself
In all I had to
say on world events.
And, as we grew more intimate, I then
Did know the riddle of thine artist life,
And each new picture
proved a fresh surprise.
My thought in former days was
ill-inclined
To soar to worlds beyond the life of sense —
Not that I doubted them — but yet it seemed
Presumptuous
to draw near with eager mind.
But now I must admit that thou hast
changed
My point of view. I hear thee oft repeat
That thine
artistic skill depends alone
Upon the gift to function
consciously
In other worlds; and that thou canst implant
Naught in thy works but what thou hast first seen
In spirit
worlds: indeed thy works do show
How spirit stands revealed in
actual life.
Strader:
Never so little have I understood
Thy
speech; for surely in all artists' work
The living spirit is thus
manifest.
How therefore doth thy friend, Thomasius,
Differ
from other masters in his art?
Capesius:
Ne'er have I doubted that the spirit
shows
Itself in man, who none the less remains
Unconscious
of its nature. He creates
Through this same spirit, but perceives
it not.
Thomasius however doth create
In worlds of sense
what he in spirit-realms
Can consciously behold; and many times
Hath he assured me, that, for men like him,
No other method of
creation serves.
Strader:
Thomasius is a marvel unto me,
And
freely I admit this picture here
Hath first revealed to me in his
true self
Capesius, whom I thought I knew full well.
In
thought I knew him; but this work doth show
How little of him I
had really known.
Maria:
How comes it, doctor, that thou canst admire
The greatness of this work so much, and yet
Canst still deny
the greatness of its source?
Strader:
What hath my wonder at the artist's work
In common with my faith in spirit-sight?
Maria:
One can indeed admire a work, e'en when
One hath no faith in that which is its source;
Yet in this case
there would be naught to rouse
Our admiration, had this artist
not
Trodden the path that led to spirit-life.
Strader:
Yet still we must not say that whoso'er
Doth to the spirit wholly give himself
Will consciously be guided
by its power.
The spirit power creates in artists' souls,
E'en as it works within the trees and stones:
Yet is the tree not
conscious of itself.
And only he, who sees it from without,
Can recognize the spirit's work therein.
So too each artist lives
within his work
And not in spiritual experience.
But when
mine eyes now on this picture fall,
I do forget all that allures
to thought;
The very soul-force of my friend doth gleam
From
out those eyes, and yet — they are but paint!
The seeker's
thoughtfulness dwells on that brow;
And e'en his noble warmth of
words doth stream
From all the colour-tones with which thy
brush
Hath solved the mystery of portraiture.
Ah, these same
colours, surely they are flat!
And yet they are not; they seem
visible
Only to vanish straightway from my sight.
The
moulding too doth seem like colour's work
And yet it tells of
spirit intertwined
In every line, and many things besides,
That are not of itself. — Where then is that
Whereof it
speaks? Not on the canvas there,
Where only spirit-barren colours
lie.
Is it then in Capesius himself?
But why can I perceive
it not in him?
Thomasius, thou hast so painted here
That
what is painted doth destroy itself,
The moment that the eye would
fathom it.
I cannot grasp whereto it urgeth me.
What must I
grasp from it? What should I seek?
I fain would pierce this canvas
through and through
To find what I must seek within its depths;
To find where I may grasp all that which streams
From this same
picture into my soul's core.
I must attain it. — Oh
— deluded fool!
It seems as though some ghost were haunting
me,
A ghost I cannot see, nor have I power
Which doth enable
me to focus it.
Thou dost paint ghostly things, Thomasius,
Ensnaring them by magic in thy work.
They do allure us on to seek
for them,
And yet they never let themselves be found.
Oh
— how I suffer from your pictures!
Capesius:
My friend, in this same moment hast thou
lost
The thinker's peace of mind. Consider now,
If from this
picture some ghost speaks to thee
Then I myself must surely
ghostly be.
Strader:
Forgive me, friend, 'twas weakness on my
part.
Capesius:
Ah, speak but good, not evil, of this
hour!
For though thou seemed'st to have lost thyself,
Yet in
reality thou wast upraised
Far, far above thyself; and thou didst
feel,
Even as I myself full oft have felt.
At such times,
howsoe'er one feels oneself
Strong-armoured at all points with
logic's might,
One can but be convinced that one is seized
By some strange power that can have origin
Not in sense-knowledge
or sense-reasoning.
Who hath endowed this picture with such
power?
To me it seems the symbol in sense-life
Of
soul-experiences gained thereby.
It hath taught me to recognize my
soul,
As never heretofore seemed possible;
And most
convincing this self-knowledge proved.
Thomasius did search me
through and through:
For unto him was given power to pierce
Through sense-appearance unto spirit-self.
With his developed
sight he penetrates
To spirit verity; and thus for me
Those
ancient words of wisdom: ‘Know thyself,’
In new light
do appear. To know ourselves
E'en as we are, we must first find
that power
Within ourselves, which, as true spirit, doth
Conceal itself from us in our own selves.
Maria:
We must, to find ourselves, that power
unfold
Which can pierce through into our very souls:
And
truly do these words of wisdom speak —
Unfold thyself and
thou shalt find thyself.
Strader:
If we admit now, that Thomasius
Hath
through the unfolding of his spirit power,
Attained to knowledge
of that entity,
That dwells, invisible, within thy soul,
Then must we say that on each plane of life
Knowledge doth
differ.
Capesius:
So would I maintain.
Strader:
If matters thus do stand, then is all
thought
Nothing all learning but illusory;
And every moment
I must lose myself.
Oh, do leave me alone. ...
(Exit.)
Capesius:
I'll go with him.
(Exit.)
Maria:
Capesius is nearer far to-day
To spirit
lore, then he himself doth think;
And Strader suffers deeply. What
his soul
So hotly craves, his spirit cannot find.
Johannes:
The inner nature of these two did stand
Already then before my spirit's eye
When first I dared to tread
the realm of souls.
As a young man I saw Capesius,
And
Strader in the years he hath not reached
By some long span as yet.
Capesius
Did show a youthful promise which conceals
Much
that this life will not allow to come
To due fruition in the
realms of sense.
I was attracted to his inner self:
In his
soul's essence I could first behold
What is the essential kernel
of a man;
And how a man's peculiarities
In earthly life do
manifest themselves
As consequences of some former life.
Saw
the struggles that he overcame,
Which in his other lives had
origin,
And which have shaped his present mode of life.
I
could not see his death-discarding being
With my soul's vision,
yet I did perceive
Within his nature that which could not rise
From his surroundings as they are to-day.
Thus in the picture I
could reproduce,
What dwells within the basis of his soul.
My brush was guided by the powers, which he
Unfolded in his former
lives on earth.
If thus I have revealed his inmost self,
My
picture will have served the aim, which I
Did purpose for it in my
thought: for as
A work of art I do not rate it high.
Maria:
It will confirm its work within that soul
To whom it showed the path to spirit-realms.
Curtain falls whilst Maria and Johannes are still in the room