The Rudolf Steiner Archive

I think that in yesterday’s lecture we reached the point at which we were considering the sound r, and I had previously unfolded before you the inner nature of most of the other sounds.

It is important above all that we should learn to understand the s-sound. S as we learned yesterday, was always looked upon in the Mysteries as a sound of the very highest importance. Indeed, it was looked upon as possessing magical qualities; for it can be felt as a sound which brings with it surety and certainty, a feeling of calm, a quietening element. This is induced by the fact that, with the impulse lying behind the sound s one can penetrate into the inmost nature of another being.

For this reason I said that when a pupil of the old Mysteries was asked by someone from the outer world what he had learned through the s-sound, he answered, as was customary at that time, in a somewhat humorous vein, and said: He who is master of the s-sound can see into the souls of men and into the hearts of women. There can be no question that in both cases this insight entails the necessity of bringing about a feeling of calm. And this led quite naturally to the more or less humorous use of a sentence such as the one I have described.

Now if in the f-sound we have the feeling: Wisdom lives in me, wisdom created me, I breathe out wisdom, wisdom is ever present within me,—then behind the s-sound we may say that there lies a slight element of fear, something before which we feel that we must protect ourselves. This is why in those ancient scripts,—in which, as I have already told you the s, or the snake-like curved line is to be found in the various letters,—writing was felt to be something uncanny, something which threw light into hidden depths. And to-day—using this word ‘to-day’ in the sense of an historical epoch—certain peoples still exist (though naturally very few) who, unaccustomed as they are to the art of writing, regard the written characters as being distinctly uncanny. When the Europeans, these ‘superior people’ of civilization, went to the North American Indians, the North American Indians found much that to them was unpleasant in the ways of these ‘superior people’, and the written characters were among those things which produced in them such an unpleasant sensation. They made it quite clear that in their opinion these ‘Pale Face’, as they called them, these strange, foreign ‘Pale Face’ conjured ‘little demons’ on to the paper. And as late as the nineteenth century there were certain Indian tribes who still regarded the printed letters as being the embodiment of little demons.

Let us consider these two sounds, these two letters, the f and, the s. They must be formed in eurhythmy in such a way that the onlooker can perceive a tremendous difference between them. When the movement for f is made, it must express the quiet sense of power over that which has been conjured up in the world by its means. The movement is created out of an element of peace. The hands must bend over a little towards the arm, but in an active manner.

They must not hang passively, but must be held as if covering something and protecting it.

Now s. You see in the s-sound how something is, as it were, moved out of its course with a sense of mastery. (The movement was demonstrated.) The cause of this feeling really lies in the relationship which arises between the two arms as a result of the movement.

Now let us pass on to sch. One could hardly fail to recognize the blowing past, the blowing away of something, as this is expressed in the sound sch. I made this quite clear to you when, I gave as an example the feeling lying behind the word husch-husch: the breeze wafts by and passes away: husch-husch.

But everywhere in words of an interjectional character you will observe how this sch sound conveys this feeling of blowing past. There are indeed many words which in this connection, are extraordinarily characteristic.

You must now consider the deep significance of something which I have already spoken about during these days, I mean the fact that in different languages things are called by different names. The reason for this is that the different languages are really describing different things. For instance, when in German, I say the word kopf, this indicates the form, the plastic form of the head; when, on the other hand the word testa is used in Italian it signifies what takes place by means of the head, it signifies a process of corroboration, of affirmation. Thus the two languages are describing completely different things. That which is called kopf in German would also be called kopf in Italian, if the Italian wished to express the same idea.

In this way languages differ very much from each other. When we take the German language we find that it is of a plastic nature. The genius of the German language is really a sculptor. This must not be overlooked. The peculiar characteristic of the German language is that it is plastic: the genius of the language is a sculptor.

The genius of the Latin language has, on the other hand, something of the lawyer about it, something of the advocate, of one who affirms, confirms, testifies.

This is in no way intended as a criticism, but merely as a description of certain characteristics. Each language contains within it the temperament and character of its genius. One may actually carry this so far as to say that when one hears Hungarian, Magyar or Finnish spoken, one cannot fail to have the feeling that something is really lacking. It is impossible to listen to the Magyar language without feeling that after every third word something is lacking. When the Hungarian or Magyar language is spoken one feels that after every third word a stag should be slain. The reason for this is that the genius of the Hungarian language is a hunter. In the Magyar language all words which have not arisen out of the activity of the hunt are in reality borrowed. The Magyar language has absorbed many such words, and when one arrives in Budapest one finds at once among the names written up in the streets such strange words as, for example: Kavehdz. (From the German: Kaffeehaus: Cafe). Such words as these have not, of course, the characteristic I have described; the Magyar language has adopted many such borrowed words. But when one listens to the Magyar language, it is certainly imbued with the element of the hunt, of the chase. Naturally there is nothing bad about this; the tiller of the soil, the hunter and the shepherd are invariably the source from which the whole human race has arisen. There still lives a primeval force in such a language as that of the Magyars. And the genius of the Magyar language is undoubtedly a hunter, or, if ye will, a huntress, Diana.

So we can say, in the German language we have the plastic formative element; that is a feature which is very much in evidence. For this reason we find many interjections, which are uncommonly characteristic. Well, it does not even need to be a snake,—even if a restless, agitated mouse is hidden under some leaves, we have already something moving and rolling about, and it gives us an uneasy sensation, we are astonished: r-a—now it scampers away: sch. The feeling of astonishment is not all, however; something is done to us, but we bear up under it: e. Now whatever is moving in this way clings to its surroundings, it adapts itself to them, burrows its way through; where there is a hollow space it makes its way through, creeping now lower, now higher: l. And when it emerges, then we understand what it was all about: n. rascheln (to rustle). Here you have the whole story of rascheln in plastic form.

The remarkable feature of the German language is that one can find in it so much that really corresponds to plastic art that really makes up the plastic element of language. Hence: it is perhaps not without significance that eurhythmy, in the first instance, could most easily arise within the German language, for eurhythmy may be said to be sculpture brought into the realm of movement, and it is from out of the German language that this living sculpture can be most easily developed at the present day. In ancient times all languages possessed a living, plastic element. It is true that other languages are more musical in their nature, as is the case, for instance, with the Magyar language. The German language cannot be said to be musical, but for this very reason the plastic element is all the stronger.

And it is just in this word rascheln, as also in the ‘husch- husch’, that we have the blowing away, the blowing past, the scattering of something.

The Hebrew man of ancient times experienced in the sch the presence of Jehovah in the blowing of the wind: sch.: Naturally this also may be felt as lying behind the plastic, eurhythmic movement for the sound sch. The movement must be rapid, then it has the true ‘rustling’ effect, (rascheln), and really gives the feeling that is expressed in the word. It is no; exaggeration to say that one actually hears the rustling in the form of the movement.

Yesterday I spoke to you also about the way in which the sound z is to be understood. I said then that there is a certain lightness in the experience of s. And this experience, together with its plastic, eurhythmic expression, is derived from this feeling of lightness, from something which is essentially light. Thus, when we turn our attention to z, we shall regard it in much the same way as one might do a child, who, having lost a new toy which has been bought for it, cries and is inconsolable. One would not wish to scold the child, but to comfort it. Let us suppose that it is not the mother or the father who is dealing with the child, but an aunt or grandmother, whose manner towards the child (who has been up to some mischief) is aunt-like, or grandmotherly. The gesture, especially with the right hand, suggests: Never mind, little one.... It would be quite good if we were to bear this little story in mind. You must feel the z more especially in the arm; not in the wrist, but in the downward movement of the arm.

Up to now, my dear friends, we have mainly considered the nature of the individual sounds as such. At this point it will be necessary for us to discover the right way of expressing the connection between the sounds; and in order to lead over gradually into this somewhat different sphere, I shall from time to time take the opportunity of making certain observations. As occasion offers I shall deviate from the purely artistic side of eurhythmy and refer to educational, and also to curative eurhythmy. Thus, when I pass over to educational eurhythmy, you will see how this aspect of eurhythmy must be derived from the inner nature of the sounds as we have studied them in these lectures. It is quite obvious that in the beginning, when teaching the movements, one should as far as possible choose words expressing a definite mood or feeling. So that one enters into the spirit of eurhythmy by means of the feeling contained in the sounds, and by this means we are able to conjure up a right attitude towards eurhythmy, a realization that eurhythmy is a language, a language which may indeed be understood if only approached without prejudice. Now everything is contained for us in this word rascheln, if you make the movement as clearly as possible, and with great precision; only you must never lose sight of the fact that it is not the external process only which is of importance, but that the movements must be permeated by feeling. When this word is shown now in eurhythmy I shall be able to tell you what is really contained within it just at one particular point,—and then you will indeed perceive what is hidden in this word... ! (The word was demonstrated.) Now, for instance, the person who has been disturbed by the rustling pokes his nose in the direction from which it comes!

So you see, when we take into account the subjective element of feeling, we find that absolutely everything is contained in eurhythmy.

We will now take another very characteristic word. You will remember my description of the sound c (ts); k is similar, but stronger. In the sound k we have matter governed, mastered by spirit. Suppose for a moment that you are confronted by a regular termagant, by somebody who appears all physical strength and of whom you are somewhat afraid. It is not easy to deal with such a person; but, although you have to brace yourself against his behaviour, you, nevertheless, wish to get rid of him,—as it were to ‘blow him away’. You say to him then, But in eurhythmy, kusch. In this word you have every possibility of feeling these things; there is the repulsing of the person in question, the feeling of gathering one’s self together in order to confront him, but there is also the mastery over him. In practising the word do it in such a way that you have a very clear sch at the end. For the pacifying element in the word kusch lies in the fact that one intends to get rid of something.

Now, in teaching eurhythmy, it is important to choose those words in which one can on the one side still feel the plastic formation of the sounds, and on the other side the inner life that is thereby developed.

Now these sounds make up in themselves the separate elementary parts of eurhythmy as a whole. From these parts words are then put together. When in a word, let us say for instance, the word rascheln, you simply make the sounds in an intellectual manner one after another, the result will not be a word in the true sense. It is an undeniable fact that a word is much more of a complete whole than one usually thinks. If this were not so, we, as speaking human beings, could never have become so dried up and lifeless as we unfortunately are. When we read aloud, we do not read the individual sounds quite distinctly; we glide over the whole word and only touch lightly upon the single sounds. The one sound passes over into the other; and in ordinary speech also, the one sound passes over into the next. In eurhythmy, therefore, we must not only pay particular attention to the forming of the single sounds, but above all to the movement which expresses the transition from sound to sound. A word can only become beautiful in eurhythmy if one succeeds in obtaining a natural transition from one sound to the next.

And so it becomes necessary to turn our attention to the way in which one sound proceeds out of the other. One should try to discover how this takes place, and for this reason it is good to take characteristic words, which occur very often; practising them, not so much from the point of view of the individual sounds, but as a whole.

Take, for instance, the word und (and,) the simple word und and try to show it in one continuous, unbroken movement. Try, before you have quite finished the u-sound, to begin the n. This lends itself very well to eurhythmy. Before the movement for u is really completed, let it pass over into n: u-n ,—and from this immediately make the transition into the d: und.

From a study of eurhythmy it is really possible to discover the inner intentions of the genius of language. I told you that d is the indicating movement. This is shown dearly in eurhythmy. Now how does the word und end? It ends with d, with the indicating movement. What purpose does the word und really serve? We say, for instance, ‘sun and moon’, There is the sun. We turn from the sun to the moon, indicating the moon by means of the ‘and’. Thus through eurhythmy one is able to rediscover the primeval gestures underlying speech. All this must be felt and experienced.

Bearing this in mind, let us take a word that even in the German language has long lost its plastic form, which, however, it once possessed to a very high degree. When I say ‘once’, that does not mean centuries ago; I refer to a not so very distant past. At that time this word had a plastic form. It is true that the word as we now know it is comparatively modern, but as it emerged from the dialect it still had its plastic character. And as dialect it still retains this character to-day. As I said before we must not allow our feeling for such things to be disturbed by a philology which in its own place is fully justified. Let us take this German word Mensch (human being), and let us express it in eurhythmy, somewhat shortening the final sch-sound: Mensch. Here we have a distinct feeling of the blowing past at the end of the word.

How do the eurhythmy movements for this word acct us? They give us the impression of the transience of human life; they give us a picture of the fleeting nature of man. Carrying this somewhat farther, we are shown the insignificance of the human being; this is what the eurhythmic gestures say to us when showing the word Mensch as a whole.

Now in dialect the word Mensch signifies a woman of completely trivial character. The word is not used in any bad sense, but simply indicates a woman who is quite uninteresting: das Mensch. Here the element of insignificance is strongly emphasized, and the tragic conception which one has regarding der Mensch is carried further and coloured with contempt when one says: das Mensch.

Thus in the plastic gestures and movements of eurhythmy we have the possibility of learning to feel deeply the meaning and true nature of words.

There is one thing, however, about which we must be perfectly clear. Eurhythmy, by means of the sounds which make up the different words, necessarily leads us into the inner nature of that to which the sounds themselves refer. When you see words for apparently the same thing shown in eurhythmy, you will nevertheless perceive, by the character of the movements, the difference in the character of the words. Will Frl. B.... and Frl. W.... now stand side by side, and we will ask Frl. B.... first to show the word kopf, and afterwards Frl. W.... will show testa. Now with the word kopf you have the feeling that the eurhythmist wishes to form something round, wishes to be a sculptor. The eurhythmist who is showing the word testa is determined to be in the right! In this way you see visibly expressed the essential characteristics of any particular word.

These things must be borne in mind. Then you will discover how, through eurhythmy, the character of the different languages is revealed in a most subtle and marvellous way. You can feel how the character of the different languages rises up, as it were, before your very eyes.

In order that this may be more fully illustrated, let us now see a German, an English, a French, and possibly also a Hungarian and a Russian poem interpreted in eurhythmy; in such a way, moreover, that by emphasizing as far as possible all: the sounds, the character of the poem in question is clearly shown. (The poems were then demonstrated by representatives of the different nations.) You will at once perceive how, for instance, the English language reveals its connection with the waves of the sea. And the mastery of the waves, which lies so strongly in the English language, comes out extraordinarily clearly in eurhythmy.

In the Magyar language, the feeling, the mood which is brought to expression is that the Magyar can only picture himself, as being planted firmly on the earth, and having to force his way through thicket and forest. This, too, you can see in the interpretation of the Magyar poem.

Russian, again, is a language which is merely suggestive, which only gives a faint indication of the inner nature of the word. It is a language which has not yet found its true being, but is following the tracks leading it towards this being, and is pointing on all sides towards the future.

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And now I should like you to compare two things which will give you an insight into the marked way in which this difference of character reveals itself. One must learn to feel this, otherwise one cannot find one’s way into the nature of eurhythmy. A purely theoretical, intellectual explanation will not suffice; we must be led to a true feeling and understanding of what eurhythmy really is. Let us then compare the eurhythmic interpretation of a Russian poem with that of a French poem. Try to realize the great contrast between the two. (The Russian poem was here demonstrated.) Now with the Russian poem you see how one follows on the tracks of the word, and try now with the other poem, the French poem, to observe how there is, as it were, a tripping away from the word. (The French poem was then demonstrated.) Here there is the feeling of always being in front of the word. You see these two languages may really be compared to day and night, to the opposite poles, their characteristics are so different.

When you consider all these things, which are really quite apparent, you will feel bound to say: In eurhythmy there is the possibility of bringing clearly to expression the living spirit which is embodied in language, and above all the character of the language. For this reason eurhythmy is particularly well fitted to express all that lies behind language. And one must, of course, be able to express what lies behind language.

Let us now pass on to a quite concrete point.

Suppose we wished to show in eurhythmy a strong feeling of affirmation.

A young man leaves his parents’ house. They declare, as he bids them farewell, that he will come back again: You will come back to us again, says the father. Try now to express in eurhythmy this phrase: You will come back to me again,—and in doing so show clearly the feeling of affirmation. How do we express this? By a step; When we wish to affirm something we take a step forwards (towards the right) and in this step there must be the feeling, as it were, of the i-sound, of assertion. Thus affirmation is expressed by a movement of the fact from the back forwards.

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Negation,—let us suppose that somebody tells a child he is not to do something: You must never do that again.... you wish to emphasize this feeling of negation, you must do so by taking a step backwards (towards the left). These things are, of course, quite elementary.

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Thus we can pass over from what is revealed as to the nature of the single word to the inner logic which is contained in language. And in this way the character of the language becomes still more evident. If one considers the single sound as such, when expressing a poem in eurhythmy in any language, then the character of the language is emphasized. When, on the other hand, we take into consideration things which we shall be studying presently, when we pass over to logic as it is express in language, then more emphasis is laid on the character of the people.

Let us pass over now to this logic of language, and to begin with take the feeling of wonder. When a passage occurs in which the feeling of wonder is expressed, you will make the movement for wonder (movement for a) and you must merge the movement in to the other sounds, so that both mood and sounds are shown. Much study is required before one succeeds in expressing the succession of sounds, together with the indication of the logic of language, of the emotional content.—Ach wie schön (O how beautiful)!—Try here to put the two things together, the movement for wonder and the sounds contained in the words: ‘Ach wie schön!’¹

The movement expressing wonder must be united with the actual single sounds; wonder must lie in the formation of the sound.

To-morrow we will analyse other similar movements.

• 1. According to feeling and mood other vowels might of course also be chosen to add colour to the whole; these would likewise have to be blended in with the actual succession of sound.

My dear Friends,

To-day we will continue our study of those things with which we have already made a beginning in the previous lecture took as our starting point the inner feeling and mood of the individual sounds, and from this we passed over to the more general characteristics of speech. In so doing we considered not only the sounds as such, but also the feeling lying behind them, and their logical content.

In this lecture I shall not be dealing so much with the single sounds, but I shall speak about the mood and feeling which may be called up within us by a poem taken as a whole. In the first place,—later we shall gather the different threads together,—in the first place, we have something which can serve to bring out the finer nuances and shades of feeling which arise out of the word, out of the way in which the different sounds are put together. We can, for instance, say something aloud, and, by emphasizing one word more than another, show by our manner of speaking the feeling lying behind the actual words. It is obvious that much depends upon emphasis, and in writing, this emphasis is shown by such things as question marks, exclamation marks, and so on.

The simple little example which follows will give you an insight into the importance of correct emphasis. If I remember rightly, in Szegedin, in Hungary, there was once a company of actors who were giving a performance of Schiller’s Räuber, in a barn, of all places, next door to a cattle shed. One of the actors did not know the text perfectly, and was also unable to under stand the prompter. The prompter’s text may have been inaccurate; in any case, the whole affair was somewhat primitive.

And the amateurish effect was not lessened when a regular dispute took place in the presence of the audience. This dispute arose owing to the fact that one of the oxen suddenly broke through the wall and gazed around, so that its horns and muzzle were visible on the stage. At this moment the actor, who was somewhat alarmed, said, looking in the direction of the cow: ‘Seid Ihr auch wohl mein Vater?’ (Are you indeed my father?) The prompter corrected him, saying: Should he not say: Seid Ihr auch wohl, mein Vater? (Are you well, my father?) And that did not please the stage manager, who made the following correction: Here he should say: ‘Seid Ihr arch wohl mein Vater? (Can you be my father?)

So you see everything depends upon emphasis. And as we must be able to express in eurhythmy all the fundamental elements of language, it must also be possible to express what in speech would be brought about by means of emphasis, and in writing by means of the question mark, the exclamation mark, or something of that kind. To fulfil this need we have a movement which gives rise to a feeling similar to that called up in written language by the exclamation or the question mark. This movement must be carried out in the following way.

The eurhythmist places both the right and left arms in the position indicated in the diagram, the left hand being turned slightly inwards and the fingers held loosely. (See figure 1)

This then is a movement which should be made use of as occasion offers. I shall speak about colour in eurhythmy later on. Now, of course, the eurhythmist must only make use of this movement at suitable moments, and the way in which it is used must be very carefully studied. For instance, the eurhythmist must come to an understanding with the reciter, so that a slight pause is made in the reading. And it must be done in such a way that the onlooker can see clearly that the eurhythmist is here passing over from the movement, first into a relative, and then into a complete state of rest; so that the movement brings about a distinct break in the poem. For example, if I say: ‘How lovely the sunshine is to-day! We must make the most of it.’—the point would be to express the exclamation adequately. Therefore, at the point where the exclamation mark is, you would bring the movement, which otherwise is in constant flow, to a standstill. You would take up this position quite quietly, and then proceed. Such an example offers a good opportunity for the clear expression of this movement.

An excellent opportunity for applying this movement is to be found in such a poem as Goethe’s Zauberlehrling, where many exclamations occur. In this poem the movement would serve to bring out what may be called humour in the truly artistic sense of that word. For instance, at the end of the, line: ‘In die Ecke, Besen, Besen, seid’s gewesen!’—the movement for the exclamation is strongly called for; and again at the end, of the next line: ‘Denn als Geister.... !’ When the magician himself is speaking, the movement would not be suitable, for he is a stately personage. But it would be particularly good if the eurhythmist who is interpreting the part of the pupil would introduce this movement quite frequently. Again it could be made use of after: ‘brav getroffen’, and also after: ‘ ich atme frei!’

There is another gesture expressing mood, which we may use when we wish to show Liveliness or Mirth (Heiterkeit). You must carry out this gesture in such a way that you try, when making it, to stand on tip-toe. Thus, when the mirth is at its height, you must rise on the toes; and then, supposing this to be your head (See diagram) proceed to take up this position with your arms, spreading out your fingers as widely as possible. In this way we get the movement for Mirth or Liveliness.

When in addition to spreading out your fingers you move them about, the feeling of gaiety will be particularly well expressed. Such a movement gives the effect of merry laughter and possesses very great charm.

Let us take the following sentence: ‘He went up into the reading desk, but before he could begin his lecture a fly settled’, on his nose! General consternation!’ (The movement should be made after the word ‘nose’.) You see, even you who are behind the scenes and know all about it – (addressing one of the eurhythmists present) – have succumbed to a very natural expression of mirth. And this feeling of mirth, as it seems to me, is expressed remarkably well by this movement.

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There are many opportunities in dialogue, in poems of a dramatic nature, where you wish to make a dramatic effect, when you can use another movement which is extraordinarily expressive picture the upper arm drawn downwards, with the forefinger pointing upwards, while the left arm is held pressed against the side. Picture this movement to yourselves. And now imagine that somebody says: ‘I could have done that much more cleverly than you’ – This could be expressed in eurhythmy by the movement for ‘confoundedly clever’ (Verflucht gescheit). This movement must be shown by making a sharp angle with the left arm, and pointing upwards with the right.

In these eurhythmy figures you see before you the movements for the Question or Exclamation, Mirth and ‘confoundedly clever’.¹

Here (indicating the next figure), you have a movement which requires the closest study. The movement consists in bringing the hand and lower arm into this position (see diagram), with the first anger pointing upwards; for the characteristic feature of this movement is that it always indicates insight, discernment.

Whenever this movement makes its appearance it expresses insight; the finger, however, must not actually point, but it must be held in an upright position. In this way something of the movement for Cleverness is contained in this solemn gesture expressing Knowledge (Erkenntnis).

When, therefore, you hold the right arm in an upright position, in the way I have described, and when you separate the rhythmic system and the head, which are chiefly concerned here, from the lower part of the human being, by holding the left arm across the body with the hand turned upwards as if to support the right; elbow, then you have the complete movement for Knowledge. There are many opportunities for making use of this movement, for every word which indicates that one has perceived something, that one has absorbed something into one’s being, can certainly be regarded as coming into the sphere of knowledge. The mood of a poem can be greatly enhanced when at the end of a line this gesture is used to show that the content of the poem has been absorbed and understood. Many poems, – as for example Uhland’s Des Sängers Fluch:

‘Es stand in alten Zeiten Ein Schloss so hoch und hehr...’ gain very much if the eurhythmist makes this movement for Knowledge before actually beginning the text. How much has been added to the interest of a poem by introducing such a movement at the beginning, will become apparent as the poem proceeds. From any natural, simple position pass over into the gesture for Knowledge. By so doing, you develop the poem out of a mood which in itself at once gives the key-note to the poem, showing that its character is reflective and thoughtful.

There is another gesture of mood which rightly claims our attention, one which lays special stress on the mood otherwise shown by the gesture for i – that is to say, the mood of self-assertion. I is always the assertion of self. But when the self-assertion does not lie in the sound, when it goes beyond the round into the general mood and feeling of the poem, then it can be expressed in another way, by another gesture. In this gesture one must stand on the left leg, with the right knee bent. Both arms must be held in front of the body, but in such a way that they are bent somewhat backwards, especially the hands. Here we have the movement expressing exaggerated self-assertion (Starke Selbstbehauptung).

Frl. V... will you show the following sentence in eurhythmy, passing at the end into this gesture, the gesture expressing the wildest delusion: ‘Am I not the Emperor of China ...?’ Now for the movement! This is how life can be brought into what we have to express; and the essential, the all-important thing is that eurhythmy should be filled with life.

I wanted to-day to bring before you such expressive gestures as these, so that we shall be able in the following lectures to lead on without a break into a consideration of much that is of the greatest interest.

There is yet another gesture which consists, in the first place, of making oneself appear as broad as possible. Then one proceeds to make the movement for Insatiable Desire (Unersättlichkeit) (see diagram), a movement which indicates that one cannot get enough of something, – in other words the gesture for intense desire.

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Let us take, for instance, the following sentence, and when I have come to the end of it, pass over immediately, as you did before, into this gesture of craving for more. Let us now take this quite serious sentence, and follow it with the gesture: ‘Thou gavest me everything, everything that I asked of thee.’ But you must not turn your hands outwards, for that would express more the feeling of rejection. You want more; the movement showing the desire for more must be turned inwards, and you must make yourself as broad as possible, standing with both feet firmly on the earth.

One need not only apply this movement when one’s own feeling of longing is unappeased, but also when something occurs giving rise to the feeling of craving, of dissatisfaction, of the longing for more. Take the following sentence as I repeat it, and here also make the movement at the conclusion in such a way that no pause ensues but that you simply pass over into this movement at the end of the text: ‘Soll das ganze Haus ersaufen?’ (‘Is the whole house to be swamped?’) (Corresponding gesture). There is to be no end to it. Hence the feeling of a demand which can never be satisfied.²

Now we come to those things which lead us more into the inward part of man’s being. Here we have a movement which expresses inwardness of feeling, which is intended to express that mood of soul which manifests itself as inwardness of feeling. This may be shown by standing on the ball of the foot, the: heel slightly raised above the ground, but only very slightly, for if it is raised too high it does not give the feeling of inwardness. Thus with heels raised slightly above the ground, standing, on the ball of the foot, we should take up this position with both arms. The arms should be held in front of the body, the thumb touching the forefinger. This gesture expresses the feeling of Inwardness, of Tenderness (Innigkeit).

If you imagined to yourselves that you were holding a baby, and that you wanted to enter into a certain relationship with the guardian angel of this baby, you would hold it in this way, and you would then have the movement for Inwardness. Let us take a particularly solemn sentence and make this gesture at its close. Try to express in eurhythmy: ‘Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden....’ and now the gesture. This is purely lyrical. If now you wish to raise the whole thing out of the lyric mood and give a grander impression, you can pass over from the movement for Inwardness to that of the Exclamation. Thus: ‘Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden –’ now make the movement for Inwardness followed by that of the Exclamation. If these movements are carried out in the tempo which one feels to be suitable a very powerful impression will be created.

Something which in its feeling is closely related to the mood of Inwardness, but which at the same time is quite different is the feeling of Lovableness (Liebenwürdigkeit), the feeling of being charmed by somebody. This feeling is also expressed by raising the heels slightly from the ground; but the arms, while retaining to some extent the former position, are moved, the left arm being raised upwards, and the right arm drawn downwards. This then is the gesture for expressing the quality of Lovableness.

You must, however, feel that this really is the gesture which expresses lovableness. Very much depends upon holding the arms quite lightly, and in giving the feeling of really going out beyond oneself. I need only remind you how charming children can be when one coaxes them, and says: ‘Come and show me how big you are!’ – Children are never more delightful than at such a moment.

If we wished to show the following sentence in eurhythmy: I have to thank your smile for many a happy moment ’... then it would be very appropriate to finish with the movement for Lovableness.

At one time, when in Vienna, I knew a certain composer, who has since become very famous. He liked very much to be invited out, and one of his hostesses always exerted herself to provide him with the most delectable fare. She brought this to quite an art. This composer had a particularly fine appreciation for such things, and as a rule he said to this lady when taking his departure: ‘What a glorious symphony we have partaken, of to-day!’ – That was always the compliment he paid to his hostess. It was a stereotyped compliment enough, but – he was a great man! Let us take the sentence and at its end make use of the gesture expressing Charm, Lovableness. You will find that it goes absolutely by itself, and from this example you must see how it must be felt. But the composer who was responsible for this saying would hardly have been able to make the movement with the same ease as a eurhythmist, for it was no other than Brahms.

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Another gesture which brings us into relationship with the outer world, with other human beings, is the one which we can make use of when we wish to impart something, when we wish to make a Communication (Mitteilung). This gesture is carried out in the following way. You must stand quite naturally on the one foot, the heel of the other foot, which is further forward, resting lightly on the ground. The right arm must be lifted up, with the thumb, first finger and middle finger pointing forwards; the left arm must be held lower, and must also be stretched somewhat outwards, towards the front, the palm of the hand turned upwards. This movement indicates that something is given; not in this case an actual gift, but something is imparted by means of speech. There is, therefore, at the same time an indication of a gift, and here (in the left arm) the gesture of Communication: I communicate something. – This is the significance of the movement.

Let us take, for instance, the words: ‘Verily, verily I say unto you.’ Here we see very clearly the wish to impart something, to communicate something; and it is a wonderful opportunity for the use of this gesture of Communication.

Now we come to a movement, the character of which is shown when, at the appropriate moment, one stands firmly on the ground, the hands clenched, the arms stretched downwards and pressed against the body. The head should be held erect. In addition to this the eurhythmist should try to have the feeling that the eyes are not actually looking at anything, that they are not actually seeing anything, but that the gaze is rigid and fixed. Then the movement will be very expressive. It is one which can often be made use of during the text of a poem:

Blass lag der Kranke,
Sein Auge erlosch,
Scbluchzen umgab ihn.

(Pale was the sick man,
Dim was his eye,
Weeping friends surrounded him.)

The mood underlying such a sentence will be brought out particularly well if the eurhythmist succeeds in making use of this movement in the places which I will here indicate with dots.

Blass lag... der Kranke,
Sein Auge... erlosch
Schluchzen... umgab ihn.

You will easily see how individual eurhythmy can become when such movements are introduced, and how fine can be the nuances of its expression. This then is the movement for Sadness (Traurigkeit).

There is another movement which consists once more of standing firmly on both feet, with the arms held right back and the hands also right back. This is the movement for Despair (Verzweiflung); and you will very soon discover how strongly this feeling is expressed by the movement, particularly by the muscles of the inner arm. You will have the feeling: This is indeed the expression of despair.

Now we will try to do in eurhythmy the first lines of the monologue in Faust, and after the word ‘student’ we will make the movement for Despair:

Habe nun, ach! Philosophie,
Juristerei und Medicin
Und, 1eider ! auch Theologie
Durchaus studiert.
I’ve studied now Philosophy
And Jurisprudence, Medicine,–
And even alas! Theology,–
From end to end, with labour keen.

Here make the movement for Despair. You see, when a movement really expresses the corresponding mood of soul, it undeniably enhances the dramatic effect of what has preceded it. I should like to close to-day’s lecture by saying a few words which may help to throw light on these movements and the way in which they should be studied. Study all such movements, then, by making use of them, you will be able to bring to plastic eurhythmic expression many different shades of feeling. You will be able to enter more fully into the way in which a poem unfolds, and to study its dramatic, lyric or epic content you really feel your way into these movements, you will be able to bring a strong dramatic element into your eurhythmy.

• 1. The eurhythmy figures carved in wood were shown in this connection.
• 2. See Goethe’s poem Der Zauberlehrling.

The Inner Nature of Colour

My Dear Friends,

Yesterday we concerned ourselves with various moods and eludes of feeling and with the way in which these can be expressed by means of eurhythmic gesture. To-day, to begin with, we will continue along somewhat similar lines. Taking our start from the point at which we left off yesterday, we will first consider the mood of Devotion or Piety (Andacht). It is very necessary, when trying to experience some such mood of soul, to realize that eurhythmy does not attempt to interpret by means of ordinary mime. On the contrary, as we saw when studying the vowels and consonants, eurhythmy seeks to draw the plastic form corresponding to such a feeling and mood from out of the whole human being, the whole human organization. We know that, in the case of the vowels and consonants, the movements are formed in such a way that they actually imitate and make visible what really exists as a kind of air form when the human being speaks. When we speak we make certain forms in the air. If by any means we were able to retain these forms and to hold them fast, we should have the original forms of the gestures which we use to express the sounds.

If, however, we wish to express some definite mood of soul, then we naturally approach much more closely to the arbitrary gesture, to the gesture which arises in ordinary, everyday life when we ourselves are experiencing the mood in question.

It is undeniable that to-day many people avoid the use of gesture, because, apparently, they have an idea that gesture is not the thing. On the other hand, however, the more the human being loses himself in feeling, the more he develops a mood of soul transcending the ordinary life of everyday, so much the more does the use of gesture become necessary. And such a mood of soul is that of Devotion.

In this devotional mood man has always felt the need for making a certain gesture. And the eurhythmic gesture for Devotion is one which, in its very nature, corresponds to the instinctive attitude adopted when this mood arises in the soul. For this reason the eurhythmic gesture for Devotion approximates more nearly to the natural position than is the case with most of the other movements. To express this mood of Devote the arms are held downwards close to the body, and then bent upwards from the elbow, the hands and fingers taking up a position corresponding to one of the vowels, u for instance, or a. Thus according to the shade of feeling which one wishes to introduce into the mood of Devotion, any one of these postures may be adopted.

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It is important that the gesture expressing this mood should be carried out in such a way that it is separated right off from, the movements otherwise occurring in the course of the poem. So that in order to get the best effect it is as well in such a cash to make use of the gesture at the beginning and again at the end of the poem. If, however, a devotional mood runs continuously through the whole of the poem, the movement can be made at the beginning and at the end of every verse.

Will you now make use of this gesture when I say the following words:

‘O Holy Spirit,
Hearken to the cry of my soul!’

Oh, göttlicher Geist, erhöre
meines Herzens Ruf!

The gesture should here be made both before and after the sentence. It would also be especially good if the onlooker were actually to see how the upper arms are drawn downwards, pressed against the sides. This should precede the actual gesture for Devotion. (See diagram.)

An intensification of the mood of Devotion is the mood of Solemnity, of Ceremonial (Feierlichkeit). This mood of Solemnity is in a way not unlike the mood of Knowledge, of Wisdom, only in the latter case the movement is reversed. Thus to express Knowledge we make use of the same movement towards the right as we use towards the left when expressing Solemnity. This can only be experienced when there is an absolutely clear realization of the relation existing between these two moods of feeling.

Knowledge entails the taking into ourselves of something outside, something which we wish to unite with our own being. If man had no knowledge he could not be said to be man at all. It is through the capacity for absorbing knowledge that he first becomes truly human. So that knowledge, wisdom, should be looked upon as something which adds to the dignity of man, but which, on the other hand, contains within it a certain activity of soul. Activity is always expressed in eurhythmy by turning towards the right. If we take the mood of Knowledge and change it, making it more passive, more devotional, we get the feeling of Solemnity.

But wherever the passive element enters in, wherever there is little feeling of activity, then we turn towards the left and make our movements towards the left. And it is in this way that we express the mood of Solemnity. We make a movement similar to that of Knowledge, but in this case towards the left. Let us take an example in which we can make use of this gesture.

‘Over the destiny of man
Shine the inviolable stars....’

‘Über menschlichen Schicksalen
glänzen heil’ge Sterne

Here you should make the gesture both at the beginning and at the end. Begin by indicating the gesture for Knowledge and then carry it over into that of Solemnity.

In eurhythmy we have chiefly to do with the expression and revelation of certain qualities of soul; and we shall see that the whole content of the soul life may be divided into three categories, into Thinking, Feeling and Willing. Now it is important, when interpreting a poem, really to express its fundamental character and when this character changes in the course of a poem,—when for example, thinking passes over into feeling, or feeling into will,—it is then very important that this should be shown in the whole bearing and in the character of the movements.

Let us take to begin with the two polar opposites, thinking and willing. They are indeed the most contrasted activities of the human soul. When the human being thinks,—I am speaking here in the widest sense of the word,—this is a process which, depends upon the head as it rests quietly on the shoulders. By means of external sense-perception we cannot see the process of thought. It takes place in the quietly resting head. The activity of will is the extreme opposite of this. When the activity of will does not make its appearance in the external world in, some form or another, then it remains intention only. Real activity of will makes its appearance in the external world; such activity can be seen, But in so far as the inward experience of, the human being is concerned, this will-activity remains dark, just as what takes place within the human being during the night remains dark to him. The human being knows nothing of his experiences as these take place during the night; he is just as little conscious of the relation between his soul, his muscles and his bones, when some movement arises which is the expression of will-activity.

When you have a straight line you have something before you which is absolutely definite. You need only have a small portion of a straight line and its direction as a whole is absolutely determined. The straight line is something about which there can be no doubt whatever.

The curved line, on the other hand, is something which impels us to follow it, but we do not know exactly where it is going to lead us.

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There are, it is true, regularly formed curved lines but even in this case one experiences such regularity differently from the way in which one experiences the straight line. For this reason in eurhythmy the straight line is used to denote thought and the curved line to denote will. You must, therefore, try to introduce straight lines into your form when you wish to express the element of thought and curved lines when you wish to express Will-activity.

Now here, of course, much depends upon the eurhythmist’s conception of a poem. One might say: In this particular poem I intend to express the element of will. Another says, perhaps I shall express thought, the imparting of something by means of thought. Two quite different conceptions! So in cases where the matter is not absolutely obvious the choice of interpretation lies in the hands of the individual eurhythmist. This makes it necessary, when you begin to work out a poem, to put yourselves the following question: What, in my opinion, is the fundamental character of this poem? Does it lean more towards, thought? Does it impart something? Let us take, for example, the following :—

Zu Aachen in seiner Kaiserpracht,
Im altertümlichen Saale,
Sass König Rudolfs heilige Macht
Beim festlichen Krönungsmahle.
Die Speisen trug der Pfalzgraf des Rheins,
Es schenkte der Böhme des perlenden Weins,
Und alle die Wähler, die sieben,
Wie der Sterne Chor um die Sonne sich stellt,
Umstanden geschäftigt den Herrscher der Welt,
Die Würde des Amtes zu üben.

In this poem there is a succession of thoughts, as is usually the case with the pure epic. But if, at any point, the thought element were to pass over into the element of will, we should have to show this also in the eurhythmic form. The particular verse I have just quoted, however, would best be expressed by moving as far as possible in straight lines.

Now it is, of course, also possible to combine straight lines in such a way that various figures are formed, so that you can introduce other characteristics besides thought by moving in a triangle, a square, or a pentagram as the case may be.

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On the other hand, if the thought is of a more complicated nature, you might perhaps make use of such a form as this:

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Every conceivable curved line serves to express the element of will.

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Feeling is shown by making use of some sort of combination of straight and curved lines. Here you have opportunity for a wide play of fancy.

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Now it will be necessary to work out eurhythmy forms along these lines. All of you will be able to make such forms for yourselves, and by trying to do so you will create an inner relationship between the eurythmy and the poem. Then the question naturally arises: What is the connection between such forms as these, and those forms which have been given as standard forms, as forms which have been worked out in such a way as to bring out the special character of the poem? You will discover, however, that these guiding lines really underlie;: all such forms. You will invariably find this to be the case.

On the other hand, you will also find, when working out such forms, that care has been taken to show where called for, the more intimate character of a poem. What does this mean? The fact of the matter is that by far the greater number of so-called poems are in reality not poetry at all. For a true poet must be able to enter into the essential nature of language, so that what he has to say is not merely prose content more or less crudely clothed in verse, but is expressed through the way in, which he handles the language itself. To express wonder in a poem by making use of some such phrase as: O how wonderful!—cannot be said to be artistic. A truly artistic sense will lead one to introduce as many a-sounds as possible into a poem at the moment when one most wishes to express this feeling of wonder. In the same way it would be good to make use of the u-sound when dealing with the past, when looking back into the past. On the other hand, when there is the wish to express the gathering together of inner forces as a result of some external contact, it would be well to introduce the sound e.

Thus, when a true poet wishes to express the element of thought he will make special use of the e-sound. I am speaking now in quite an idealistic sense, for it will rarely be possible to carry out all the demands of art. If this were done very, very few poems would be written—for which one might indeed be thankful—for the poet would not quickly acquire the necessary intuition. If a poet makes use of many e or i sounds, you may be sure that he is a poet who chiefly tends to express the element of thought. He tends to the epic in poetry. Whereas you will find that a poet who is continually making use of the vowel sounds a, o and u, tends more to express feeling in his poems. A poet who makes little use of vowels and much use of con-sonants is one who is developing the will side of his nature. Therefore, you must follow closely the character of the poet when building up a eurhythmic form.

When, therefore, you observe that a poem arises more out of the intellect,—and this is, of course, perfectly justifiable—you will make use of straight lines in the form. When you observe that feeling is more in evidence you will combine both straight and curved lines. When, however, the element of will comes most strongly to expression in a poem, even though coloured by feeling, then you must make use of curved lines only.

If now, bearing this in mind, you proceed to examine the various forms which have been given from time to time, you will discover, and only then can you discover, how the more intimate structure of a poem must be built up and followed in the form.

It will perhaps be interesting to see,—paying at first no attention to its content,—what sort of result is obtained when a poem is interpreted, in the first place, according to the indications which have been given for Thinking, Feeling and Willing. One can think of poems which lend themselves to all three methods, each of which has its own particular beauty. Let us take for example the well known poem:

Let us in the first place interpret the poem in such a way that we bring out the story, that we emphasize the thought-element. Try, therefore, to improvise a form consisting of straight lines, avoiding as far as possible all rounded movements.

When the poem is expressed in this way we are left with the impression that something has been related, that we have been told something.

And now try to make a form consisting of curved lines:

Ich ging im Walde ...

In this case you see that the story-telling element falls completely away, and there is also nothing to represent the feeling-life.

There is, however, a strong element of feeling in this poem, when, for example, the flower says: Soll ich zum Welken gebrochen sein?—or again when the poet says: Wie Sterne leuchtend, wie Auglein schön.—This poem, then, contains the three elements of thinking, willing and feeling. Now try to make a form consisting of straight and curved lines.

Ich ging im Walde...

By so doing you give the impression that the poem is being inwardly experienced. Straight and curved lines together indicate that the eurhythmist who is interpreting the poem continually withdraws into himself: in the case of straight lines the interpretation becomes more abstract, less apparent. And by this means the whole thing retains its inward character.

Much more is manifested outwardly when one passes over into curved lines.

Now to-day I want to speak about the significance of the colours which are to be seen on the eurhythmy figures, because the study of colour in this connection will do much to deepen our whole attitude towards eurhythmy.¹

Here, for instance, you have in this figure an indication of the colours corresponding to the sound a.

Of course it is obviously impossible in our eurhythmy to show the colours of all the different sounds as this has been done in the case of the eurhythmy figures; for if one were to do so, one would have, for instance, when an a and an o occurred in the same line, to change, while this line was being recited, from one costume into the other. That is altogether beyond us. (We already know by experience the difficulties which arise when the costumes have to be changed between two consecutive poems. But if in the course of a poem of four verses, let us say, perhaps twenty-two or twenty-eight changes had to be effected, there would be no coping with the situation.)

Nevertheless the colours as represented here in these figures are fundamentally true. And it is a fact that one is only able to enter right into the nature of the different sounds when one is able to express them also as colour.

Let us consider once again the sound a, the sound expressing wonder, astonishment. Fundamentally speaking, colour may be said to be the external expression of our feeling-life. Our feeling-life is objectified in the outer world as colour. The reason why there is so much disagreement as to the nature of colour is that people do not observe that colour is really the external counterpart of the life of the soul.

Now to return to the feeling of amazement, of wonder. You will experience this feeling in the gesture for a. And you must ask yourselves: What colours are called up in me by this gesture?—Here your feelings will lead you to the colour-combination seen on this figure, blue-violet,—that is to say a combination of the so-called dark colours.

Let us, on the other hand take o. The mood lying behind o is that of embracing something. Here you need brighter colours such as shown in the eurhythmy figure for the o-sound.

For the reason already given it is not always possible to use these colours as they are represented here in the eurhythmy figures; it will, however, be of the very greatest assistance to you if, when practising, you call up in yourselves the feeling of colour in sound, the colours for instance, of a, o or i, or again of u, which is, as we know, the expression of fear. In this way you enter by degrees into a more intimate relationship with the nature of the different movements. Thus when practising it is a good exercise to dress oneself in imagination in accordance with the colours of the eurhythmy figures. This is very much to be recommended.

Picture now the colours for the sound e, the pale yellow combined with a certain amount of green. One feels how red and blue lose themselves in green. While with blue and violet one has the feeling of yielding oneself up, as in the case of a and u, one has, in the mood of self-assertion or of taking some-thing into one’s own being, the feeling of the lighter colours. In the e-sound we have the expression of being affected by something and of standing up against it. This is expressed in the green colour. Green is obtained by mixing together yellow and blue; thus by a combination of a light and a dark colour. And it is through this combination that you have the direct expression for the sound e. You grow into the feeling of this gesture when you associate it with this colour.

It is quite impossible to enter into these things with the understanding; they can only be felt and experienced inwardly. For our purposes, however, we will assume that we have absorbed all this, and have come so far as to recognize that the mood of any particular sound is really represented by the corresponding eurhythmy figure. Let us take the mood of the e-sound. One will gradually discover for oneself that whole poems are really permeated throughout with the e-mood. How-ever many other vowels were to occur in such a poem, it might, nevertheless, have the e-mood running right through it. Take, for example, a poem or any text which is to be expressed in eurhythmy, in which, let us say, there continually occurs the feeling of being unpleasantly affected by something, but at the same time a certain resistance against what is affecting one in this way. When a poem has such a mood running through ’it, we shall do well to choose these colours (e-figure) for the dress and veil. The important thing is to learn to associate definite colours with each particular sound; then we shall gradually reach the point at which we are able to select dresses and veils suitable to a poem as a whole.

I mention all this for a very good reason, and that is to prevent the delusion arising that when a eurhythmist has learned the movements for a, e, i, o, etc. there is nothing more to be done. Certainly the eurhythmist may be able to do it all, but this by itself is no proof that he can convey it to others. You must not forget that the impression created by the eurhythmic gestures is very powerful; very powerful forces are at work, although we may not be .conscious of them. There is all the difference in the world between those who, in their desire to master eurhythmy very rapidly, would be liable to believe for instance, that the sound i has been made when the arm is simply held out in the right direction, and those who make the i in such a way that the stretched movement is clearly visible. There is a great difference whether I make the movement in this way... or in this way, whether I merely extend the arms or whether I bring the stretched feeling to visible expression.

In order to acquire free artistic movements while actually carrying out any gesture, it is necessary to be conscious of the feeling and mood contained in the sound in question. This, however, can only come about when one really studies the individual sounds. And an important feature of this study is the clothing of oneself in imagination in the corresponding colours. All this should be taken into account in the teaching of eurhythmy, both as an art and as a means of education. Eurhythmists must accustom themselves to live in the world of colour.

This experience of colour was natural to humanity in the days of the old clairvoyance, but has since been lost. It appeared again in a somewhat distorted form at the end of the Kali-Yuga in certain more or less pathological cases. And at that time one met such people who maintained that Vienna was the colour of dark lilac, Czernowitz yellow, Prague yellowish-orange. Berlin a combination of yellow and grey, Paris a shimmering of rose-colour and blue, etc., etc. At that time people were to be found who talked in this sort of fashion; and anyone possessing a feeling for such things could up to a point understand what it was that they were trying to express.,

In the same way every human being has his own particular colour. This colour is of course closely connected with the astral body, which, as we know, changes with every varying emotion. Nevertheless, each individual human being may be said to possess his own fundamental colour. Thus, to the question: You were at such and such a place; what sort of people did you meet there?—one might answer: The colour of the man I saw was blue,—and another: The colour of the man I saw was red.—Such a point of view is quite justifiable. It is possible to feel things in this way; for in reality it is the same impression as that which arises in the case of ordinary physical colour.

It is therefore a good exercise to call up in one’s mind the connection existing between any special movement and its underlying character and colour ... (see eurhythmy figures). Here it will be of assistance to practise the sound in some such way as this. You might, for instance, take the vowel-sounds a, u, e, o, i, and allow the following colours to stream through the movements: blue-violet; blue-green; greenish-yellow; reddish-yellow; red-yellow-orange. You must experience the colour and make the movements simultaneously, thus working at the same time in the realm of colour and of sound. By this means: the movements will become noticeably flowing and supple, and you will soon see that a certain ‘style’ is being developed.

This brings us to the end of to-day’s lecture, and tomorrow, we shall continue the study of the characteristics underlying the various aspects of the soul life.

• 1. It was found that the eurhythmic gestures could best be portrayed by means of figures cut out from a flat surface of wood, each one being painted with three harmonizing colours. They were carried out according to directions given by Dr. Steiner at the Goetheanum, Dornach, where they may be obtained.

My dear Friends,

The possibilities inherent in eurhythmy will only be realized when the eurhythmist is able to create the movements, in all their detail, out of the nature of speech itself. In eurhythmy it is almost as important to have an intimate understanding of the sounds of speech as it is to have a knowledge of the actual eurhythmic movements. For this reason I will show you to-day the way in which the plastic formation of speech can definitely influence eurhythmy. Now the plastic, formative element is in the ordinary way not fully manifested, for it passes over into sound. It is the task of eurhythmy to bring the plastic element to visible expression.

When we direct our attention to the plastic element in the sounds of speech, – and here we naturally take the consonants, for they lend themselves more particularly to plastic interpretation, imitating as they do the things and processes of the external world, – we find that the sounds divide up into four types. First we have the sounds which are quite definitely built up after the pattern of f or s; then we have the sounds of the type of b, p, d, or t. When you compare the sounds of these two groups you will find that they are completely different from one another. The s and f-sounds are formed by allowing the breath stream to be blown freely outwards. With the other sounds, d, t, b, p, the breath stream is first inwardly controlled, and it is released much more consciously; it is not blown out in this case, but thrust out. Thus we must distinguish between the ‘blowing’ or breath sounds, and the ‘thrusting’ sounds, or sounds of force.

The nature of these two types is therefore completely different. The breath sounds yield up, as it were, the inner being of man more or less passively to the outer world. They make use of the outgoing stream of the breath in order to release the inbreathed air from the body. So that these out-breathing sounds entirely depend upon the fact that the air passes outwards.

Now this breath stream always takes to itself the form, the shape of the body. 'It does not, however, assert itself in the outer world, but scatters itself abroad, so that the breath sounds, always have the characteristic of yielding themselves up to the world outside. It is essential to grasp the character of the breath sounds and to realize that they yield themselves up to the outer world. Man allows this outer world to do as it will with him not, naturally, as regards his physical body, but as regards the form which he has transmitted to the out-going breath stream.

In the case of the consonants of force this is quite otherwise. Here we master the form given to the breath. We permeate: it, as it were, with our ego; we do not permit the sound to scatter itself immediately, but compel it to retain its form for a time in the outer world. Thus in the consonants of force man appears as master in his relation to the outer world, so that here, one cannot speak of a yielding oneself up to the outer world, but, of an assertion of one’s own inner being.

These two types of sound comprise the great proportion of the consonants. In reality the breath sounds express sympathy with the outer world and sounds of force sympathy with oneself. The breath sounds are free from egoism; the sounds of force are egotistical. We shall always find that when we make use of the consonants of force we do so in order to express what needs, to be expressed in sharp outlines.

You know already that there is a strong plastic element in the German language. And now, bearing this in mired, let us take a word beginning with a consonant of force: Baum, b. You will invariably notice that a consonant of force produces the effect of sharp outlines. The breath sounds, on the other hand, will never produce such outlines; they describe the reverse of everything clear-cut and definite. For instance s in the word: sei is a breath sound.

One must of course keep strictly to essentials when dealing with such matters. You will naturally be able to find any number of words which seem as though they should be expressed by means of sharp outlines, and which, nevertheless, contain breath sounds. You will, however, usually discover in such a case, that you must try to introduce a more indefinite element into the movement, in spite of the necessity for sharp outlines which may also be present.

Now the breath sounds are: h, ch, j, sch, s, w, v. The sounds of force are: d, t, b, p, g, k, m, and n. These latter are all consonants of force, sounds which express the more egotistical attitude of soul, the assertion of one’s own individual being, which one wishes to safeguard in the world outside.

Then we have a sound which lends itself particularly well to the imitation of something which is turning, which is revolving. This is the r-sound, which is produced by a vibration in, the outgoing breath-stream. R is the vibrating sound.

Then we have another sound in which, when articulated rightly, the tongue must imitate a storm-tossed sea: l. We must make undulating movements with the tongue. L is the wave-sound.

Why do we need these two sounds? We need them when we wish to express, not merely the merging with the outer world, nor the strengthening of the self, but something which has movement actually inherent within it. Movement and form are, of course, expressed both in the breath sounds and the sounds of force, but these sounds are not to the same degree an embodiment of self-contained movement as such.

When we understand the true nature of the r-sound, we find that it contains something which lies midway between the yielding up of oneself and self-assertion. The r expresses a certain reserve; it calls up a feeling of reserve in the spiritual and soul nature of man. For this reason we express with the r-sound everything which we are able to grasp and take hold of as we take hold of our own being, when forming a resolution, when making a resolve (raten). Resolve (Rat) is a word which illustrates particularly well the special characteristic of the sound r. When we make a resolution we turn something over and form a judgment. This feeling of turning something over in order to make a resolution is always to be found when we enter into the nature of r; so that we express with words containing the sound r those things in the outer world which have a certain similarity to this mood of turning something over and thereby forming a judgment. Thus the r-sound has an egotistical quality. It does not yield up what it has created to the outer world, but retains it for itself and in itself.

And the l is the sound which expresses reaction, but reflection mingled with a certain yielding tendency. One would rather listen to what is said than come to a decision for oneself; one allows someone else to decide; a feeling of waiting lies in the inner experience of l.

Now the point is to bring the plastic nature of these sounds to actual eurhythmic expression. The special characteristic of the breath sounds can best be shown in eurhythmy by moving the body in such a way that the sounds are carried with it, or, in other words, by trying to follow the direction of the sounds with the body. Try, for instance, to make an s, moving the body in such a way that it follows in the direction of the arms as they form the sound. Make the movement d or s, to begin, with quite quietly; now make it very clearly, so that one sees that you are following the movement with the body. If the movement tends in a forward direction, let the upper part of the body follow after it, if it tends backwards the upper part of the body must be thrown backwards also. You must have control over the whole body, and allow it to swing with the sound, to swing in the direction of the sound. Try this also with f, for example; let the body follow after the sound.

Now we will turn to a consonant of force. Here, too, the point is to bring the nature of the sound into the movement of the body. In this case the body must not be allowed to move, but must bring about the desired effect by means of its posture. The body must show that it intends to come to rest, to fix, as it were, the movement which is indicated by the sound. Take b to begin with, make it just as you like; and now stiffen yourself, stand quite still and stiffen yourself, so that one can see clearly , that the sound is held. This stiffening of the body must be carried out in such a way that you actually feel it in your muscles. This inner rigidity gives to the consonants of force their special character.

It is deeply interesting go consider such things, for in the breath sounds what really comes to expression is this: I will have nothing to do with Lucifer; everything which is Luciferic must disappear.– And the consonants of force express this feeling: I will hold fast to Ahriman, for if he escapes me he will poison everything; he must be held fast.– Thus the influence of Lucifer and of Ahriman has been implanted into these sounds.

R can only be expressed fully when one tries to move the body, gently but with a certain swing and grace, in an upward and downward direction.

In order to carry out the I-sound correctly there must be a free movement of the body forwards and backwards, not following the movement in this case, but showing two independent activities. When making the movement for a breath sound, the body must follow the direction of the arms; it must, as it were, accompany the movement. When making the wave-sound, the body must have an independent movement, free and rhythmic, – forwards, backwards, forwards, backwards. This rocking, which is carried out by changing the weight alternately from the heels to the toes, must be made externally visible. You will find how well you are able to do this if you imagine that you have a rod under your feet, and see-saw, as it were, to and fro, keeping the rod – which you may picture as rolling slightly, midway between the toes and the heels. The best way to practise it is to swing so far forward that you nearly fall, only just retaining your balance,– and then to swing so far backwards that you are once more in danger of falling. If you should happen really to fall it is of no consequence; it will only serve to impress upon you the feeling of the movement.

If you practise the movement in this way it will gradually become habit, and you will be able to make the rocking so pronounced that you only stop at the very moment of falling, so that the onlooker would be inclined to say: How clever not to fall! With practice such skill may be attained in the carrying out of the l sound, that the onlooker is left with the impression: How clever to be able to do that without falling!

By such means you will be able really to enter into and grasp the whole inner character of the sounds of speech.

Now we can gain a further understanding of speech and language by trying to enter into the nature of the diphthongs. The diphthongs naturally consist of a combination of two separate and essential parts. (Frl. S.... will you demonstrate the movement for eu.)¹

What lies in this sound? It consists of e and u; both these sounds are contained within the eu but are, as it were, left uncompleted. Try to indicate an e, and an u. Stop the e movement just as it is being formed. What would it become if it were formed completely? We will assume for the moment that the movement has been completed.... But now check the movement half-way.... You have not yet carried it out fully, and instead of doing so must lead it over into the u-sound. What do we do when completely forming an u? The arms approach one another so closely that they actually touch. The eu-movement must be carried out in such a way that the arms do not merely cross one another as in the case of the e-sound, but lie side by side, the definite contact being indicated by a feeling of trying to raise the arms up towards the head. This gives you the feeling for eu.

Thus we begin to enter into the nature of the diphthongs. We bring together the two component parts, but in such a way that they are only suggested, not carried out completely.

This, at the same time, leads you to an understanding of a very essential characteristic of speech, of sound as such. It is in the diphthongs that you can best study the transition from one sound to the next. And at this point we must consider what kind of text is most suited to the eurhythmic expression of such transitions. I know of an Austrian philosopher, Bartholomäus Carneri by name, who, during the last years of his life, wrote even his most difficult philosophical works in such a way that they could easily be expressed in eurhythmy. This philosopher would have been driven to distraction if he had come across such a sentence as the following, for example Lebe echte Empfindungen.—He would have thought it appalling. And why? He was simply disgusted when a word ending with a vowel was followed by another word beginning with a vowel. He asserted that such a thing should never be allowed to occur, but that wherever possible one should avoid a vowel sound at the end of one word being followed by a vowel sound at the beginning of the next. Indeed, he went so far as to write whole articles in which he endeavoured never to bring vowel sounds into juxtaposition, but always to let the transition from one word to the next be brought about by means of the consonants

When two vowels, or a vowel and a consonant come together, and you wish to express this in eurhythmy, you will find that you have to do so by means of gentle, soft movements. On the other hand you will make the movements decided,—they will become decided by themselves,—when one word ends and the next word begins with a consonant, it is important in eurhythmy really to observe what takes place when different sounds, sounds of a different character come together. This can best be studied in the diphthongs, for the diphthong is only truly brought to expression when the movement for the first sound is shown in its beginning and then led over into the latter part of the movement for the second sound.

Bearing this principle in mind, let us now form the ei-sound.² Let us, in the first place, make the two sounds concerned,—’ that is to say the e and i sounds as such, Now try not to complete the e-sound, but to check it as it comes into being, leading it over immediately into the final stage of the movement for i. In this way we have really formed the ei. Take as an example : Main Leib ist meiner Seele Schrein.’ (My body is the shrine of my soul.) Do this in such a way that you take into consideration the order of the consonants. First two sounds of force, then the ‘wave’ sound, again a sound of force, then a breath sound, followed by three sounds of force, breath sounds ‘wave ‘ sound, breath sound, vibrating sound, and lastly a sound of force.

Now you must fit the ei-sound satisfactorily in between.

You see how these things bring movement and life into Eurhythmy, but they must be really carefully studied.

Now we must try to realize the effect of the sound ei when it is specially strongly emphasized. (Frl. B. ... will you show us this example): Weiden neigen weit und breit. (Willows are swaying from side to side.) You must imagine that this picture of the swaying willows has to be portrayed in paradigmatic language. (I have omitted the word ‘sich’.) Thus we have w (English v), breath sound, then d, n, n, g, and again n, all sounds of force, again the breath sound w, followed by four sounds of force, t, n, d, b, then the vibrating sound r and lastly t, once more a sound of force.

Try now to bring all this into the sentence you are showing and those of us who are looking on must observe carefully how the characteristic ei-sound makes its appearance again and again. ‘Weiden neigen weit und breit.’

We can take still another diphthong, the au.³ Here again we can let the first movement merge into the second. Try to hold the movement for a as it first arises, thus checking it when it is about half-formed and leading it over into the u. Make an a forwards and now turn it aside before reaching the final position, finishing with the movement for u. When you pass over directly from the a to the u, you get the movement for au.

But this movement, although correct, will always lack character if we merely pass over from one sound into the other.

The effect will not be sufficiently strong. On the other hand when you carry out the movement in such a way that you begin to form the a-sound with one arm, at the same time bring the other arm into contact with the body, thus forming an u,—when you do this, then you have a characteristic au. This is not the only way of making u (bringing the arms together)) but I have also made an u when I simply stand up and touch the body with the left arm, bringing it slowly downwards. Try to show these words in eurhythmy: Laut baut rauh.—The point here is not the sense of the words it is simply a eurhythmic exercise.

All this must of course be studied. Naturally you can make au in all kinds of ways; for instance, you can make it by simply bringing one arm into contact with the body (right arm in the position for a, left arm laid across the breast). You must try really to penetrate into the spirit of these things.

Now in order to enter further into the forms of the sounds and their connection with language, let us take the sound ö (as in vögels, the German word for birds). The movement is similar to the o, but accompanied by a spring. The o-movement is, as it were, torn apart. This tearing of the o-movement must be carried out with a certain lightness and grace,—and now add the spring. The spring must be made just as the o-movement is broken.

Now we will make the sound ä.⁴ First make an a and then an e. Make the a with the legs in such a way that you step from the front backwards, at the same time making a with the arms. Thus you get the movement for ä.

There still remains the ü. It is an u, but its special characteristic is that it is carried out with the backs of the hands laid against each other, thus indicating the i-sound also. You must show the u with the feet and at the same time you must suggest an i in the movement of the arms. Instead of making an i in this way (stretched movement), it must be shown more like this (backs of hands together, one slipping past the other), Then you have the ü.⁵

Take this sentence in order to see how beautiful it is when the ü-sounds are really brought out:

Prilfe dich, Schiller,
tjbe mit Muhe,
(Test thyself, Pupil,
Practise with diligence.)

These words might well be taken as a eurhythmist’s motto

Prüfe dich, Schüler,
Übe mit Mühe.

In this way we enter into the true nature of those sounds which we feet to be made up of more than one element.

What then do these diphthongs represent in language? Where do we have a diphthong, where a modified vowel? What do the diphthongs, what do the modified vowels represent in language? Wherever we have the diphthongs or modified vowels we have some such feeling as this : Now everything is becoming vague, indistinct and nebulous. This very often occurs when the singular becomes plural. For instance one brother (Bruder) makes a quite definite impression, but if we take the plural, that is to say, several brothers (Brüder), the feeling immediately becomes more indefinite. Thus the modified vowel represents impressions which are less sharply defined, and the same may be said with regard to the diphthongs.

If we enter into the nature of the diphthongs, we shall always find that something is present which cannot be looked upon as being entirely in the singular, but we are, as it were, given an impression of the plural, of things which are interwoven, bound together, or separated one from the other. We must always look for this in the diphthongs.

This is why in eurhythmy it is so wonderful when the directly visible movements which we have for a, or for i, for example, take on in the movements for the diphthongs something of a fluidic nature, something shading off into the indefinite. Eurhythmy is really able to bring to expression the deepest elements of sound and language. Thus we see how the character of the individual sounds comes to visible expression in the movements of eurhythmy.

Let us try the following exercise. We will ask Frl. Sch, and Frl. S ...to stand here) you (Frl. S. . . .) making the sounds i, e, u in succession, and you (Frl. Sob. . . .) making the two remaining vowels, a and o. Now in order to show the exercise quite clearly, will you (Frl. S. . . .), make an i, and you (Frl. Sch, . . ,), follow this with an a, and so on alternately, e, o, u. Do this in such a way that the character of the sounds is brought clearly to expression.

Let us go back to the beginning and see what it is that we are doing (Frl. S. . . . i, Frl. Sch. . . . a.) The eurhythmist making i enters right into the form of the movement, while the eurhythmist making a, creates, as it were, the movement from outside. When Frl. S. . . makes the i-sound there is a flashing of fire, a flashing of fire outwards (this could, of course, also be done with the hand). When Frl. Sch, makes an a she attracts to herself from without the clouds and the winds.

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You see how warmth, fire lies in this sound (i), and how form lies in this sound (a). In the former you have a radiating outwards, and in the latter a plastic, form-giving element. Thus Frl. S. . . has shown us the true Dionysos, the Dionysian vowels, and Frl. Sob. . . . the true Apollo, the Apollonian vowels. This is clearly to be seen when the movements are properly carried out. So that one may say that when a poem consists mainly of vowels o and a, it is a plastic poem, a poem with little movement, an Apollonian poem. On the other hand, when a poem consists mainly of the vowels i, u, e, the fire-element is predominant; it is a Dionysian poem.

From this you see how much may be expressed when we learn to read between the lines. One has only to say to Frl. S..... Make an i or an e, -and to Frl. Sch . . . make an a or an u, -and one has really said : You are a child of Dionysos; or: You are a child of Apollo.—In other words we may see in these vowels something of the cult of Dionysos, something of the cult of Apollo.

When one really experiences such things as these, it becomes possible, through eurhythmy, to draw out in the most wonderful way the inherent characteristics of speech, and to enter int0 the whole being of man.

Breath Sounds: h. sch, f. ch. s. f. v.
Letting oneself go with the outer world.
Sounds of Force : d. t. b. p. g. k. m, n.
An assertion of one’s inner being.
Vibrating Sound: r
Wave Sound: l.

• 1. In the German language eu corresponds to the Eng1ish oi as in ‘toil’
• 2. The ei in the German language corresponds to the English i as in ‘tide’.
• 3. The German an corresponds to the English on as in ‘ground’.
• 4. This movement is made use of in English eurhythmy for the sound a as in ‘and’.
• 5. Rudolf Steiner mentioned the word ‘sweet’ as an instance in ‘which this movement could be made use of in English eurhythmy.

My Dear Friends,

We must in speech eurhythmy, as we have already done in tone eurhythmy, differentiate between that which tends so carry the word, the tone, down into the physical world, and that which tends to raise it up into the spiritual world. We have until now paid very little attention to this difference. Yesterday, however, at the end of my lecture, I pointed out that when the vowel sound is changed into the diphthong the sense-world does not show itself in such sharply defined outlines, but appears more scattered, more diffused. And this at the same time brings us nearer to the spiritual. I pointed out that we easily see one brother (Bruder); when it is the case of one, we have a sharply defined sense-impression. Whereas several brothers (Brüder) make a collective impression. This gathering together of individuals brings us nearer to the world of imagination, of idea, and it is this ascent into the world of idea which is expressed in the diphthong.

These diphthong sounds do indeed show themselves to be essentially of a more spiritual nature than the actual vowel-sounds of which they are composed. For just as in tone-eurhythmy that which is essentially spiritual in the music does not lie in the actual tones, but between the tones, so also in speech-eurhythmy, that which rays upwards to the spiritual does not lie in the sharply emphasized sound, in the sound which is uttered strongly and upon which we rest, but it lies at that point where one sound passes over into the other—thus between the sounds. For this reason the movements of eurhythmy can never become really interesting as long as the eurhythmist merely concentrates upon the forming of the separate sounds. But eurhythmy can be made deeply interesting when one gradually learns to lead one sound over into the next. Thus we see that the truly spiritual element in eurhythmic movement is brought about by the way in which one sound arises out of the other.

To this something further must be added. Fundamentally speaking every word can be looked at from two aspects. On the one hand we have the aspect of external imitation, on the other hand the placing of that which is thus expressed into the general scheme of things. If to-day people were more disposed to study language from a spiritual point of view, realizing the way in which each language arises from out of its own genius, great stress would be laid upon the interesting fact that in the configuration of a word it is not merely the individual significance of a process or thing that is described but its relationship to a collective whole. All these things must be taken into account.

Thus we must realize that, in declaiming a poem, or merely endeavouring to give a word its true proportion in a sentence, the reciter must instinctively, by means of his artistic feeling, develop this attitude towards the sounds of speech: Such or such is the relationship of a word to its whole content. I shall speak about these things in detail later. Now, however, I am trying to show how, on the one hand, words have the descriptive element, and how, on the other hand, there is the possibility of going beyond the word itself and entering into the poem or sentence as a whole. We can see this best by taking definite examples. Let us first take a very characteristic type of word, the personal pronoun. Such words, in their very nature, place that to which they refer into some quite definite relationship, or—which is indeed much the same thing—they remove it right out of this relationship. We will take as an example the word ‘ich’ (I), and ask someone to express it in eurhythmy, standing still, (Frl. W, . . . will you do this ?) Now, in these movements for i and ch you have expressed the word ‘Ich.’

But to an unprejudiced observer there will be something lacking in these movements. In themselves they are quite correct, and certainly do express the word ‘Ich” in visible language; and yet there is something lacking. One has the feeling that here the ‘Ich’ is simply represented diagrammatically ; it is as if the only impression we had of a man were his portrait. Such a representation of the ‘Ich’ is not sufficiently living, for the spirit of man, which lies behind the manifestation of the ‘Ich’, is not fully expressed. What then is the spiritual essence of the word ‘Ich’? In this word there lies the pointing back to oneself, the concept of the self, but the concept of the self turned inwards towards the self. And if one wishes to express this backward turning into the self, it can he done excellently, not by standing still, but by moving. Let us suppose, therefore, that you take two steps forward end then two steps backwards, forwards, backwards, forwards, backwards.

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Thus you will retrace your steps, going back over the same line and returning to your starting point. With the two forward steps do the i-sound, and with the two backward steps the ch. In this way movement enters into the expression of the word ‘Ich’, movement which finds its way back again into itself, just as the Ich’ conception contains the feeling of turning back into the self. If you carry out the movements in this way, taking two steps forwards with the i and two steps backwards with the ch, you will enter right into the form (see diagram), and this form is of such a nature that it grows directly out of the meaning inherent in this combination of sounds.

Let us pass over from the ‘Ich’ (I) to the ‘Du’ (Thou). Here we have quite another feeling. The whole relationship is different, indicating a connection with some other being. (Frl. S will you make the movements for ‘Du’, standing still as before d-u?) But in this simple expression of the ‘Du’ there is again a certain feeling of dissatisfaction, for here again we only have the picture of the ‘Du’, not the actual ‘Du’ itself. The movement is not living. The real spirit of the word is lacking. We must seek some means which will help us to find our way to this spirit.

In the case of the word ‘Ich’ it is quite clear that one turns back into oneself. With the word ‘Du’—when one really enters into the nature of the ‘Du’, thus coming into contact with somebody not oneself, the other,—then one goes out of oneself. Here one cannot go back on the same line and touch the starting point again, for this would lead one back into oneself. That is obviously impossible. On the other hand, one cannot go altogether out of oneself, for then one would not be expressing the word ‘Du’, but the word ‘Er’ or ‘Sie’ (He or She). You will easily feel this. Thus with ‘Du’ it is necessary to give some slight indication of one’s own being also. This can only be done when the line of the form turns back, touching itself at some definite point.

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This diagram shows the point at which you cross your previous line. When, therefore, instead of simply going forwards and backwards, you only touch the line of the form once on your way back, you have the complete movement for ‘Du’. The d should be made during the first part of the form, and the u on the way back; but the line must only cross itself at the one point. Now you have really brought the ‘Du’ into movement, and have done so in such a way that it has not become an ‘ Er’ or a ‘Sie’. You have retained a certain contact with yourself, even if this contact is but slight. It is, however, possible to strengthen the feeling of oneself. If we wish to do this, if we wish the going out from ourselves to become weaker and weaker, then, while making the u, the form can be carried out in this way:

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This ‘Du’ would, however, in no way express a loving feeling. If you try the form for yourself you will notice that the effect is somewhat pinched, much less outgoing in character, Such things as these can, of course, only be realized through the feelings; they are, however, not difficult to feel.

I have already indicated the way in which the ‘Er’ can be shown. The impression of ‘Er’ is given by never allowing the second part of the form to touch the line taken by the first part of the form. Thus we find that the ‘Er’ form is the circle, where we have a line which is never touched again until the starting point is reached. The ‘Er’ must be expressed by a circular form, by a line which never turns back on to itself.

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Here we have another possibility.

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You do not come back to your starting point, and, were you to do so, the form would already be completed. Thus we have a line which never crosses itself at any point, and which expresses for us the word ‘Er’. (Frl. S . . . will you come and make the movements for ‘Er’ standing still? It is impossible to give the real feeling for ‘Er’ while standing still; one cannot even produce a pictorial impression. All that we have is the egotistical contemplation of the other person or thing. There is no going out of oneself. Now add this form to the movements ; simply make a circle, so that you come back to the point from which you started. Accompany one side of the form with the e and the other side with the r, and you will see how well the feeling of the ‘Er’ is expressed.

Some time ago I gave an exercise built up upon a special combination of sounds. It began with the word ‘Der’ (The), which is indeed similar in character to ‘Er’; and it was built up on the ‘Er’ feeling and carried out in such a way that the form never at any point came back and touched the previous line. (Frl. Sch, . . . will you show us this exercise, ‘Der Wolkendurchleuchter’; try and do it in such a way that you bring into it all that I have said.)

Der Wolkendurchleuchter,
Er durchleuchte,
Er durchsonne,
Er durchglühe,
Er durchwärme
Auch mich.

(He who illuminates the clouds,
May he illuminate,
May he irradiate,
May he inspire
And fill with warmth and light,
Even me.)

Formerly we did this in such a way that the character of ‘Er’, (He), upon which the entire poem is built, was shown in the exercise as a whole. There is, however, another way of doing the exercise. Every time the word ‘Er’, (He), occurs, make a circle; but also carry out the form of a circle in the course of the whole poem. Thus, whenever the word ‘Er’ appears make a circle, go a little further, make another circle, and so on. By this means the whole thing takes on a quite different character, quite another type of movement.

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In the old way of doing this exercise we felt that we must devote ourselves more to the mood of the poem as a whole.

In the new way we give ourselves up to the changing moods, to the illuminating, the irradiating, the inspiring with warmth and light.

Passing over from the ‘Ich’ (I) to the ‘Wir’ (We), that is to say from the singular to the plural,—for ‘We’ implies at least two people,—we are no longer dealing with a solo dance, but have come into the realm of the round dance. If there are two people taking part in the form, it can be done in the following way (see diagram). The working together, the losing of the self, is expressed by means of the circle. The ‘Ich’ is expressed by each individual taking a number of steps forward and at the same time saying aloud the word ‘Wir’ or ‘We’, and then going back over the same line,—forwards, backwards, forwards, backwards. In this way the two aspects of the word are shown quite clearly. Thus, if only two people are taking part, they stand opposite to one another, approach each other, draw back again, approach each other, draw back again, and in so doing express the inner feeling of the word ‘Wir’.

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If four people take part the circle becomes more complete, and by moving forwards and backwards over the same line the ‘Wir’ is very well expressed. The feeling of belonging together can be strengthened by taking hands, but this will hardly be possible with two people only. Here we have a very beautiful expression of ‘Wir’. Let four eurhythmists stand in a circle, saying the word ‘Wir’ or ‘We’ aloud, in the way I have already explained. Begin by joining hands; now take two steps forward with the w, passing over into the i when you have reached the centre; complete the backward journey with r, and again join hands. Care must be taken not to make the i too soon. In this way we really express the word ‘Wir’. Quite beautiful shades of feeling can be brought into such an exercise. One must, however, always experience the difference between ‘Ich’, ‘Wir’, and so on.

There is still another exercise which can be very beautiful. If four eurhythmists stand as indicated in the diagram, not taking hands this time, but making the movements backwards, what will this express?—‘Ihr’ (You). We have ‘Du’ (Thou) carried over into the plural. There can be no doubt about it; it is quite apparent. In this exercise we show the turning away from ourselves, the feeling of ‘Ihr’.

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The word ‘Ihr’ must also be spoken aloud. And from the very beginning the arms must tend in a backward direction. In this way much that is of significance can be brought into the exercise. These things should also be taken into account when studying the structure of a poem, for they are exceedingly characteristic. All that can be felt and experienced in, the single words, particularly in such characteristic words as the personal pronouns, must be sought for and experienced in the structure of language as a whole. Very much more could be said on this subject, but for the moment we will pass on to another exercise.

Let us ask three eurhythmists to place themselves in a triangle, and then carry out this form:

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If you wish to give characteristic expression to the word ‘Sie’, you will do so most easily when you all three move the forms in the same direction, all towards the same side. (You must all start from the same point and reach the same point at the end of the form.) Thus Sie, Sie, Sie. Here we have the direct expression for the word ‘Sie’.

Now the question naturally arises : How can I apply these things?—for in the ordinary way it will certainly not be possible to carry out such a form in the case of each separate word. Although of this you may be quite certain something very beautiful would grow out of the dexterity and skill which would be achieved by the diligent practice of all I have indicated for such single words as ‘Du’, ‘Er’, ‘Wir’, ‘Ibr’, ‘Sie’. It would lead to something very beautiful.

In the case of certain poems we have quite definitely the Ich’ (I) character. In other poems, especially in love poems, we have the ‘Du’ (Thou) character. And in the case of quite a number of poems,—here I am reminded particularly of nearly all the poems of Martin Grief,—we have a most pronounced ‘Er’ (He) character. One can enter right into the whole mood of a poem when one is able to perceive in a poem itself the ‘I’, ‘Thou’ or ‘He’ character, and then express the poem by means of a form which has been drawn from out of the very nature of the ‘I’, ‘Thou’, ‘He’, ‘We’, ‘You’ or They’. A specially beautiful effect may be attained when the objective mood, the mood of ‘He’, the mood of going out of oneself, is carried over into what is more subjective in its feeling. Let us take as an example that poem from which we have learned so much already, for from whichever point of view we look at it, it seems as if specially written for the study of eurhythmy. I refer to Goethe’s famous poem so well known to us all;

Über allen Gipfeln
Ist Ruh;
In allen Wipfeln
Spürest du
Kaum einen Hauch;
Die Vögelein schweigen im Walde,
Warte nur, baide
Ruhest du auch.
(O’er all the hill tops
Is quiet now;
In all the tree tops
Hearest thou
Hardly a breath;
The birds are asleep in the trees
Wait, soon like these
Thou too shalt rest.)

Let us analyse this poem quite objectively:

Über allen Gipfeln
Ist Ruh,

We will give this the ‘He’ character,

In allen Wipfeln
Spürest du
Kaum einen Hauch.

Here we pass on to the ‘Thou’

Die Vögelein schweigen im Walde.
Warte nur, balde
Ruhest du auch.

Now we must ask: Should this be in the ‘I’ or the ‘Thou’ character? For Goethe is here speaking to himself. You could try it both ways. Let us first try it in this way

If we do so we shall see how the form arises out of the whole mood of the poem. Personal pronouns, such as ‘Ich’, ‘Du’ and so on, are, when uttered, in reality nothing else than a crystallization, a condensation of a mood or feeling otherwise spread over a whole passage. In this particular poem the first lines are permeated by the ‘He’ mood, the next lines by the ‘Thou’, then comes the ‘He’ once more, then again the Thou’, or, as we shall presently see, the ‘I’, which is the mood of the last lines,

Warte nur, balde
Ruhest du auch.

Now let us do the whole poem in this second way: He, Thou, He, I

Uber alien Gipfeln
Ist Ruh;
In allen Wipfeln
Spürest du
Kaum einen Hauch;
Die Vogelein schweigen im Walde.
Warte nur, balde
Ruhest du auch.

Now, by giving the form the ‘I’ character, you have seen how entirely different it becomes. If we try both forms one after the other, we shall certainly decide that the second is the better. This will undoubtedly prove to be the right way. From such a poem you can gain the most wonderful perception of how the form develops right out of the poem itself. You must learn to feel the relationship existing between a certain combination of sounds and the meaning of the word thus formed—a personal pronoun, for example.

Consider for a moment how beautifully some such short poem as the following can be worked out if we study its meaning and make use of all that we now know:

Schlummer und Schlaf, zwei Brüder, zum Dienste der Götter berufen,
Bat sich Prometheus herab, seinem Geschlechte zum Trost.
Aber den Göttern so leicht, doch schwer zu ertragen den Menschen,
Ward nun ihr Schiummer uns Schlaf, ward nun ihr Schiaf uns zum Tod.

Here the words ‘Uns’ (Us) occurs twice; we will, of course, treat it in the same way as ‘Wir’ (We), and make use of the ‘Wir’ form. If we now look more closely into the poem we shall be able to analyse it as follows

Schlummer und Schiaf, zwei Brüder zum Dienste der Götter berufen,
Obviously an ‘Er’ form.
Bat sich Prometheus herab, seinem Geschlechte zum Trost.

Now in the word ‘Bitten’ (to ask) there is necessarily a turning towards some other person, there is an indication of the ‘Du’ ; we feel the underlying character of ‘Du’.

Aber den Göttern so leicht, doch schwer zu ertragen den Menschen.

With these words we pass over to something which leads us into the depths of our own being. Such knowledge can only be attained by entering into the very nature of the thing in question. Here, therefore, an opportunity presents itself of making use of the position I have already shown you, the position for Knowledge,

Ward nun ihr Schiummer uns Schlaf,

The light sleep of the Gods becomes deep sleep for man, and the deep sleep of the Gods becomes death for man,

Ward nun ihr Schlaf uns um Tod.

Here we come into the region of destiny, common to all men by reason of their humanity; we have the ‘Wir’. We shall be able to make a form which really brings life into the poem if we make use, in the first place, of those forms which we have gained from a study of the personal pronouns, add in the second place,—where the whole thing is brought into the realm of the spiritual,—of the movement, the position for Knowledge. We shall get good results if we regard these forms as really fundamental forms, and make use of them quite freely, but with due regard to the sense and correctness of the way in which they are applied.

Frl. S. . . . will you do the first line to an ‘Er’ form, fitting in the whole line to the one form. With the second line make a ‘Du’ form. With the third, or rather in the pause between the second and third lines, and again at the end of the third line, take up the position for Knowledge, finally using the ‘Wir’ form for the last line. You will, however, not be able to make the ‘Wir’ form alone; two other eurhythmists must therefore make their appearance on the stage, one coming from the left wing, the other from the right. By this means the last line will be coloured with the feeling of ‘Wir’, (We) This example shows you how such forms may be worked out. They are developed from out of the poems themselves.

From all that has been said, and from these simple examples, I hope you are beginning to understand the spirit in which the study of eurhythmy has to be undertaken. With eurhythmy one has really to study the poem; it is not enough merely to learn the sounds, but one must enter right into its whole content, into all the nuances of feeling and fine shades of mood contained within it. And no one should attempt to express a poem in eurhythmy who has not first put to himself the question: What is the fundamental character of this poem ?—upon what artistic foundation is it based?

Let us take another example by Goethe

Seid, O Geister des Hains, o seid, ihr Nymphen des Flusses,
Eurer Entfernten gedenk, eueren Nahen zur Lust!
Weihend feierten sie im Stillen die ländlichen Feste;
Wir, dem gebahnten Pfad folgend, beschleichen das Glück.
Amor wohne mit uns; es macht der himmlische Knabe
Gegenwärtige lieb und die Entfarnten euch nah.

Now as a preliminary study we must begin carefully to examine the poem. These things, which I am necessarily treating in a somewhat sketchy way at the moment, must be gone into thoroughly and in detail when one is working out a poem with a view to doing it in eurhythmy.

So we have:

Said, O Geister des Hains, o seid, ihr Nymphen des Flusses.

What is this but the ‘Du’ mood, a form of address. If you are working out the poem with several eurhythmists, as we mean to do now, you will, of course, begin with the ‘Ihr’ form.

Eurer Entfernten gedenk, eueren Nahen zur Lust! Once more ‘Ihr’.
Weihend feierten sie im Stillen die ländlichen Feste; ‘Sie’.
Wir, dem gebahnten Pfad folgend, beschleichen das Glück, ‘Wir’.
Amor wohne mit uns, es macht der himmlische Knabe. Er’,
Gegenwärtige lieb und die Entfernten euch nah. ‘Ihr’,

In the second line we repeat the ‘Ihr’ form, in order to express ‘Euch’ (your). The example consists of six lines.

I will now ask three eurhythmists to group themselves together and express the whole poem in the way I have indicated. Before beginning you must be quite clear about what it is you have to do. You must make the form according to the rules given. In this case, therefore, ‘Ihr’, ‘Ihr’, ‘Sie’, ‘Wit’, ‘Er’, ‘Ihr’,—each form to spread out over a whole line.

There are, of course, other ways of doing it. Two of the eurhythmists can remain standing, and the third do the ‘Er’ form alone; then we should have:

Amor wohne mit uns; es macht der himmlische Knabe—
done as a solo line, after which all three would join together in the ‘Ihr’ form.
Gegenwärtige lieb und die Entfernten euch nah.

In this way we learn to realize the possibility of studying a poem by means of the eurhythmic forms.

My dear Friends,

To-day we will consider certain things bound up with the plastic element of speech, with a method of speaking which gradually leads over into the realm of art. When doing eurhythmy,—it is well to be clear on this point,—we can either do the movements standing still or accompanied by walking. We have already seen the significance of eurhythmic walking.

Walking is, fundamentally speaking, the expression of an impulse of will. When studying eurhythmy it is essential to understand the inner nature of all that is bound up with speech, and consequently with visible speech also. When taking a step we can clearly differentiate three separate phases 1. The lifting of the foot. 2. The carrying of the foot. 3. The placing of the foot. We must be quite conscious that this threefold movement represents a complete whole. First we have the raising of the foot. Then the foot remains for a moment in the air, it is carried; thus the second phase is the carrying of the foot. And finally, in the third phase, the foot is placed on the ground.

Naturally, when walking in ordinary life it is not necessary to bother about these details. In eurhythmy, however, everything must become conscious.

Thus we have:

1. The Lifting of the Foot.
2. The Carrying of the Foot,
3. The Placing of the Foot.

It is clear that much variety can be introduced by means of the different ways in which these three phases of walking are carried out.

If, in the first place, we take the lifting of the foot, we see that this clearly indicates the will impulse inherent in the action of walking: thus with the lifting of the foot we have to do with an impulse of will. When, on the other hand, we direct our attention to the carrying of the foot, we have to do with the thought element which lies behind every will activity.

In the first place then, we have to do with the will impulse as such. Secondly, with the lifting of the foot, we have to do with the thought which comes to expression in this will impulse. And in the placing of the foot the act of will is completed; here we have the deed.

1. The Lifting: Impulse of Will
2. The Carrying: Thought
3. The Placing: Deed

Now much variety can be brought into walking by making the middle phase of longer or shorter duration, also by actually making the step itself longer or shorter. Thus the laying stress upon the middle phase of the step mainly serves the purpose of emphasizing and bringing to expression the thought which lies behind the impulse of will; it gives form to this thought.

On the other hand, by the way in which the foot is placed upon the ground, you can always show whether you think the will impulse has achieved its goal, or whether it has faltered in its purpose. If you put your foot down uncertainly, as though walking on thin ice, your step will express uncertainty of purpose. If you put your foot down firmly, with the assurance that the ground will not give way under your feet, you will show that your goal is sure and certain.

Here, too, when working out a poem, you must analyse carefully and ask yourself whether the one mood or the other predominates. Of course such things as these only become really clear when they are practically applied. Now, however, we will pass on to other aspects of walking. And this brings us into the domain of rhythmic walking, into that poetic element which must enter into eurhythmy, into the movements and forms of eurhythmy.

It is indeed above all things important to realize consciously that, either through special emphasis, or through the longer and shorter syllables, rhythm must be brought into speech. And this rhythm must also make its appearance when expressing a poem in eurhythmy. For it would have been impossible to call this art of movement of which we are now speaking ‘Eurhythmy’, if we had not taken into account the element of rhythm.

This leads us over to a fact which must be considered if we are really to enter into the nature of speech eurhythmy,—a fact that is deeply impressed into all that is connected with the more artistic aspect of speech. We have within our modern civilization two types of language, prose and poetry. The further we go back in human evolution, the more we find that poetical language is really the only language, and that the human being when speaking has the longing to bring into his speech the element of poetry, the artistic element. Speech may really be said to lie midway between thinking and feeling. Thinking lies on the one side, feeling on the other. As human beings we have the inward experience of both thought and feeling. And when we express ourselves outwardly, when we try to bring something to external expression in speech, we really place speech midway between the two elements of thought and feeling.

Thought

Speech

Feeling

In the earlier periods of evolution man had an inner life of feeling somewhat different from ours today. The man of earlier times always had the longing, when feeling something deeply, when experiencing feeling in his soul, also to experience words rising up within him,—words which were not so clear cut and definite as our words are today, but which were, nevertheless, of the nature of articulated tones. He was able, as it were, inwardly to hear that which he experienced as feeling.

The thinking of primitive man was also different from our thinking to-day; he really thought in words. These words, however, in which he thought were more definite than those in which he felt. Thus words resounded within him. His was not such an abstract thinking as ours to-day; and words also resounded within him when he experienced feeling. That absolutely inward feeling which we possess and which has no need of words was not present in his soul. Now when we consider how closely the primitive life of the soul was bound up with word-configuration, with tone-configuration, we shall realize that an inner recitation,—if I may so describe it,—lay, in those early times, behind the thinking and feeling of man, a recitation based upon the combined development of speech, thinking and feeling. And this inner recitation differentiated itself, becoming on the one side speech which retained its artistic element, and on the other side music, that which is purely musical, the wordless sounding of tones which depends for its effect upon pitch and so on. I dealt with this latter aspect in the course of lectures on tone-eurhythmy.¹

But yet another differentiation took place,—the development of pure thought. And to-day I shall speak of the essential difference between these two types of language, between poetic language which must be given artistic shape and form, and prose language which depends entirely upon the intellectual content, and where there is no longer any necessity to give artistic form to the language as such.

During the course of the last few centuries, as materialistic thought developed—for the abstract thought of materialism is closely bound up with the prose element—the true feeling for the artistic shaping and forming of language was lost. And to-day we find any number of people having absolutely no feeling for the artistic, plastic element of language. They only regard language as a medium for the expression of thought, and are quite indifferent to the quality of the language through which this thought is expressed.

I should not enter into all these things so fully if they were not of the deepest significance for the understanding of eurhythmy. For, in speaking about eurhythmy, and taking the sounds as our starting point, we must enter at once into the realm of art. We must bring the inner soul-nature of the sounds to outward expression; we must, as it were, go back to a time in which man felt in the word itself all that he experienced in his soul as sound, to a time in which there really was a true language of sound. To-day there is no longer a true language of sound. We have instead an intellectualistic language which only serves to express concepts and thoughts. And this is the reason why to-day in recitation and declamation people no longer perceive the artistic, plastic element in language, the musical element, the form-giving element, but make the mistake of looking only for the meaning, of emphasizing the meaning, which is, of course, also present in prose.

It is essential for every eurhythmist to gain a true perception of the difference between poetic or artistic language and the language of prose. For the mere understanding, it is, of course, a matter of no importance as to whether the wording of an idea is beautiful or ugly, as to whether or no words create a noble impression. But for an artistic forming and shaping of speech it is just these shades of feeling and character which are so important. Arid this is why we must strive to gain an understanding of the artistic, plastic formation of language.

The first step towards this understanding is the development of an inner feeling for the Iambic and Trochaic rhythms. For the moment we will not bother as to whether we will express the Iambic measure by a strongly emphasized beat preceded by one less strongly emphasized, or whether we will show it by a long beat preceded by a short beat. I shall speak of these details—which really belong more to the essential difference between recitation and declaration—in a later lecture. We must feel to begin with the real significance of starting with an unemphasized syllable and following this by an emphasized syllable, and the way in which such a rhythm carries us forwards.

‘Auf Bergen flammen Feuer.’

Here we have an unemphasized syllable followed by an emphasized syllable. This is repeated three times, the fourth time being incomplete. We pass over from the quieter to that which has more movement, from the weaker to the stronger. This brings into walking a special characteristic, the characteristic of going towards something, the wish to reach something. And when we step to this rhythm we feel immediately that we enter into the inner element of the will. The Iambic element brings into speech the character of will,

Let us now take the opposite. Here the emphasized syllable occurs first, followed by the unemphasized syllable.

‘Trag mir Wasser herab,’

This is just the reverse of the previous example. We begin with the strong, important bear, and pass over to the weaker, less accented beat. If you move in such a rhythm and enter into its feeling, you will at once perceive that here one takes one’s start from something quite definite. And this feeling of something quite definite can only be present when you have a clear concept, a clear-cut thought. In this case you do not strive towards something, but you express in the rhythm your definite thoughts. Thus with the Trochaic rhythm we have to do with thinking. This thinking naturally manifests itself in action, but thought is really the dominant factor.

Will, striving, predominates in the Iambic measure; thought, the realization of thought in the Trochaic measure. You must not, of course, carry these indications to extremes. You might, for instance, picture this energetic Iambic rhythm as being expressed by a rapid progress downhill, and connect this progress with an activity of will. On the other hand you will be more inclined to connect the Trochaic rhythm with seeing or perception. As I said, you must not carry such things to extremes, but if you really enter into the nature of the different rhythms, you will find what I have said to be correct.

Now the point is to bring the Iambic and Trochaic rhythms into walking. This has, of course, already been practised. (Frl. S. . . . will you first show us the Iambic rhythm.)

And now, in order to illustrate the contrast, will you step to Trag mir Wasser herab’, strongly emphasizing the first beat. We must remember that with the unaccented beat we simply step, whereas with the accented beat the placing of the foot on the ground must be strongly marked. How must the foot be placed on the ground? The toes must touch the ground first, the other part of the foot following. It is quite time for eurhythmists to be able to do this really as it should be done. The ordinary threefold walking must be carried over into the rhythmic walking, that is to say, the toes must touch the ground first the rest of the foot following after. Eurhythmists must not simply trip along on their toes, but really place the whole foot on the ground.

Here are two examples.

u—u—u—u
Auf Bergen fiammen Feuer,
—u—u—u
Trag mir Wasser herab.

I can easily show you, by taking a more complicated rhythm, that these things really are of importance. Instead of expressing the yearning, the will, the desire in such a way that we show that we are sure of instantly achieving or object, we can prolong the feeling of desire by having two short beats, followed by a long beat. In this way we get the Anapaestia rhythm

uu—uu—uu—

Now anyone who walks to a poem in Anapeestic rhythm, and compares this with the experience of Iambic walking will notice a tremendous difference between the two. Let us take the following as an example of the Anapaest:

Von mir bist du von Menschen gebildet.
u u—u u—u u—u

Here there is the feeling of reaching the accented syllable with more difficulty. This feeling of difficulty brings a more intimate character into language. And this intimacy of character brings with it a more spiritual element. Thus we may say that the Anapaest rhythm introduces into language a certain inwardness of feeling, a certain spirituality.

(Frl. S. . . . will you show us the Anapaest rhythm:)
Von mir bist du zum Menschen gebildet.

This is a perfectly clear Anapaest.

Now in eurhythmy the point is not so much that one hears the rhythm, but that one should be able to see it: for eurhythmy is visible speech. And for this it is necessary to accustom oneself clearly to show the emphasis on the strong beat, then the unaccented beat will take care of itself. And it may be said that one only enters into the sphere of eurhythmy when these rhythms are accompanied by an upward and downward movement of the body.

When we make the opposite rhythm, the Trochaic, a little more complicated, we get the Dactyl: long, short, short, long, short, short. Let us take the following as an example:

Sing mir, unsterbliche Seele, des sündigen Menschen Erlösung.
—u u—u u—u u—u u—u u—u

Try now to walk in the Dactyl rhythm and you will find that this has more the feeling of a statement, an assertion. If, however, you wish to show the true character of the Dactyl, you must not allow the body to have a forward tendency. In this rhythm the body must remain somewhat behind.

In the rhythms we have the time element; the time element is in this way brought to eurhythmic expression. And the possibilities of eurhythmy are so great just because the eurhythmist is able to make simultaneous use of both time and space. It is possible,—to some extent even with one eurhythmist, but with a group much more so,—to bring into eurhythmy all manner of variations of forms by means of symmetry, by the grouping of the people in some special form and by the symmetrical movement of the arms and legs. The solo eurhythmist also can create forms in space, but the effect of group forms is much more powerful. The possibilities of group forms are infinitely greater.

By means of such forms, by means of this working in space, one is able to enter into the poetic element of speech even more easily, more unhampered, than is possible in recitation and declamation. Truly, recitation and declamation must also work towards the inner artistic element inherent in speech, but here the difficulties are greater than in the case of eurhythmy.

The essential thing about prose language is that it enables one clearly to understand and grasp what one wishes to express by means of a word or sentence. At least one must believe one has grasped it. In prose language we have become so extreme in our desire for clarity that we make use of the so-called definition. There is really something appalling about definitions, for they make people believe that they have clearly expressed some idea, whereas in reality, the description is merely pedantic. If people are themselves not clear about the meaning of a word, definitions will be of no help to them. In any case a comprehensive definition, even of a relatively simple thing, would necessarily lead one into endless complications, otherwise the results would be similar to the story that I have so often repeated, in which somebody described the human being as a two-legged creature without feathers. On the following day this person was confronted with a goose and told that, according to his definition, the goose was a human being, for it had two legs and no feathers—(you see, it was a plucked goose !). Now a human being is not always a goose, so here the definition did not meet the case.

‘When using prose language, one should at least attempt to express one’s ideas directly, in clear outline. In prose one cannot—and need not—live in and experience the artistic formation of language. An artistic treatment of language demands imagination and fantasy; and here one should strive to use one’s gift of fantasy, to give rein to one’s imagination. This, however, can only be attained when one does not rest content with crude description, but when one develops an attitude of mind which allows imagination and fantasy to give form and life to whatever may be in question. If anyone were to say, for instance : ‘Here is a water lily’, he would be speaking prose. But if he were to say: ‘O flowering swan!’ this would be pictorial, poetical. One can quite well picture a water lily, with its white bloom rising out of the water, as a flowering swan.

The picture can also be reversed—and here I will quote from Geibel. The lines in which he describes the swan as a floating water lily are perhaps the most beautiful he has written:

O Wasserrose, du blühender Schwan,
O Schwan, du schwimmende Rose ...
(O water lily, thou flowering swan,
O swan, thou floating lily ...)

Even this can hardly be said to be an adequate picture, but at any rate it brings us much nearer to the truth.

Now how does this picture of the ‘flowering swan’ arise ?—The expression ‘flowering swan’ is only an image; it is not in accordance with reality. A picture must have this quality; it must make us feel that it goes beyond reality and give us an impression which transcends its own imagery. The fact that a swan is not a blossom makes the expression ‘flowering swan’ into a picture. It is when we feel that there is something suggestive about the picture that we are brought closer to the true nature of that which is being described.

The inner plastic element of language depends upon this possibility of imagery. And you, my dear friends, will be able to discover this pictorial element when you realize that a sound is, in itself, always a picture. A sound is no less a picture of what it describes than this expression of the ‘flowering swan’ is a picture of the water lily. For any combination of sounds depends upon what these sounds represent; a word is no abstraction but arises out of life itself.

Thus it may be said that the use of language is based upon the fact that every sound is a picture, an image. If then, we accustom ourselves to see pictures in sounds we shall learn by degrees to have a feeling for the use of these pictures,—we shall learn to know that poetic language, artistic, plastic language, must be pictorial in character.

Now, when I say: ‘O flowering swan’, when meaning a water lily, and : ‘O floating flower’, when meaning a swan, these two conceptions have really only one characteristic in common—their dazzling whiteness. Their other qualities are different.

It is not difficult to form such pictures as these. They generally go by the name of metaphor. A metaphor is, in reality, a picture which makes use of some common characteristic in order to establish a relationship between two conceptions. In such a case one portrays one thing by describing it as something else which is not the thing to which one is really referring, but has certain characteristics in common with it. Metaphor arises in this way.

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I am purposely not giving the usual definition of the metaphor, for this definition has nothing artistic about it, My description is not based upon logic, but I have tried to build it up from what is really essential.

Let us go a little further, It is possible, by making use of a word which represents something less comprehensive, to express something really wider in its meaning. For instance, one can mean ‘beasts of prey’, but if one wishes to be more pictorial, instead of actually using this expression one might equally well say : ‘the lions’. When, in using the word ‘lion’, one really intends to convey the meaning of ‘beasts of prey’, language becomes pictorial. We must be clear that in such a case the lesser is used to describe the greater. We wish to give the impression of ‘what is more comprehensive, but in order to do so we use a word which expresses something more limited. This pictorial means of expression is very general. It is called the Synecdoche. In the Synecdoche we have a picture in which one makes use of the lesser to express the greater.

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The reverse is also possible; it is possible to make use of the greater to express the lesser. A particularly strong impression is created by this means. For instance we have Byron’s picturesque expression to describe the attitude of a lady who is something of a shrew, He says : ‘ She looks curtain-lectures (Sic blickt Gardinenpredigten). Here you have a comprehensive element which can otherwise only be verbally indicated by such expressions as ‘curtain-lectures’ and so on, applied to the narrower sphere of the lady’s look, It is a wonderfully effective figure of speech, when the facial expression of the worst kind of Xanthippe is characterised by applying to her look the entire series of curtain-lectures, with all the abuse and scolding and outcry they involve, In this case the whole is used for the part.

We must find a means of expressing these things in eurhythmy. First let us try a quite simple example. Wherever a metaphor occurs it may be shown by taking a step sideways,—either towards the right or towards the left. Wherever you have to do with anything in the nature of a metaphor you may introduce this sideways movement into the form.

If you wish to express the Synecdoche in a case where the greater is used to express the lesser, you must go backwards if, on the other hand, you use the lesser to express the greater you must go forwards. This lies in the form. Therefore you will always express She looks curtain-lectures by moving in a backwards direction; you will, however) move forwards when, meaning ‘beasts of prey’, you simply use the word ‘lion’. If therefore in eurhythmy you move backwards in space you immediately give the impression of an intensification, of going from the lesser to the greater; when you move forwards the opposite impression is created.

In order to illustrate this, try to express by means of the direction in which you move, the following sentence:

I strive towards the heavenly powers

(moving backwards)

And now I shall immediately take another example, so that you may see the difference between the two:

I shut myself within my little room

(moving forwards)

You must express these examples simply by means of the direction in which you move. With the first, which indicates a striving towards the greater, you must go backwards, With the second : ‘I shut myself within my little room,’ you must go forwards. In this way we have the possibility of expressing, by means of a forwards and backwards movement, all the inner shades of feeling contained in these things.

What I have here indicated is of the utmost importance for eurhythmy as an art. For only by understanding the meaning of this walking in a forwards, backwards or sideways direction, does one learn to move on the stage in the right way. Without such understanding one might quite well try to express something of the nature of a prayer by means of a forwards-moving line, which would be utterly out of place, for in the case of a prayer or a petition the backwards-moving one at once gives the right feeling. When expressing the wish to teach something, thus entering into the realm of thought, one will not go backwards, but forwards in the form.

In the case of a conversation, the movement is neither backwards nor forwards, but sideways ; for conversation is really of the nature of metaphor.

To-day I have indicated several things which, as they are further developed, will serve to make speech eurhythmy more complete and worthy of being called an art in the true sense.

• 1. Eurythmie als sichtbarer Gesang. Philosophisch-Anthroposophischer Verlag am Goetheanum, Dornach.

Up to this point we have, at least to some extent, derived the eurhythmic gestures from the actual sounds of speech. Now we must realize that everything which may be expressed through the medium of these gestures—and which is therefore in a certain sense the revelation of man himself, just as the spoken word is also a revelation of man himself—we must realize that all this is based upon the possibilities of form and movement inherent in the human organism. For this reason we may choose yet another starting-point; we may, that is to say, take the nature of man himself and develop from this the various possibilities of form and movement. We may see what manner of movement can proceed out of the human organism; and then, carrying this further, we may eventually discover how the individual movement can take on the character of the visible sound.

Today, in the first place, we will take our start from the actual being of man, and we will endeavour to discover the forms and movements that may arise in this way. Then, proceeding somewhat further, we shall ask ourselves: Which sound is to be regarded as related to this or that particular movement?

For this purpose I shall need quite a number of eurhythmists, and I will therefore ask them to come on to the stage.

Will you place yourselves in a circle in such a way as to have equal distances between each point?

I. Raise both arms upwards, the palms of the hands turned outwards and all the fingers widely spread.

II. Hold the right arm closely to the body, the left hand being lightly supported against the side.

III. Both arms stretched forwards, the one laid over the other.

IV. The arms held to the sides, the left arm at some distance from the body.

V. One foot placed forwards, the left hand grasping the right elbow.

VI. Close the left hand into a fist and place it against the forehead; with the other hand, which is held
more in a forward direction make this gesture. (See diagram VI.)

VII. Both hands forwards, the left hand below, the right above.

VIII. Stand with the weight on the left foot, holding the right foot slightly raised, the right hand upwards in a vertical position, and the left arm bent somewhat sideways.

IX. Bend the head forwards and downwards, touching the chin with the right hand, and allowing the left hand to hang at the side.

X. Clasp the right arm over the head, covering the larynx with the left hand.

XI. Place the feet so that they are turned inwards and cross the arms.

XII. Left arm placed against the breast, the right arm against the back.

Here you see a series of gestures. These gestures in their totality represent the entire human being—the human being split up, as it were, into twelve separate elements, but still the entire human being.

You might also imagine these gestures being carried out by a single person, one after the other. If you picture them being made one after the other by the same person, you would see still more clearly how in this way, when one individual makes all the movements, the whole being of man is revealed and expressed with quite remarkable force and clarity.

Let us now pass through these several aspects of the human being. We will begin here: (gesture IV - Scorpio):

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Try to imagine that we here have represented that element in the human being, which we call the intellect, the mind. We must realize that this gesture is the expression of the understanding, the intellect.

Now let us look at this: (gesture I -Leo):

From this gesture, there streams out with a sunny radiance that element which may be described as enthusiasm, which has its source in the breast. Thus we may say: gesture IV—the head: gesture I—the breast, enthusiasm.

Now let us pass to this point: (gesture X)

Here, the head is enfolded by the right arm, while the left hand covers the larynx. In this gesture we have represented that part of the human being that is the expression of the will. (The Word is silenced). We have man as the representative of the will, of all that can lead to action, to deed. Thus we may say: the limb system, will, deed.

Fundamentally speaking we now really have before us the threefold organism of human nature: understanding, feeling, will.

Then we still have that gesture which synthesizes all these elements in itself. You can see how here, in this gesture, there is the striving after balance: (gesture VII - Aquarius):

A state of balance is sought between these various aspects. One may imagine that the arms move in this way (with an upward and downward movement) and that by this means one is endeavouring to experience this state of balance. Here we feel the whole human being seeking to obtain equilibrium; it is the representation of the human being who finds the perfect balance between his three forces—thinking, feeling and willing. I will only write ‘the human being in a state of balance’ (see diagram). You must take these descriptions which I am writing here as matters of the greatest significance.

Now we will go one stage further; when you pass over from the thinking human being to the human being as he seeks for equilibrium you have, lying between these two aspects, that element which follows after thought, which is the consequence of thinking. Where does thinking lead us? To resolve. Thus gesture V is the resolve, the thought that wishes to transfer itself into reality: Resolve (gesture V - Sagittarius):

Now we reach this point (gesture VI) [Capricorn - L]

We see from the very nature of this gesture that something exceedingly significant lies here. This gesture (IV) represents thought. Thought may be very clever, but it does not necessarily enter into reality; it does not necessarily reach the point of resolve. Here we have thought; but thought may always miscarry when it comes to a question of external matters. At this point (gesture VI) thought struggles with the conditions of the outer world: the bringing of thought into connection with the external world (see diagram). This connection of thought with the outer world must actually become part of the complete human being; for the man who has reached a state of balance can, as he goes his way through the world, only bring his deeds to fulfilment when he has first entered into a relationship with the outer world.

And now, starting from the understanding, we will take the other direction. What really happens before one formulates a thought? Something must lead over to the state of understanding and now, starting from the understanding, we will take the other direction. What is really standing before a thought is actually formulated, we have the state of hypothesis; we have a weighing, as it were, of the pros and cons of the matter. Thus here, in this gesture (gesture III), you see the weighing process in its relation to thought (see diagram): [Libra - TS]

But how does this weighing, balancing process come about? In this connection we must make an accurate study of gesture II. What lies behind this gesture? You will remember that we take as our starting-point, feeling, enthusiasm (gesture I). This is a ‘burning enthusiasm’ (the enthusiasm which we lack so greatly in our Society, but which at least is represented here). Now, passing from gesture I to gesture III, before we reach that quiet feeling of weighing or balancing, a reasonable soberness must first make its appearance (see diagram). Gesture II—Soberness. [Virgo - B]

You will be able to feel this quite easily if you enter into the gesture correctly and without prejudice.

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We have, then, that enthusiasm which has its seat in the, breast (gesture I). Now we come to this point: (gesture XII): [Cancer - F]

Here we have not yet reached enthusiasm, or rather, let us say, enthusiasm does not on this side pass over into a weighing, thoughtful process; it passes over into action, into the expression of will. On the path from enthusiasm to will, we find the first stage to be initiative, the going out of oneself, the impulse towards action. Enthusiasm burns with a fire that cannot endure. But when an action is to be accomplished there must be initiative, there must be the impulse towards action. Here then (gesture XII), we see the impulse towards action.

Now we must pass still further; let us observe the next stage. Here the whole human being is filled with the conviction that he will succeed in accomplishing the action: (gesture XI): [Gemini—H]

We can almost see Napoleon before us. Special attention, too, must here be paid to the use of the legs and feet; the eurhythmist must not stand as in the other positions, but with a firm hold on the ground. You will notice that admirals on board ship always stand in this way. (And let me here advise you, when you are on a ship, always to walk in this way; then you will not so easily feel the motion of the vessel, nor so easily become sea-sick.) This, then, is not merely initiative, but it is the capacity for action. Here (see diagram) we have already reached the capacity for action.

And now, with gesture X we have the action itself (see drawing R)

Then we go one stage further. When the action has been accomplished, what has been brought about by its means in the world outside man? We see the human being living in the world. He observes what has been brought about through his action. It is no longer a question of the action only. The human being has already passed beyond this; he can observe it; action has already become event—an event that has been brought about by his action, by his deed.

Thus in gesture IX we have the event (see diagram): [Aries V]

And now we pass on to gesture VIII: [Pisces - N]

In this gesture you can see that the event has made its impression upon the human being. He has caused something to happen and this happening has left its impression upon him; it has become destiny. Thus we may say (see diagram): Event has become destiny.

In this circle, then, we have the human being divided up into his component elements. We can picture this human being as containing within himself twelve elements and we can also discover the twelve corresponding gestures.

And now I need seven more eurhythmists. Let us start here in the centre: Stretch out the arms, the right arm forwards and the left arm backwards; and now you must move both arms simultaneously in a circular direction. (You need, however, only actually make this gesture when all the others have been told what to do.)

With this first gesture, which I have described, we have no longer merely the gesture which is held, but one which is in movement. And when we take this gesture, this movement, we find that it is the expression of the human being in his entirety.

Now the second: left arm backwards, right arm forwards; you must move the left arm in a circle, the right arm remaining quiescent.

Here we have shown you the second movement. It is the expression for all the loving, sacrificing qualities in the human being. Thus: the human being in his aspect of loving sacrifice (see diagram).

Now comes the third movement: right arm forwards, left arm backwards, the right arm moving in a circle. This is the extreme opposite of the preceding movement. It is the anti-thesis of the loving, sacrificing qualities. This is the aspect of egoism.

The fourth: stretch out the arms in front of you, with the lower arms crossed one above the other. This gesture is in the sphere of the spiritual; for this reason it may remain quiescent. Here we have everything in the human being that is creative; it is the capacity for creation.

Now we come to the fifth: you must hold the arms forwards with the fingers drawn inwards, and the movement is made by means of a rocking of the body, upwards and downwards. This represents the aggressive quality in the human being, thus the aggressive element.

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The sixth: you must hold the left arm still (bent inwards) while the right makes a circular movement around it. In this way we show clearly that we are not now expressing the aggressive element but the activity arising out of wisdom.

And now we have the last movement: Here the hands are laced against the forehead, the one somewhat over the other; now allow them to move smoothly up and down—and again, up and down. Make this gesture, this movement. Here we have the expression of everything that is most profound, the contemplative, meditative element. The human being is here turned in upon himself; I will describe it as deep contemplation (Tiefsinn).

Thus we have formed a large circle and also a small circle. In the outer and larger circle we have the twelve outer gestures, which are static, which express form; here in the inner circle we have seven figures which express movement, with one exception, that is to say. This gesture expresses a different aspect, namely movement that is brought to quiescence.

Now you will soon see what a harmonious effect is produced when all these postures and gestures are combined: those in the inner circle carry out the movements belonging to them, while those in the outer circle take up their postures.

We must, however, go still further: those in the inner circle make their movements; the outer figures move slowly in a circle from left to right, always holding their postures. During the whole time the others also must make their movements. Here, you see, it is as though the human being were observing the world from all sides, and bringing all his faculties and capacities into movement.

Will you once again take up your postures and form the outer circle? I must just mention that in eurhythmy the direction from left to right is really reversed (that is to say it is taken from the point of view of the audience); this also applies to the direction from right to left. The outer circle moves at a moderate pace from left to right; those in the inner circle, still making their gestures, move round somewhat more rapidly. Thus the inner circle dances round at a rapid pace, the outer circle dances round more slowly. Now add all the movements and gestures. See what a harmonious effect is produced! This is one possibility. Here we have a first attempt at drawing forth from the organism its inherent possibilities of movement and gesture; and we can do this when at the same time we bear in mind the human being in his entirety. And we can indeed see how, in the future, further possibilities of form and movement will gradually be able to develop from out of this element.

In very truth the human being has not grown up simply from those forces known and recognized by present day science. He has grown up out of the whole cosmos and his nature may only be understood when the whole cosmos is taken into consideration.

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When we have taken all that we have just seen and really observe it closely, then we may say that we have before us the human being divided up into all his different faculties, into the various qualities and forces of his being.

But, in the outer world, the human being is always divided up into the various members of his being. This is to be seen in the animals. The human being bears within him all the faculties of the principal animals. These are gathered together in him, synthesized and raised to a higher level.

Thus we have in the first place the four main animal types. Here we have enthusiasm, the breast element—Leo, the lion (see diagram). The lion has as its dominant characteristic what we have here in this, its corresponding gesture (I).

Further: Here (X) is that element which is manifested in the outer world in everything standing under the sign of external action, under the sign of the will: Taurus, the bull (see diagram).

Then here (VII), you have that which seeks to blend in the human being as a whole all the elements of experience, of action: you saw this in the way the movement was shown. Here we have that which welds together all the separated qualities, just as the etheric body welds together all the different members of the physical body. At one time the etheric man was also called the ‘Water Man’. Here (see diagram) one really ought to write: The Etheric Man. According to ancient designation however, this is also the ‘Water Man’—so here I may justifiably write: Aquarius, the Water Man. You now know that this signifies the etheric man.

Then we have the fascinating quality of cleverness, of brains, that which creates an impression (IV). And it is just here that tradition has brought about a gross error. In reality this has to do with all that is connected with the innermost organization of the head. So that I ought really to write: the eagle. This confusion between the eagle and the scorpion seems, however, only to have arisen in comparatively recent times. Here then, we must picture the eagle (see diagram). But everywhere today we shall find this sign designated as Scorpio. (I do not necessarily mean to imply that people have gradually learned to regard the understanding as something that stings them!)

Now we have here the four main characteristics of the human being. The others lie in the intervening spaces; enthusiasm does not immediately pass over into action; something lies between; At this point we have initiative. This impulse, which leads us over from enthusiasm to activity, which takes us out of ourselves, is incorporated in the feeling system, in that part of the human being that is enclosed by the ribs. In the ancient language of physiology this part of the organism was designated as ‘the crab’. Here also, then, I may call this point Cancer, the crab (see diagram). In the zoology of earlier times the word ‘crab’ did not merely signify that animal which we today call the crab; it signified all those animals possessing a specially strongly developed rib-organization. This is what was originally meant by the word ‘crab’. Everything, which had a special development of the ribs, was ‘a crab’.

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Now when the human being wishes to pass over into the sphere of action he must be able to move properly; he must bring both sides of his organism into a properly balanced movement. Thus the element of left and right in the human being must be brought into action in a harmonious manner. Here we must observe that type of animal that is so organized that it has continually to bring the left and right sides of its organism into a synthetic and harmonious movement. Some animals, when walking or running, have to do this to a very marked degree: Gemini, the twins (XI) (see diagram).

As I said, from here we pass on to the action, and from the action to the event. When we examine this transition from the action to the event we find, in the animal kingdom, that it is best symbolized by those animals having curved horns. This brings us to the event: Aries, the ram (IX). Naturally, I should have to speak at considerable length if I wished fully to justify this statement.

Then we go further and reach the point where the human being is merged in the external world, where he gives himself up to the external world; we come to the point where his action becomes destiny. Here the human being lives in the moral element as the fish lives in water. As the fish is merged in the water in which it swims, almost becoming one with it, so does the human being live with his destiny in a moral outer world. Thus: Pisces, the fish (VIII).

Now I have already said that one must find a gradual transition from enthusiasm to quiet thought. We find this transition when the burning enthusiasm becomes sobered. The cooling element, that element which has not yet caught fire, when embodied in the animal kingdom, was called in ancient times: Virgo (II) (see diagram).

And after this soberness comes the quiet, weighing process, the balancing: Libra, the balances. Those animals that seem to consider everything were, in the dim past, designated as the balances (see diagram).

Now we pass from IV to VII, from Scorpio, or more properly the eagle, to Aquarius, to the etheric man. First we have the resolve, where thought determines to make itself felt in the outer world. It is easy to see why certain animals which dart from place to place from a certain nervousness of disposition - as for instance, certain woodland animals - it is easy to see why in ancient times such animals were named ‘Archers’. This is something different from what was later supposed; it is simply a characteristic of certain animals: Sagittarius, the archer (V) (see diagram). (Today, even, I believe that in certain dialects the expression ‘Schutze’ (archers) is used for those wretched little insects that dart about in the kitchen regions.)

And now we come to the bringing of thought into relationship with the world. At this stage, where one butts at everything - where one has not yet achieved the blending of all the human qualities nor reached as yet the sphere of destiny - at this stage we have the goat. Thus here I must write (VI): Capricorn, the goat. Man in his entirety is summed up in the circle of the Zodiac. But all this must be regarded as expressing human qualities and faculties, and these human qualities again make their appearance in the postures we have been studying.

Now in the inner circle we have had the expression of the human being as a whole: Sun. Next we passed over to the human being in his aspect of loving sacrifice: Venus; then to the more egotistical aspect: Mercury; to the creative, productive aspect: Moon; to the aggressive aspect: Mars; and then to the aspect of wisdom in the human being, that which radiates wisdom: Jupiter. And finally, we have that which passes over into a certain melancholy, into an inner contemplation, into a profound inwardness: Saturn (see diagram).

As we enter the sphere that reveals the human being to us in the way I have just described, we pass over from the postures that are held, to the gestures which are in movement. And if we now wish to synthesize all this, to gather it together into a single whole, we can do so in the way I have shown you, by bringing the circle into movement. By so doing we externalise all that which together makes up the complete human being, that is to say, the synthesis of all the animal qualities, the animal characteristics.

A certain experiment is given in the ‘Colour Teaching’ of Goethe: here one paints a disc in sections according to the seven colours—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet, etc., then one brings the whole thing into movement, whirling it ever faster and faster until the whole impression is grey. The physicists assert: white—it is however, not white, but grey. The separate colours can no longer be distinguished; everything appears as grey.

Now if the eurhythmists had moved with such rapidity that the separate gestures were no more to be seen, but all were whirled together into a whole, then you would have seen some-thing of extraordinary interest: the picture of the human being expressed through his own movements.

Here (in the inner planetary circle) you have all those qualities in the human being which tend outwards, those possibilities of inner activity whereby the animal nature is gradually led over into the human. Thus, in the outer circle we have: all the animals as man; and here, in the inner circle, we have: a synthesis of the animal qualities transmuted into the human by means of the sevenfold planetary influence.

And now I must ask you (the details I shall give you next time) to bear in mind the sounds: a, e, i, o, u, ei, au—seven vowels. When we take the consonants really according to their innermost nature, grouping those letters together that are somewhat similar in sound, we get the twelve consonants. Thus we have twelve consonants and seven vowels. We arrive at the nineteen possibilities of sound when we see the consonantal element in the Zodiac, and the vowel element in the moving circle of the planets. This is the language of the heavens; whenever a planet stands between two signs of the Zodiac, in reality a vowel is standing between two consonants. The constellations arising through the motions of the planets are indeed a heavenly utterance that sounds forth with infinite variety. And that which is here uttered is the being of man. Small wonder, then, that in the possibilities of gesture and movement the cosmos itself is brought to expression.

Such thoughts as these enable us to realize that in eurhythmy we are really reviving the temple dancing of the ancient Mysteries, the reflection of the dance of the stars, the reflection of the utterances of the gods in heaven to human beings below upon the earth. It is only necessary, by means of spiritual perception, to find once again in our age the possibility of discovering the inner meaning of the gestures in question.

Today, then, we have discovered nineteen gestures; twelve static, and seven permeated with movement—of which latter one is quiescent only because rest is the antithesis of movement. (In the Moon we have movement annulled by its very velocity.)

Thus we have learned to know these gestures, and I have also been able to indicate how they lead over into the realm of sound.

Here we have taken the human being as our starting point and have travelled the opposite path. Previously we started from the sounds; now we take our start from the possibilities of movement and follow this path till it leads to man, to a visible language, to the sounds themselves.

My dear Friends,

We shall now see how many of the difficulties with which we are faced in eurhythmy are bound to arise if we do not work out of a deep and inward understanding of the gestures and movements as we learned to understand them yesterday. These difficulties present themselves when, for example, it is necessary to pass over from one consonant to another, or from one vowel to another; and you will have seen, from what has already been said, that as far as the spiritual element of language is concerned, what lies between the sounds is of paramount importance, just as in music that which is truly musical lies between the tones. The tones are the physical, as it were, the material element; the spiritual element of the music lies in the inner movement leading from one tone to the next.

In just the same way the spiritual essence of language is to be found in the transition from sound to sound. If, for instance, I am conscious of the existence of spirit in matter and on the other hand, am conscious that the sound as such is a physical, material, means of expression, it will not be difficult for me to perceive that the spiritual element must necessarily lie in the transition from sound to sound. Yesterday we learned to know the spiritual significance, the spiritual reality underlying certain movements and postures. Today we must try gradually to link up all that we learned yesterday with what we already know as the eurhythmic formation of the sounds.

With this in view, we will begin as follows: First of all, I must ask those eurhythmists who represented the Zodiac to take up the same position on the stage as they had yesterday … and now we must add those who represented the planets. You know already from the previous lecture which of the animals in the Zodiacal circle each one of you represents, so that now I can ask you to note carefully what follows. We shall connect each of the signs of the Zodiac with a different consonant:

Aries: v
Taurus: r

These are really half vowel sounds, and should be thought of as vowels into which there enters a consonantal element. (Both are related to the vowel sound a.)

Gemini: h
Cancer: f (in the German language v also)
Sagittarius: g
Capricorn: l
Aquarius: m
Pisces: n
Leo: t (Tao)
Virgo: b
Libra: ts
Scorpio: z

(It is essential, my dear friends, to take careful note of these correspondences).

Now we will take the inner planetary circle:—

Sun: au
Venus: a
Mercury: i
Moon: ei
Mars: e
Jupiter: o
Saturn: u

At this point I must ask each of you to take up your own position, that is to say, each one of you must make the movement or gesture that you made yesterday. Now you must pass, over from this movement to the corresponding sound, and from this sound return once more to your original position or movement.

In this way you get a gesture corresponding to the sound, both preceding and following the sound itself; and it is from these gestures that you should seek to discover the transition leading from one sound to the next.

You will, of course, have to work out all this in detail later on, so that you do not lay undue emphasis on what lies between the sounds. Today we have in the first place to see what can be drawn out of the constellation we have formed already, and which we now have standing before us. You each of you know your own sound, and must make it whenever it occurs. In this way the whole poem will arise out of a combination of 12 plus 7, and we shall see how a poem can be interpreted in eurhythmy by making use of such a constellation. As a preliminary you must each make your own gesture or movement, and continue to make it while I begin to read the poem quite slowly. As the sounds follow one another you will each make your own particular sound as it occurs, passing into the sound from your previous movement, and returning to this again. (But you must all be as alert as terriers, because it is from out of the whole complex of sounds that the poem takes its shape.)

Edel sei der Mensch
Hilfreich und gut!
Denn das allein
Unterscheidet ihn
Von allen Wesen,
Die wir kennen.

Heil den unbekannten
Höhern Wesen,
Die wir ahnen!
Ihnen gleiche der Mensch;
Sein Beispiel lehr’ uns
Jene glauben.

Now I shall continue to read the poem, and you will make the same movements you made yesterday—movements that correspond to the zodiacal and planetary circles. At the same time, while still holding the gestures, you will move round in a circle, each of you making your own sound as it occurs in the text. You will see that the effect is now much more beautiful:

Denn unfühlend
Ist die Natur:
Es leuchtet die Sonne
Über Bös’ und Gute,
Und dem Verbrecher
Glänzen, wie dem Besten,
Der Mond und die Sterne.

Wind und Ströme,
Donner und Hagel
Rauschen ihren Weg
Und ergreifen
Vorüber eilend
Einen um den Andern.

Auch so das Glück
Tappt unter die Menge,
Fasst bald des Knaben
Lockige Unschuld,
Bald auch den kahlen
Schuldigen Scheitel.

If you are careful to keep at exactly the right distance from one another, you will see how, by this means, by allowing the whole thing to develop out of a reality, out of the living movement of the circle and out of the spiritual gestures, each separate sound stands out against a background suitable to it, a background which imbues it with a new spirituality.

What I have said in this connection is of the very greatest importance for those of you who have already learned the elements of eurhythmy and are far enough advanced to be able, for instance, to express in eurhythmy such a poem as Goethe’s ‘Zauberlehrling’. This marks a quite definite stage in one’s eurhythmic development, and is, up to a point, a stage that may be regarded as complete in itself. But once having reached this stage it becomes necessary to work very intensively along the lines I have just indicated. For, by practising the gestures that you were shown yesterday, and by studying the why in which these gestures may be made to lead over into the individual sounds, an unusual, and at the same time most necessary flexibility will be brought into the fashioning of the sounds themselves.

See how beautiful it is when the eurhythmist representing Capricorn frames her sound in such a way that, before and after the sound, this gesture makes its appearance. The sound, the letter, must be drawn forth from the gesture, and must be allowed to sink back into the gesture once more. In this way you obtain gestures that provide a frame for the sounds. In other words: a sound is correctly expressed in eurhythmy only when—well, shall we say at any rate, to some extent—it is consciously made to grow out of this gesture and to return to it again. It is, of course, obvious that these gestures can only be touched upon in passing.

You will also gain very much—not as yet with regard to public performance, about which I shall speak later—but for the actual learning of eurhythmy, when you introduce these things into solos, duets, trios, etc. Let us take the case of a single individual, the eurhythmist who represents Capricorn, for instance, and let us suppose that this eurhythmist were asked to express a poem by means of consonants only, leaving out the vowel sounds. She would then have to choose the shortest possible way of getting to the place of the particular consonant in question, forming it only when actually reaching the spot. Then, passing on her way from this consonant to the following one she would have to make the gesture corresponding to the latter—and so on, throughout the poem. These things are of the very greatest importance. By such means eurhythmy can gradually be led over into the very nature of man’s being, for the gestures are of such a kind that they are actually based upon the being of man. Thus we gain the possibility of building up the whole form, the eurhythmic form of a poem in such a way that it expresses not merely the inner judgment of the individual performer, but in addition to this the living relationship between one eurhythmist and another, when several are taking part, and a living relationship with space.

Now today you will naturally not be in a position to do more than carry out the particular movement, the particular sound each one of you has been given. At this point, however, we will for once permit ourselves to stand, not facing the audience in the usual way, but turned towards the centre of the circle, so that you can all watch the eurhythmist who is making the consonants, each in its appropriate place. This eurhythmist, after making a particular consonant—for the moment we will leave the vowels on one side—moves towards the place of the next consonant, and makes the movement expressing this towards the eurhythmist representing it in the circle … You see how well it is going already, and how beautiful it looks.

The twelve eurhythmists forming the outer circle have, therefore, to pay due attention to their own sounds. The first sound that occurs must be made by the eurhythmist to whom the particular sound belongs; then the one who is running the form must be on the look out for the next consonant, and must move towards the eurhythmist representing it. The latter must likewise be ready, and must make the consonant also. Thus both will make the same consonant face to face. You will see that in this way we get a very beautiful movement.

At a later stage the same exercise must be practised without the circle actually being formed. Then one eurhythmist does the whole thing alone, as though surrounded by a phantom circle, and seeing in imagination each movement being carried out by a phantom eurhythmist.

I will now read a short poem, and you will express it in the way I have indicated. Everybody must remain standing with the exception of Frl. S... whom we will ask to undertake the moving part.

Ach (now begin to move) ihr Götter! grosse Götter (the r is here similar to a)

In dem weiten Himmel droben!
Gäbet ihr uns auf der Erde
Festen Sinn und guten Mut:
O, wir liessen euch, ihr Guten,
Euren weiten Himmel droben!

In this way it will immediately become clear to you that the forms which one makes, need in no wise be arbitrary, but should always be built up on a sound and reasonable basis. Nothing obvious or trivial should be allowed to enter into form. If, for instance, the word “Bauch” (stomach) should occur in a poem, we should be going to work in quite the wrong way were we to try and express this word by means of a realistically shaped form. What we have to do is to base our forms on language as such; we have to make use of the forms hidden in the sounds and in the spiritual gestures which we studied together yesterday.

And now we will see how beautiful it looks when we express the same poem by means of the vowel sounds. Frl. H... will you take the principal part this time? The others join in with the vowels.

You know the relative position of the letters towards which you have to move.

Ach, ihr Götter! grosse Götter

Be careful to make no intermediary movement, but stand still when no new vowel sound occurs. When the same vowel comes twice running one should remain standing quite quietly on the particular spot one has reached in the form. In this way a very beautiful effect is obtained.

Ach, ihr Götter! grosse Götter
In dem weiten Himmel droben!
Gäbet ihr uns auf der Erde

Just think what a splendid exercise you can make out of these few lines; they provide you with an example in which, having arrived at a certain spot with a vowel sound, you must stand quite still when it is repeated.

You can, however, only experience such an exercise in the right way, if you have developed a true feeling for all that lives in speech. I will take these first three lines as an illustration of my meaning. I cannot say that I will recite these lines; I cannot say that I will declaim them; but I will intone them in two different ways, so that you can see what really lies in speech, and what is absolutely necessary for the eurhythmist to feel if the content of a poem is to come to expression.

a i ö e o e ö e
i e ei e i e o e
ä e i u i au e e e

You must realize how entirely different the feeling is when we have: der Erde—e e e, compared with the feeling that arises when one vowel sound follows another. If you practise such exercises you will become very sensitive to these things.

Something similar is to be found in the consonants also, and it is upon this that the beauty of the poem largely depends. It is, moreover, fundamentally true that one has in no way mastered speech if one does not prepare a poem in some way such as this: To begin with, the vowels should be made to ring out while the consonants are barely indicated, and then the vowels should be allowed to fall into the background while the consonants resound in their turn. Just imagine the mood, the character you get by taking the consonants:

ch hr g tt r gr ss g tt r
n d m w t n h mm l dr bn
g b t hr ns f d r rd
fst n s nn nd g t n m t

In this way you have entered into the feeling of the vowels and consonants, one after the other. And it is this which the eurhythmist must make a point of practising; then the body will become supple; it will actually be what it must become if it is to be used as an instrument. You must have a certain reverence for eurhythmy if you wish to be eurhythmists. This reverence must become conviction. If you are actually to imitate all the movements made by your larynx when you say even a moderately complicated sentence, then indeed you have much to learn. You have learned it already in your pre-earthly life.

In earthly existence we have some slight repetition of this in the response made by the larynx to the sounds heard in the environment, for the larynx imitates such sounds. In the spiritual world, however, knowledge of this kind is never acquired intellectually, but is of such a nature that it is intimately connected with feeling. By means, therefore, of exercises such as those we have been practising here, the feeling life is intensified and stimulated.

The point is not so much that we should immediately think of performing this Dance of the Planets (Planetentanz); for then, having decided upon this dance, for which one requires 12 plus 7 people—thus 19 people in all—we are liable to be told by those for whom the performances are to be given: You must please bring only seven eurhythmists (including dressers), for we cannot possibly afford more. So there you are; what is one to do? If the matter is rightly understood the point will be not so much the actual performing of such a Dance of the Planets, but rather the making of one’s own all that has been given in, these two lectures dealing with the transition from the spiritual gestures to the gestures expressing the sounds. If you do this you will have done much towards making your bodies supple and you will develop a fine and delicate feeling for what is essential in eurhythmy.

In this course of lectures we wish not only to go once more over the old ground, but also to consider everything that is likely to further the progress of eurhythmy.

Now this progress is often hindered by the belief frequently held that it is not necessary to study eurhythmy in order to be able to do it. Certain people have even gone so far as to wish to be teachers of eurhythmy after having watched eurhythmy performances for a matter of two or three weeks. Imagine how ridiculous such pretensions would be considered with regard to music or painting! We must gain sufficient insight into these things to know that eurhythmy is something that makes man, in accordance with the possibilities of his organism, into an instrument, a means of expression. This, however, can only be achieved if those things are also practised which are not necessarily intended to be shown, but which, nevertheless, help to develop that suppleness of movement essential to performance. Consider for a moment all that is done by those specializing in other arts. You have probably all heard of the famous Liszt piano—very likely other composers have made use of it also—a piano having keys but no strings. Liszt practised on this piano; he always had it with him, and practised on it constantly. He naturally did not do this in order to make music, but in order to acquire technical dexterity. His neighbours heard nothing of it; thus it is good for other people also when one practises in this way! The neighbours are not disturbed the whole night long; one can practise throughout the night without disturbing a soul. It is only there for the purpose of bringing about organic flexibility.

What we have been studying in these two lectures is absolutely fundamental to eurhythmy in that it brings into the organism a eurhythmic technique of movement and posture.

After this digression we will go back to the last lines of the poem:

‘Festen Sinn und guten Mut:’

Think of all we have here, of all that we absorb into ourselves with these words: Und gu (you must remain quietly in u) ten (you return to the previous place): Mut. The gradual finding of one’s way into the movement which one feels to be natural when passing from one vowel to another, or which one feels to be natural when the same vowel occurs more than once in succession, this it is which creates the right mood and impression.

‘O, wir liessen euch ihr Guten
Euren weiten Himmel droben!’

By this means it is possible to experience the vowels and consonants in their juxtaposition. In this connection I must expressly point out that it is not a question here of absolute position; I might just as well have asked the eurhythmist representing t (Leo) to stand somewhere else, in which case the others would then have grouped themselves accordingly… In any case, you come to different places when the whole circle moves. It is not a question of absolute position, but of the relative position each has to the other. On reaction you will see how great are the possibilities of form to be obtained in this way. These possibilities arise when one takes one’s start from a particular spot: for instance, we might begin a poem with t... and obtaining thus a definite starting point, something to hold on to, we can proceed to make the form accordingly, for we know in what direction we now have to move.

Thus the main thing is to understand that by studying the content of the lectures given yesterday and today it is possible to find one’s way into the essential nature of gesture and form.

My dear Friends,

We will now pass on to certain things that have arisen out of the fundamental nature of eurhythmy, things that are, up to a point at least, known to you already; and we will then establish a connecting link between what I have been speaking about and what you already know.

The first thing I wish to speak about is this: We have seen how what might be described as certain moral impulses, which we have brought before our souls in the numbers twelve and seven, find their expression in human gesture, in gesture which is either static or permeated with movement; and we have seen how thought, in the sense of eurhythmy, is altogether possible on the strength of experiences and judgments of the human soul, which shed themselves into the sounds of speech.

That which thus streams out from the human soul in gesture and movement can, however, also work back upon the human being as a whole. And this is the basis of the curative action of eurhythmy, which may be effective, not only in the sphere of the moral and psychic life, but also in the physiological, physical life.

The curative action of eurhythmy upon the meal and psychic life will be especially apparent when certain eurhythmic principles and facts are applied during the years of childhood.

Now starting from this standpoint—from the way in which on the one hand form and movement arise from a certain mood or attitude of soul and then react back once more—I should like to speak further of certain things which have already been dealt with, so that in these next days we may gain a somewhat wider outlook and make another step forward in the development of speech eurhythmy.

You will all know the exercise that is specially adapted to bring one person into contact with another; the so-called I and You exercise. You stand in a square; on account of the audience, however, the two at the back must be a little closer together. And now you can do this exercise in the following way: I and you, you and I, I and you, you and I—are we. Here you have a real ‘we’, the final joining together in the ‘we’ (circle). The two who face each other in a diagonal direction are intended as the ‘I’ and ‘you’. As you approach each other you must clearly express the fact that you wish to belong one to the other and that the others also wish to belong to the circle; the diagonal line expresses the transition from the ‘I’ to the ‘you’, you and I... then retrace the line (this can be done many times in succession)... then the whole is consciously brought together: are we. If the exercise is to be repeated one can return to the starting places with you and I, you and I.

Such an exercise can be worked out in the most varied ways, taking as one’s basis such aspects of the soul life as we have learned to know during the last few days.

Let us now suppose, Frl. V… that you are the Eagle, you Frl. St... Aquarius, you Frl. S... Taurus, and you Frl. H... Leo. Now make the gestures. You take these gestures as the starting point and return to them when the whole exercise is completed.

You must realize what you have thus expressed. You have, by means of this exercise, expressed the fact that the human being contains these four animals within himself in their aspect of moral qualities, and that when he becomes conscious of his true self, he understands that the whole human race is contained within his own being—thus, as man he really comprises the ‘we’. Begin with these gestures... follow with the exercise... then pass with a certain grace back to the first gestures. Here we have an example of how these things which we have just learned may be applied.

In this way the whole exercise is brought to a right conclusion. Preliminary gestures; I and you, you and I, I and you, you and I, are we; concluding gestures. You then have the right intro-duction and the right conclusion, and the whole thing stands, as it were, enclosed in a frame.

Now this exercise is most excellent in the teaching of eurhythmy from an educational point of view. Indeed, when one has observed in a child the tendency towards jealousy and ambition—qualities which one wishes to eliminate—one must persuade such a child to do this exercise with special warmth and ardour. In the art of education it is, of course, obvious that one must never apply anything having the least trace of what might be called magic; for anything of the nature of magic would work with a powerful suggestive element. It would react on the unconscious life of the child. Such means can only be used in the case of children of weak mentality, of deficient children; it is only permissible in such cases. When, however, abnormal characteristics are present in the soul life of the child it is absolutely necessary to work directly into the psychic life—though here, too, of course, one must avoid anything in the nature of actual suggestion or magic. Now what really happens when four children do this exercise? They hear the constant repetition: ‘I and you ’. This brings to their consciousness the element of belonging together, of comradeship, the element of relationship to other human beings, and this is further impressed upon them in the: ‘are we’. The gestures accompanying the exercise simply express the fact that the child is learning to pay attention to what is being done, to what is inwardly working upon him. Thus there is not the least trace of suggestion. It can really be said that this dance is a remedy against jealousy and false ambition. It can only be used in the case of healthy children when it is carried out with full consciousness, quite without anything in the nature of suggestion or magic.

But now you will ask: How does the case stand with pathological children? With pathological children one has to reckon with a consciousness that is already dimmed and clouded. Then, to a certain extent, suggestion does come into play. For this reason, the moment one enters the sphere of the pathological in children, one must clearly realize that although this exercise may be applied with excellent results to children whose consciousness is dulled, it should never be used with children whose minds are over active.

It is such things as these, which prove that everything in the domain of curative eurhythmy must only be applied in close co-operation with a doctor and when working under constant medical supervision; for as soon as we enter the domain of the pathological, only a doctor is qualified to form an opinion.

Let us pass to another exercise or dance, which has arisen out of a definite attitude of soul. In order to give this exercise a name, we have called it the Peace Dance. And this Peace Dance serves the purpose of teaching one individual in conjunction with others how certain nuances of the soul life may find their expression in eurhythmic forms.

Let us suppose that you make some sort of a triangle. Make it so that the form looks something like this:

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Now one person can walk the lines of the triangle in this direction (arrow); or we can have three people, of whom the first takes this line, the second this line and the third this line (see diagram).

When you look at this type of triangle and compare it with one of the following type:

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you have a considerable difference. In the first case one line is conspicuous on account of its length in comparison to the two other lines, and in the other case it is conspicuous because it is comparatively so short. Even when the exercise is carried out in precisely the same way, we receive a quite different impression.

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In the first case we have the impression of peace; in the second case, when we do the exercise according to diagram II, the form gives the impression of energy. So that we may say: In the first place we have a Peace Dance and in the second place an Energy Dance.

The essential thing in such a eurhythmic exercise is that we should carry it out rhythmically. And when we now ask ourselves: How should such an exercise be carried out? We must bear in mind that in a descending rhythm we have what might be described as something ordered and under control, while in an ascending rhythm we have an element of striving, of will.

Now when we enter either into the mood of peace or into the mood of energy we have something of the nature of striving, of working towards some goal—something quite different from what we should have to employ when it is a question, for instance, of expressing a military command. This expression may sound worse than I intend; a military command may, however, be employed simply to train the children, by means of certain movements, to be attentive. But nothing in the nature of a command or order can be expressed in this exercise, which demands a particular attitude of soul. It must have a feeling of ascent, of intensification; it needs the Anapaest rhythm.

Now I will ask Frl. S... to show us the first triangle as I have described it; the lines of the triangle must be stepped in Anapaest rhythm while I say the following words:

Strebe mach Frieden, (Strive for Peace,)
Lebe in Frieden, (Live in Peace,)
Liebe den Frieden. (Love Peace.)

Do it in such a way that the long line faces the audience and that you show the intensification in the long line—thus you must take your start from this point (1); you only move backwards in order that you may be seen by the audience. Now when practising this you will find the fact that the sentences are not built up according to the Anapaest rhythm somewhat disagreeable to the ear. But this does not matter; you must feel the movement, even if this rhythm does not actually lie in the words. It is just in this way that the language of eurhythmy may express something which cannot be fully expressed by language itself—for there is no German word for peace which ends with an emphasized syllable. Let us try it once more:

Strebe nach Frieden,
Lebe in Frieden,
Liebe den Frieden.
(see previous diagram).

Show the Anapaest very distinctly. The words are in the Dactyl rhythm, but in spite of this they must be stepped to the Anapaest; the rhythm does not go with the words, nevertheless the dance, must be done in the Anapaest, without allowing oneself to be disturbed by the words. It would be better to use a text written in Anapaest rhythm, otherwise there must be a certain disharmony, which is naturally disturbing to the ear.

Will you now do the next exercise? Here one must move, in Anapaest rhythm, the triangle that has the short main line. Start once more from this point (1); try also to emphasize the form of the triangle by stepping the long side lines quickly, the, short main line with a quite slow Anapaest. This exercise may, be called the Energy Dance.

These two exercises may, however, be carried out by a group. Let us now choose three people, who will first do the Peace Dance, taking their places in a triangle and each one moving one line only. This can naturally be done to a suitable text, which must be in the rhythm of the Anapaest.

But this exercise can be done in yet another way. Triangles of similar shape, but small, may be formed in the four corners. Indeed this exercise may be carried out with any number of variations; but each variation must have some special note of its own. The best way perhaps, is for those standing at the point marked 1 to begin the form; they begin, and each one carries out a complete triangle—but simultaneously. Eurhythmy depends to a certain extent upon presence of mind. Each separate triangle must do a form similar to the triangle that previously took up the whole of the stage. Now all those standing at the back of the triangle, thus those whom I have placed in the corners, must do the I and you as the second part of the exercise: I and you, you and I, I and you, you and I: are we. Those who stand in the middle simply turn round. The triangle is thus built up in a different way. Those who now form the square must once more carry out the Peace Dance from their present places—the movement three times. When this is done smoothly and well it forms an exercise complete in itself.

From an educational point of view, as also from the point of view of curative education, this exercise, as we have just done it, is of special value. One can make the group smaller using two or three triangles, but one can still carry the exercise out in a similar way. It is especially good to practise this exercise when one has, for instance, a class containing children of choleric temperament, children who will not be kept in order.

Such children must be made to practise these exercises; and if this is done every day, or as often as there is a eurhythmy class, for a period of two or three weeks, one will find that they have become more manageable. Thus children who are always hitting each other and rampaging about should be made to practise this exercise, and you will see that it has a remarkable power of soothing and quieting them.

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Now we can do the Energy Dance in a similar way. Here again we must form our four triangles, but pointed triangles this time. Let us move the form of the triangles three times. Four eurhythmists will now be standing in the corners (see diagram), and they must do the following exercise: Begin with the u, ‘You and I’; with the ‘I’ you are in the centre; now you have not the same gesture as you had for the ‘you’ but you have a gesture which looks, as you stand together, as if you were going to attack one another. Go back once more from the ‘I’ into the ‘you’, and do this three times. Now you have reached a position from which we must go further. In the first place we do, as it were, the I and you exercise reversed, thus a you and I exercise: You and I, I and you, you and I, I and you, you and I, I and you—now you are standing at the back, and to continue the exercise you must run past each other crossing on the way (the four at the outer points changing places). Thus we go towards the centre; You and I, I and you; you and I, I and you; you and I, I and you, struggle fiercely with each other, struggle fiercely with each other (streiten heftig miteinander)! And now again the original exercise in the triangle three times repeated.

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Do the whole exercise once more: the triangle three times, then the separating movement, then the triangle again.

In order to show you how such exercises may be multiplied and varied, we will do it as follows: move the triangle for the first time, for the second time, for the third time; now you must regard all those standing in the triangle as involved in the struggle. Thus do the form: You and I, I and you, you and I, I and you, struggle fiercely with each other, (thus everybody who is taking part); then make the triangles once more, repeating the form of the triangle three times.

It is, of course, comparatively easy to find poems of three verses built up in such a way that they may be practised to this form.

I should like to point out once more that it is quite possible to apply what you have just seen to education and also to curative education. This exercise has an especially beneficial effect upon children who are phlegmatic and sleepy. They will be stimulated by it; it will give them more inner vitality. That is what I had to say in this connection.

Today we will take still another exercise, which is based more directly on the actual form. Out of the form itself you will feel what is intended. Frau B... will you try to run a spiral form winding from within outwards.

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The way you did this was perfectly right. You began with quite noticeable movement, that is to say, with the hands laid against the heart... and you ended with the arms held in a backward direction. When you observe the movement of this form you will find that it is well suited to express the going out of oneself, the gaining of interest in the outer world, and finally the yielding of oneself up to the world, which is expressed in the backwards movement of the arms. Do it once more, bearing in mind what I have said. You will feel that there is first a seeking in oneself, afterwards a becoming aware of the world outside, and then a yielding of oneself up to this world. Now run the reversed spiral; take the line from without inwards, in the first half of the form holding the hands more in a backward direction, and in the second half laid against the heart. You see this is just the reverse of the former line; it is a gathering together of one’s forces; it is a coming back from the outer world into one’s own being.

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In curative education, this first spiral exercise is especially applicable to children who are the reverse of anaemic, and it can be applied to combat undue egoism; the second exercise may be applied where the ego-force is weak, and it is also an excellent remedy in the case of children who are anaemic.

To-day we will continue to develop such forms as we spoke about yesterday. In this connection I should like to speak about those forms which may help to establish a certain relationship between a statement and its answering statement (Rede und Gegenrede). Yesterday I mentioned the spiral form and we saw how the evolving spiral gives the feeling of an outgoing of the human being into the world, and how the involving spiral gives the feeling of coming back into oneself. Now, however, let us bring these two forms into a relationship with each other. Move the forms to a clear Anapest rhythm; do it in the first place so that one form follows after the other. You can try it in this way: Fri. S. . . . will you take the spiral which goes from within outwards, and you, Fri. V. . . . the line which goes from without inwards; now reverse it, taking about six Anapests . . . it can be practised in this way.

In the case of dialogue,—a conversation from some play for instance in the form of question and answer,—it is good to move the spiral which winds from within outwards and which corresponds to the answer, in such a way that, when one reaches the last two Anapests, one simply takes two long, emphasized steps; it is as if one wished simply to have the long, emphasized beats. Do the exercise thus: Four Anapests, two long beats. In this way you get a form, the feeling of which corresponds to the nature of dialogue in a play, for example,—or indeed any dialogue which is to be expressed in eurythmy.

This form can also have a certain significance in curative education. I said yesterday that the one spiral form can be made use of in the handling of wild, unruly children, who are always fighting; while the other spiral may be used in handling children who are phlegmatic and who hardly come to the point of raising their own hands.

If you get individual children of such types to practise these forms you will have a certain amount of success. But if you form two groups—the one group of choleric, the other of phlegmatic children—and make both these groups run the spiral forms, and in such a way that the children must constantly look into each other’s eyes, then they will mutually correct each other. If you employ this corrective action of the one type of child upon the other, these forms will prove to have a remarkably powerful effect.

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Now we have in the course of the past years made use of a number of eurythmic exercises and forms, based on such things as these. Frau. K. . . . will you do the form which we have for Hallelujah. One can, in the first place, do this to the pentagram form. You stand at the back point of the pentagram and use one line to do the ‘Hallelujah’. Begin with the H, pass over into a, do the l seven times; pass on to the e; make the second l three times; then u, i, a. You must, however, continue to move the form. The second line of the form must be done in the same way. Thus, when carried out by one person alone, this exercise is repeated five times.

Now let us take five people; when each one does this same exercise we again have a complete ‘Hallelujah’. Frau K . . . . you move the first line; Frl. S . . . . has the next, Frl. Sch . . . . the third, Frau Sch . . . . the following line and Frl. V . . . . has the last line.

You must all begin at the same time. And you must be careful to space out the line in such a way that, when the exercise is completed, you have all arrived on your own places.

In this way, out of the lines of the pentagram, you get a complicated and ever changing form. When this exercise is carefully practised the effect is very impressive and does actually convey the whole character of the word ‘Hallelujah’.

It is, however, possible to find another variation of this exercise. Let one person stand here, the second there (see diagram) and there the third, fourth and fifth . . . now we must add a sixth and a seventh. Each one must move in this direction (see arrow).

A different impression is thus created. The form should be divided up as before. Those in the front must always stand in such a way that the back ones come into the intermediate spaces, and are, therefore, also visible. Let us try it: 1 to 2, 2 to 3, 3 to 4, 4 to 5, 5 to 6, 6 to 7 and 7 (in a curve backwards) to 1. (All at the same time.)

You will see that this produces a form of ‘Hallelujah’ which, on account of its measured tempo gives an impression of high exaltation.

Yet another variation can be brought about if each of you, on reaching your place (see following diagram), adds this line (the curve) to the form. (Here again all must move simultaneously.) The two lines of the form must now be accompanied by the same gestures as before. This way of doing the ‘Hallelujah’ necessarily entails a certain quickening of the pace. Such a form lends itself to many further variations.

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Let us for instance do it in this way: Frau S. . . and Frl. Sch. . . will you stand here, one on each side, while the others fonn the pentagram? Now, you Fri. Sch. . . . must make the movement for the Sun as we did it yesterday, continuing this while the others move the pentagram. At the same time, Frau S.... you must make the quiescent gesture for the Moon. Here we have a form for ‘Hallelujah’ which again has its special colour.

Let us pass over from this form to our second form,—without the curved lines,—then we shall have a very exalted ‘Hallelujah’. And in making this transition, let the Sun and Moon take their places as before.

At this point we can pass over to the last form of all, which again demands a somewhat quicker tempo. Thus the ‘Hallelujah’ may be carried out in the most varied manner. In this way you get a form which will really have a profound effect upon the onlookers. Let us try it: Hallelujah.

This shows the possibility of making use of forms in such a way that they actually correspond to the most individual characteristics inherent in the matter in question.

Now let us vary the form of Evoe in a somewhat similar fashion. Frau P. . . . will you do it alone? With E take a step; with v stretch out one arm and with the other make a movement as though you were going to take hold of something; with o hold the arms to the sides and raise yourself up to a very erect position; with e step backwards. When you carry out these movements the form comes of itself.

Now let us see how this works out when done by three people. Here, when three take part, you can approach so closely together that each one lightly takes the hand of the other (with the v). The greater the number taking part in this exercise the more beautiful is the effect.

These are examples of definite forms which may be developed when, by entering into their inherent mood and feeling, and at the same time retaining throughout the true character of eurythmy, one is able to conjure up a certain mood of soul from out of the movements for the sounds.

It is also possible, by means of a single gesture arising directly out of a certain mood of soul,—as do the sounds in eurythmy, to give adequate expression to some special feeling. Fri. S. . . . will you do the following: Dr. W. . . . will kindly stand here on the stage, while Frl. S. . . . looks at him; she must stand with the toe of the left foot touching the ground, and, while still looking at him, must make the movement for s; I think no one could mistake the fact that her dealings with him are ironical: the mood of irony is expressed absolutely naturally when this eurythmic movement is carried out in the right way.

And now, Fri. S. . . . will you make the following movements: first express an ironical perception of something, and then, with an inner effort of will make this mood of irony still more active. Thus we have the previous movement as the first stage; and now, putting the foot flat on the ground and still retaining the S-gesture, hold the chin awry and slant the eyes. Pass over from the first movement to the second: first Irony, then delight in being a minx.

There can be no doubt that we have here an adequate means of expression, one which is actually drawn out from the gestures themselves. You have seen how satisfying it is. I wanted to show by means of this example how these things must be felt and experienced.

In eurythmy the possibility of becoming truly artistic first arises when one has reached the point of finding each movement,—whether vowel, consonant, or any of the other movements we have had,—as inevitable as this most characteristic gesture for irony. From this very gesture you can learn how one can find one’s way into all these things.

I want to show you another example of the metamorphosis of form. Those who took part on the stage yesterday in the interwoven Peace Dance and I and You exercise will remember how the four groups of three people were arranged; and 1 shall now ask those who were on the stage yesterday to come up again and take these same places. Let us do the following: instead of merely moving the form silently as yesterday, you will do the first form, the triangle, three times, accompanied by lines built up according to this pattern: Es keimen der Seele Wunsche,—then a second line to the second part of the form, and a third line to the third part of the form. We have now reached the point where yesterday we began the ‘I and you’; but here again we shall have words which may be built up according to the pattern of ‘I and you’. Thus we shall have a number of lines fashioned in this way. Then again, as an ending, we have another three lines, so that we once more come back to the Peace Dance:

Es keimen der Seele Wünsche,
Es wachsen des Willens Taten,
Es reifen des Lebens Fruchte.
Ich fable mein Schicksal, (approaching each other)
Mein Schicksal findet mich, (going back)
Ich fuhle meinen Stern, (approaching)
Mein Stern findet mich. (going back)
Ich fuhle meine Zeile, (approaching)
Meine Ziele finden mich. (going back)
Meine Seele und die Welt Sind eines nur.

Now come the last three lines corresponding to the Peace Dance:

Das Leben, es wird heller urn mich,
Das Leben, es wird schwerer fur mich.
Das Leben, es wird reicher in mir.

(The wishes of the soul are quickened,
The deeds of the will wax and grow,
The fruits of life are ripening.

I feel my fate,
My fate finds me.
I feel my star,
My star finds me.
I feel my aims,
My aims find me.
My soul and the world
Are one.

Life will be clearer round me,
Life will be heavier for me,
Life will be richer in me.)

In this way we have a relationship with the ‘I and You’, etc. which is not merely schematic, not merely an abstract form, but which, even if not perfect, is still absolutely dependent upon the structure of the lines of the poem. It is an example of how these forms may be developed. Do it once more. Now you will understand it better; you will see that there really is a perfect adjustment between the lines of the form and what is contained in the lines of the poem.

Here, at the same time, I have given you an example of the intimate relationship existing between the language of eurythmy and the language which we ordinarily use.

I have attempted, it is naturally only a slight attempt and intended merely as an illustration, to answer the question: How did poems arise in certain Mystery Centres where an art of movement existed such as we are endeavouring to renew in eurythmy?—In these Centres it was not the language, the structure and form of language in a poem which was considered in the first place, for a man of those early times had something within him which caused him first to experience the movement, the gesture with its accompanying form. And it was out of the form, out of the gesture, that the structure of the poem was sought. The eurythmic forms and gestures preceded the fashioning of the poem.

These things actually show the intimate relationship existing between eurhythmy and the earthly language. As eurythmists we must acquire a feeling for the fact that not every poem can be expressed in eurythmy. You see, at least 99 per cent of the poems which have gradually accumulated are far from artistic; at the outside we have the remaining 1 per cent. The history of literature could certainly not assume vast proportions if true poetry only were taken into consideration. For true poetry always contains eurythmy within it; it gives the impression that the poet who wrote it first carried out in his etheric body the eurythmic movements and gestures; it is as if he only possessed his physical body in order to translate the eurythmic gestures and movements into the language of sound. In no other way can a true poem arise.

Naturally this need not penetrate into the intellectual consciousness. Even in our present age there are true poets who dance, as it were, with their etheric bodies before they produce a poem; and in earlier times too such poets existed, as for instance Schiller in his really beautiful poems. I do not mean those poems of Schiller’s which should also be set on one side, but those which are a real poetic achievement. With Goethe, too, in the case of most of his poems, one really feels the eurythmic gestures lying behind the words. Indeed quite a number of poets may be said to possess this quality, albeit unconsciously. It is present in them unconsciously.

Now the eurythmist must naturally be able to feel, from the way in which a poem works on his organism, whether it is suited to eurythmic expression; whether, that is to say, he can answer the question: Was the poet himself a eurythmist? Had he in himself that something which I wish to express in form and movement?—It is when one feels this to be the case that one can enter into a certain inner relationship with the poem which is to be expressed in eurythmy.

Of course all this must not be exaggerated, for in the realm of Anthroposophy we must never become fanatics; it is possible to carry such ideas too far. We need not, for instance, advocate that only such poems as arose out of the Mysteries should be done in eurythmy, or such poems as are fashioned, as it were, after the manner of the Mysteries. On the other hand one would not, I imagine, choose a poem by Wildenbruch. It is such things as these which must be felt by eurythmists, otherwise they will not be able to enter into the true nature of eurythmy.

From this you will perhaps have gained some understanding of the intimate relationship existing between eurythmy and language.—And now I will ask Fri. S. . . . to do the following in eurythmy:

Mein Freund, kannst du es nicht lassen,
Mir das Traurige immer wieder
In die Seele zu rufen?

(My friend, canst thou not refrain from ceaselessly calling up sorrow in my soul?)

Do it as follows. Take, for instance, a simple wave-like line as your form, and, when you come to the words: ‘Mein Freund, kannst du es nicht lassen’ . . . begin definitely to accelerate the tempo, letting this acceleration be really visible; move the second half: ‘Mir das Traurige immer wieder in die Seele zu rufen,’—at a quite definitely quicker tempo. Do this once more. Now let us reverse the process in the following sentence:

Was seh’ ich: es ist der Morgensonne Glanz!
(What do I see: it is the glow of the morning sun!)

After ‘ich’ you must try to retard the quick tempo with which you began. You have here (first example) the transition in tempo from slow to quick, and here (second example) the transition from quick to slow.

When it is a question of will or striving, as in the first sentence, in which there is the impulse to check something, where there is a certain element of will: ‘I do not wish him to call this up incessantly before my soul’—then we have a transition from a slow to a quick tempo.

And when it is a question of the effect of an external happening, thus when,—as in the second sentence,—we are incited to observe something, when we have to do with perception, then we must pass over from a quick to a retarded tempo.

Mein Freund, kannst du es nicht lassen,
Mir das Traurige immer wieder = Will
In die Seele zu rufen?

Was seh’ ich: es ist der Morgensonne Glanz! = Perception.

You will feel that these tempi really give the possibility of expressing in movement on the one hand, will and on the other hand perception or feeling. And you will have to analyse poems in order to discover whether it is more a question of expressing will, of resistance in the movement, warding off something, or whether it is a question of expressing a yielding up of oneself, something in the nature of reverence or devotion.

In addition to this one can, of course, make use of the gesture for devotion. The effect will then be intensified. For there are always more ways than one of expressing such things.