is but part of transitory realms.
And yet the sacrifices of such deaths
Are but the seeds of immortality,
All that which blossoms forth from death below
Must grow unto the higher life above.
Maria:
E’en so it is with me. Thou giv’st me light:
But light that doth deprive me of my sight,
And sunder me from mine own self in twain.
Then do I seem some spirit’s instrument
No longer master of myself. No more
Do I endure that erstwhile form of mine
Which only is a mask and not the truth.
Johannes:
O friend, what ails thee? Vanished is the light
That filled thine eye: as marble is thy frame.
I grasp thine hand and find it cold as death.
Benedictus:
My son, full many trials have come to thee;
And now thou stand’st before life’s hardest test.
Thou seest the carnal covering of thy friend;
But her true self doth float in spirit-spheres
Before mine eyes.
Johannes:
Before mine eyes. See! Her lips move; she speaks.
Maria:
Thou gav’st me clearness; yet this clearness throws
A veil of darkness round on every side.
I curse thy clearness; and I curse thee too,
Who didst make tool of me for weird wild arts
Whereby thou willedst to deceive mankind.
No doubt at any moment hitherto
Had crossed my mind of heights thy spirit reached;
But now one single moment doth suffice
To tear all faith in thee from out my heart.
Those spirit-beings thou art subject to,
I now must recognize as hellish fiends.
Others I had to mislead and deceive
Because at first I was deceived by thee.—
But I will flee unto dim distances,
Where not a sound of thee shall reach mine ears;
Yet near enough that thy soul may be reached
By bitter curses framed by these my lips.
For thou didst rob my blood of all its fire,
That thou mightst sacrifice to thy false god
That which was rightly mine and mine alone.
But now this same blood’s fire shall thee consume.
Thou madest me trust in vain imaginings;
And that this might be so, thou first didst make
A pictured falsehood of my very self.
Often had I to mark how in my soul
Each deed and thought turned to its opposite;
So now doth turn what once was love for thee,
Into the fire of wild and bitter hate.
Through all worlds will I seek to find that fire
Which can consume thee. See—I cur—Ah—woe!
Johannes:
Who speaketh here? I do not see my friend.
I hear instead some gruesome being speak.
Benedictus:
Thy friend’s soul hovers in the heights above.
Only her mortal image hath she left
Here with us: and where’er a human form
Is found bereft of soul, there is the room
Sought by the enemy, the foe of good,
To enter into realms perceptible,
And find some carnal form through which to speak.
Just such an adversary spake e’en now,
Who would destroy the work imposed on me
For thee, my son, and millions yet unborn.
Were I to deem these wild anathemas,
Which our friend’s shell did utter here and now,
Aught else but some grim tempter’s cunning skill,
Thou durst not follow more my leadership.
The enemy of Good stood by my side,
And thou hast seen into the darkness plunged
All that is temporal of that dear form,
For whom, my son, thy whole love burns and glows.
Since through her mouth spirits spake oft to thee,
The Karma of the world could not restrain
Hell’s princes also speaking thus through her.
First now thou mayst seek her very soul
And learn her nature’s inmost verity;
For she shall form for thee the prototype
Of that new higher type of humankind
To which thou dost aspire to raise thyself.
Her soul hath soared aloft to spirit-heights,
Where
