In spite of all the sufferings which I have endured, the spirit
of rebellion in me is still erect, and suggests doubts as to the
benevolent designs of my invisible guide. An accident (?) has brought
into my hands Schikaneder's text of the opera of the _Magic Flute_. The
sufferings and temptations of the young pair suggest to me the thought
that I have let myself be duped by misleading voices, and that I had
bowed myself and submitted, simply because I could not endure the pains
and difficulties.
Immediately I remember Prometheus who storms at the gods while the
vulture gnaws his liver. And at last the rebel is admitted to the
circle of the Olympians without making an open recantation.
The fire is now kindled, and immediately evil spirits add fuel to it.
An occult magazine, sent by post, encourages my cowardice by
propounding subversive theories, such as the following: "As is well
known, in the old books of the Veda, Creation is represented as a
single act of sacrifice, in which God, both Priest and Victim, offers
Himself by dividing Himself." That is the very idea which I have
expressed in the Mystery Play appended to "Meister Olof."
Further: "All the elements, which conjointly constitute the universe,
are nothing else than fallen divinities, which, through the stone,
plant, animal, human, and angelic kingdoms, climb up to heaven, only to
fall down again." This idea was characterised by the famous Alexander
von Humboldt and the historian Cantu as sublime.
(Yes, it is sublime.)
"As is well known, the Greek and Roman gods were originally men.
Jupiter himself, the greatest of all, was born in Crete, where he was
suckled by the she-goat Amalthea. He thrust his father from the throne,
and took all possible precautions not to be dethroned himself. When
the giants attacked him, and most of the gods left him in the lurch, in
a cowardly way, and hid themselves under the shapes of plants in Egypt,
he had the good luck, with the help of the bravest gods, to remain
victor. But it was not without considerable difficulty."
"In Homer, the gods fight against men and are sometimes wounded. Our
Gallic forefathers also fought against heaven, and shot arrows against
it when they believed themselves threatened by it. The Jews were
animated by the same feelings as the heathen. They had Jehovah (God),
but they also had Elohim (Gods). The Bible begins thus: 'He who is, who
was, and who will be--the One in the many.'"
"When Adam had committed the 'beata culpa,' which, so far from being
a fall, was a sublime step upwards, as the snake had prophesied, God
said, 'Behold, Adam has become as _one of us_, to know good and evil.'
And He added, 'Now, therefore, lest he put forth his hand, and take of
the tree of life, and eat, and live for ever.'"
The ancients accordingly saw in the gods men who had elevated
themselves to despotic power, and sought by an overthrow of the
constitution to maintain that power, while preventing others from
raising themselves in their turn. Hence sprang the conflict, men
endeavouring to drive away the usurping deities, and the latter
struggling to maintain the power they had arrogated to themselves.
"Now the flood-gates are opened with a vengeance! Only consider! We are
gods!"
"And the sons of the gods descended to earth and married the daughters
of men, and they brought forth children. From this inter-mixture came
the giants, and all famous men, warriors, statesmen, authors, artists."
This was fine seed to sow in a refractory mind, and the Ego inflated
itself again, "Only think! We are gods!"
The same evening when all in the restaurant were in high spirits, a
circle was formed round a doctor of music. My friend the philosopher,
to whom I had imparted the discovery of our relationship to the gods,
asked to hear Mozart's _Don Juan_, especially the finale of the last
act.
"What is that about?" asked one, who was not at home in the classical
repertory of music.
"The devil comes and carries away the Sybarite."
The abysmal torment, so well described by Mozart--who very likely knew
pangs of conscience of this kind, as the husband of a woman he had
seduced committed suicide on his account--is unrolled in a succession
of melancholy tones like a cutting neuralgia. The laughter stops, the
jests cease, and when the piece is finished there is a painful silence.
"Here's to your health!" says some one.
They drink. But the cheerfulness is at an end, the Olympic mood is
quenched, for the night is coming on and the terrible chromatic
successions of notes echo like innumerable waves which rise and fall,
and hurl human derelicts aloft in the air in order to swallow them the
next moment.
* * * * *
While the descendants of the gods make vain attempts to assume a
tone becoming their high birth, night has come, and the restaurant
is closed. The party must break up and go, each to his lonely bed.
As we pass the Cathedral veiled in the shadows of the night, a white
light suddenly flashes on the façade, on which are depicted saints and
sinners kneeling before the throne of the Lamb.
"What is that?" we ask, for there is no thunderstorm. We are startled,
and remain standing, only to find that it is a photographer working in
his shop by the magnesium light. We are annoyed at our nervousness, and
for my part I involuntary think of the theatrical lightning when Don
Juan is carried off.
As I enter my room I feel a kind of alarm, chilly and feverish, at the
same moment. When I have taken off my overcoat, I hear the wardrobe
door open of itself. "Is any one there?"
No answer. My courage sinks, and for a moment I feel inclined to go out
again and spend the night in the dark and dirty streets. But weariness
and despair hamper me, and I prefer to die in a comfortable bed.
While I undress I look forward to a bad night, and once happily in bed
I take up a book to distract my thoughts. Then my toothbrush falls
from the washing-stand on to the ground without any visible cause.
Immediately afterwards the cover of my jug rises and falls again with a
clash before my eyes. Nothing has occurred to shake the room, the night
being perfectly still.
The universe has no secrets veiled from giants and geniuses, and
yet reason is helpless before a jug cover which defies the law of
gravitation. Fear of the unknown makes a man who thought he had solved
the riddle of the Sphinx tremble!
I was nervous, terribly nervous; I would not, however, quit the
battlefield, but continued to read. Then there fell a spark, or a small
will-o'-the-wisp, like a snowflake from the ceiling, and was quenched
on my book. Yet, reader, I did not go mad!
Sleep, sacred sleep, assumes the form of an ambush in which murderers
lurk. I dare not sleep any more, and yet have no power to keep myself
awake. This is really hell! As I feel the torpor of sleep stealing over
me, a galvanic shock like a thunderbolt strikes me, without, however,
killing me.
Hurl thy shafts, proud Gaul, against heaven! Heaven in its turn never
stops hurling.
* * * * *
Since all resistance is useless, I lay down my arms although after
relapses into refractoriness. During this last unequal strife I see
will-o'-the-wisps even in broad daylight, but I attribute this to an
affection of the eyes. Then I find in Swedenborg an explanation of the
meaning of these flickering flames which I have never seen since:--
"Other spirits try to convince me of the opposite of what the
instructing spirits have said to me. These spirits of contradiction
were upon earth men who were banished from society for their
criminality. One recognises their approach by a flickering flame which
seems to drop before one's face. They settle on people's backs, and
their presence is felt in the limbs. They preach that one should not
believe what the instructing spirits, together with the angels, have
said, nor behave himself in accordance with their teaching, but live
in licence and liberty as he chooses. These spirits of contradiction
generally come when the others have gone. Men know what they are worth,
and trouble themselves little about them; but through them they learn
to distinguish between good and evil, for the quality of good is learnt
through acquaintance with its opposite."
X