The Rudolf Steiner Archive

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.

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.

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.

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:

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.

Here we have another possibility.

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.

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’.

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’.

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:

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.

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.

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):

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.

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.

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.

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’.

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:

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:

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Just as in speech itself an inner understanding for the structure of language makes it necessary to divide words, according to the train of thought, into nouns, adjectives, etc., so, in eurhythmy, also these things must be taken into consideration. It is, of course, obvious that all pedantry must here be laid aside, and that the teaching of eurythmy from the aspect which we shall be developing here to-day must never be allowed to degenerate into those methods too frequently employed in the teaching of grammar in schools. But the eurythmist must be fully conscious of the way in which each single word,—a noun, for instance,—must be treated; for these details have their place in the whole scheme of the structure of language, by means of which the human being is enabled to express himself through speech. It is necessary then to differentiate between words which express the characteristics of things, descriptive words, and words expressing activities. Such words as describe the characteristics of things may be expressed in eurythmy by checking the movement of the form. Just at the moment when one wishes to express an adjective in eurythmy one must pause in the form and make the gestures standing still; the gestures must be made during a quiet interval in the form. On the other hand, when we are expressing some soul-content, as we do in ordinary speech by means of a verb, the point is to accompany the gestures by a decided movement in the form. Thus, gestures accompanied by movement, gestures carried out by the human being in motion, may be said to be the expression of the verb.

Now, one can sub-divide that which is expressed by means of the verb in this way; we may have the expression of something passive or of something active, or of something prolonged over a certain period of time. A transient activity, a transient passivity, or a prolonged activity, a prolonged passivity,—it is according to this that we can differentiate our eurythmic gestures. When we wish to express passivity, a passive relationship to something, the gestures must be made while the eurythmist moves in a forwards direction, not in a backwards direction. Everything which is inwardly connected with suffering, endurance, with a passive attitude, may be expressed by making the gestures to a forward-moving form; everything active may be expressed by making the gestures to a backward-movement in the form; while everything, either active or passive, which is of the nature of duration, may be expressed by making the gestures to a form which moves from side to side.

Thus we are able to express the verbal element in a way which enables the onlooker to perceive what actually lies in the nature of the verb.

We will now apply what has just been said to the working out of a short poem; we will try to bring out these three forms of inner experience as they come to expression in the verb. Let us, then, examine the verbs as they occur in this little poem:

Konnt' schlafen nicht (I could not sleep)

Sleep is something,—at least in the case of healthy people,—which has a certain duration; so here we must express something which lasts over a period of time (see diagram).

Konnt' traumen nicht (I could not dream).

Now it may be said of drearing,—and we must always analyse a poem in this way before working it out in eurythmy,—it may be said of dreaming that this also is something involving duration, but here at the same time a slight passivity is indicated. We must try to combine the side-to-side movement in the form with the forwards movement, not now going directly forwards, but in a diagonal line. You could express ‘dreaming’ by this form (see page 215). The poem continues:

Konnt' schlafen nicht,
Konnt' traumen nicht
Da hort' ich drauss'
Wie das Eis zerbricht

(I could not sleep,
I could not dream
I heard without
How the ice was shattered.)

In ‘heard' we have another verb; ‘heard' is quite obviously passive, so the line must be forwards. ‘How the ice was shattered'; we must bear in mind here that something is being said about the ice. Let us inquire: Is this the passive mood or the mood' of duration?—If we enter into the feeling of this phrase we shall realize that we have to do with the mood of duration; but that there is also the indication of something happening, of something active. The shattering of the ice is the reverse of the purely passive mood; it may even be said to make an aggressive impression upon us. We say: ‘shattered' . . . this crackling of the breaking ice is continuous . . . and at the same time we must express the active mood by moving up to a point in a backwards direction.

Then we have a line without a verb; at least there is only an auxiliary verb and we will not consider this for the moment.

Es war, als ob aus der Ferne
Es sich nahete
Wehete, lüftete,
Und in den Lüften es
Atmete, duftete.

(It was as if from afar
Something approached
Wafted, floating aloft,
As if something in the air
Breathed, sending forth fragrance.)

To approach, to be wafted, to float,—all these verbs express duration, but they have at the same time something active about them. Here, then, we must express these verbs: ‘to waft' ‘to float' by a line which goes backwards, and again backwards; ‘as if something in the air' . . . here we have no verb—‘breathed, sending forth fragrance ' . . . must be treated in the same way as ‘wafted, floating aloft'. We have therefore, to move in a backwards direction, and then again further back (see diagram).

(Over the meadows Down the valley, up the mountain,
Wenn das der Fruhling war' As though the spring were come
In full career!)

Now do the whole poem characterizing the different types of verb:

Early Spring.
(I could not sleep,
I could not dream,
I heard without
How the ice was shattered It was as if from afar, Something approached, Wafted, floating aloft, As if something in the air Breathed, sending forth
fragrance.
Over the meadows
Down the valley, up the mountain
Wenn das der Friihling war' As though the Spring were come
In full career!)

We have then these different types of verb:¹

Now we must define the nouns. Here in the first place we have those nouns which describe such things as make an impression upon the senses, things which in ordinary life are termed concrete objects.

It is, of course, impossible to state definitely what is concrete and what abstract; this must be left to individual judgment. Hegel, for instance, protested against the usual conception of ‘abstract' and ‘concrete'. He declared that a washerwoman is something very abstract, whereas wisdom is absolutely concrete!

Everything depends upon whether one is able to conceive wisdom as something concrete and a washerwoman as an abstraction! Anyone who conceives wisdom as concrete will certainly feel that a washerwoman is merely existent in thought and quite without reality. A washerwoman has no real existence. The human being embodied within her exists, but, in her capacity of washerwoman, she is altogether unreal.

For this reason it is perhaps better to say: Objects which produce an impression upon the senses are described by words which must be expressed in the form by an angle backwards. All objects producing an impression upon the senses correspond to a backward angle in the form.

On the other hand that which in the ordinary sense of the word is termed abstract,—everything, that is to say, which makes no impression upon the physical senses but depends upon experiences of the soul, as for instance: wisdom, thought-power, genius, fantasy and countless other qualities,—everything of this nature must be expressed by means of a curved line in a forwards direction.

Thus the mental-contemplative element, as we may call it, is expressed in this way, and this gives us two separate forms corresponding with two classes of substantives.²

There is also another type of noun which expresses condition. We might take as examples: whiteness, beauty, height. In the case of these nouns of condition we reverse the form which we use for objects perceptible to the senses. We make the angle forwards.

Then, further, we have words which express such things as are purely bound up with the soul-life. Here the curve line becomes more complicated.

In this way we are able to show nouns expressing some mood of soul; yearning, suffering, pain, pity, good-will, and so on. By means of the angle forwards we express conditions which appear as attributes of external objects; while for everything dependent upon the inner soul-life we must use such a form as I have just described.

In this way you will discover movements capable of arousing in the onlookers shades of feeling and perception which will enable him to follow the inner laws which determine why a certain combination of sounds conveys a definite mood of soul, a distinct condition or sense-impression.

It is not necessary to move a separate form for each individual word; with the pronouns, as with the adjectives, the movements may be made standing still. Numerals also should be treated like adjectives; they need not, in so far as eurythmy is concerned, be differentiated from the ordinary adjective.

Interjections, on the other hand,—Oh! for instance, or Ah!—have a quite special significance, for it is by such words as these that beauty and grace may be brought into eurythmy. In the case of all interjections we must either introduce a bending movement of the body, or else a spring or little jump.

Now that I am speaking about a jump or spring I will take the opportunity of drawing your attention once again to the fact that everything of this kind which is introduced into eurythmy must be carried out in such a way that one jumps on to the ball of the foot, only putting the heel down later: there is something fundamentally harmful about any jump which brings one down on to the flat of the foot. Due attention must be paid to this; it has often been overlooked in spite of very definite warnings. In the case of every jump, including those which occur in tone-eurythmy, one must jump on to the fore part of the foot, later bringing the heel into contact with the ground.

Now I am going to make a statement which will most certainly meet with opposition from materialists, but which is, nevertheless, of the utmost importance for the whole sphere of eurythmy, for eurythmy in its artistic, educational and curative aspects. Every single movement from whichever aspect it is regarded, must be carried out with ` grace' in the true sense of the word. And a eurythmy performance, or a lesson in eurythmy, which is not participated in by at least one of the ‘graces ',—I do not, of course, mean this in a physical sense—cannot, my dear friends, be said to be justified. We must have the feeling: All eurythmy, educational as well as artistic, must be of such a nature that one of the Graces might look on without embarrassment.

This, of course, entails an energetic campaign against all lack of skill in eurythmy. And of' all clumsy, awkward things this jumping on to the flat of the foot is the most awkward. As I have already said, every spring or jump must be on to the fore-part of the foot. When in education grace reigns in the sphere of eurythmy, the children actually grow in receptivity and perception in all directions. And teachers of eurythmy must make this increased power of receptivity and perception in the children the goal towards which they strive.

It is through grace alone that art finds its way into the realm of beauty. And in curative eurythmy,—this is the most difficult of all to believe, but it is nevertheless true,—one of the Graces must at least be hovering in the back-ground. Even if not actually visible, she must be listening, and for this reason that every exercise of curative eurythmy not gracefully carried out tends to produce a stiffening and hardening effect in the etheric body, thus counteracting the desired results.

Fri. S. . . . will you now show us some eurythmy into which you must introduce graceful bending movements. You can be quite free to follow your own feeling; but, when I come to the third sentence, try in addition to introduce a graceful jump. With the first of these sentences the movements must be subtle and interesting. I am going to recite three examples; you can express each one by means of the vowel sounds, adding at the same time the movements which I have just indicated:

‘The dog goes bow-wow'.

Introduce a bending movement which really represents the ‘bow-wow'.

‘The cat goes mi-auw!' . . .

and now, with the third gesture, make three graceful little jumps, combining the last jump with some sort of bending movement:

‘The cock goes cock-a-doodle-doo!'

In this way we get the interjections.

Further we have the prepositions. Some sort of acquaintance with these matters is, of course, essential. One must realize, for instance, that the prepositions express the relation-ship in which one thing stands to another. We have such words as: aus (out), ausser (outside), bei (with, among), entgegen (towards), mit (with), nach (after), nachst (next), von (of), zu (to), zuwider (contrary to),—all prepositions which, as we say, govern the dative; they are always followed by the dative, by the so-called third case. All prepositions must be expressed by a bending of the head and body in a sideways direction.

Here again, however, we must learn to differentiate. In the case of prepositions governing the dative the body must be bent, not sideways merely, but also slightly forwards, in a diagonal direction either to right or left; in the case of those governing the accusative the bending must be directly either to left or right; while in the case of those governing the genitive the movement must be sideways, and also slightly backwards.

In this way we get more variety. Let us now try to express the preposition in the following little poem. I shall ask Frau. P. . . . to express the preposition, when it occurs, by means of the corresponding movement.

‘Was mag es bedeuten? '

This is a question. In this connection we spoke earlier of the spiral form and now we have an opportunity of applying it.

Was mag es bedeuten?
Mein Herz pocht so geschwind,
Die Glocken sie Tauten
Im Morgenwind. (Bending movement forwards and sideways.)

You can, then, express prepositions in this way. On the other hand, a bending of the head only is the expression for conjunctions,—and, but, etc.—for those words whose function it is to connect other words and sentences.

To-day I want to speak of the way in which the structure of a poem may be shown by means of eurythmy forms. We must naturally try to make this course of lectures as comprehensive as possible, and with this in view I will now touch upon certain things which may help us to bring out the actual form of a poem, and to express this in eurythmy. To begin with I will show you how one may treat a poem in which the same form of verse, the same inner structure of the verse, is constantly repeated. We will suppose, for instance, that we have a verse of four lines, and we will see how such a four-lined verse can be worked out. . . . There are, of course many other possibilities. I do not mean to imply that every verse of four lines must be built up in this way, but it can be so built up.

One eurythmist must stand here (1), and move the first form, trying to find his way into it for the first line of the verse. The second eurythmist who stands here, does this form, trying to find his way into the second line, and of course only moving when this second line is being recited. The third must stand here, and during the recitation of the third line must move this form (forwards); and the fourth moves the fourth line to this last form (foreground). But now we must also observe the structure of this verse and see how the rhymes occur; the first line rhymes with the third, and the second with the fourth. We can show this quite clearly by making the eurythmist who does the first line continue to hold the i-gesture. This must also be done in the case of the third line; here again the i-gesture must be held. The eurythmist doing the second line continues to hold the u-gesture; and this same u-gesture must be shown by the fourth eurythmist.

This example shows you, in principle, the way in which the forms and movements of eurythmy may be drawn out from the actual structure of a poem. Will four of you take these places,—you will learn the form in a moment by looking at the diagram on the blackboard,—and now I will read a poem in which the structure of the verse corresponds to the form just described. This will show you how you can find your way into the building up of eurythmic forms. For one must not build up a form merely by vague dreaming, or by indefinite, muddling methods; a form must be made to correspond to what is actually contained in the text itself; and this can be done by bearing in mind all that has been said.

You will at first, of course, only be able to move the form as such, but, when you have had time to practise, you must try to bring into such a form those details of grammatical structure to which I have referred to-day. All this can also be introduced,—but you need not think, when a movement forwards is indicated, that you must immediately take ten steps! The slightest indication is quite sufficient, and indeed the effect is most beautiful when these things are suggested only. To-day I will not impose too much upon you, but will ask you simply to run the form, not showing the additional grammatical details. To do this would be comparatively difficult, but it is nevertheless possible, with adequate practice. The poem runs thus:

Scheiden

Was mag es bedeuten?
Mein Herz pocht so geschwind.
Die Glocken, sie Tauten
Im Morgenwind.

Was mag es bedeuten?
Mein Herz ist wund.
Die Glocken, sie lauten
Die Abschiedsstund.

Die Glocken, sie klagen.
Mein Herz tut mir weh,
Die Stund hat geschlagen
Ade, Ade.

Die Stund hat geschlagen.
Das Herz klopft so sehr.
Ich sitz in dem Wagen
Komm nimmermehr.

In this way then (see previous diagram), one can build up the form of a poem. To-morrow I shall speak even more exactly about the structure of poems; to-day I must just add the following:

It is only by repeatedly calling up a certain mood of soul that the eurythmist can gain the receptivity of feeling and perception necessary to expressive gesture. This delicate and fine perception can be awakened in the eurythmist by means of a meditation drawn out from the secret nature of the human organization. It can be attained when you enter, in deep and inward meditation, into what lies in the following words, not feeling them as words merely, as abstract concepts, but allowing their content to ripen within you. It is thus that you will be able to achieve all that I have just described.

I seek within me
The Strength of Creative Working,
The Power of Creative Life.
It tells me
The heavy weight of Earth
Through the Word of my feet,
It tells me
The forming power of the Air
Through the Singing of my hands,
It tells me
The strength of Heaven's Light
Through the Thinking of my Head,
So the World in Man
Speaks, sings, thinks.

Ich suche im Innern
Der schaffenden Krafte Wirken,
Der schaffenden Machte Leben.
Es sagt mir
Der Erde Schweremacht
Durch meiner Fiisse Wort,
Es sagt mir
Der Liifte Formgewalt
Durch meiner Hande Singen,
Es sagt mir
Des Himmels Lichteskraft
Durch meines Hauptes Sinnen,
Wie die Welt im Menschen
Spricht, singt, rinnt

When you have meditated upon such words as these, you will discover that you can say of yourselves: It is as though have awakened out of a cosmic sleep into the heavenly realm of eurythmy. If you stimulate this mood and feeling in your souls, you will be able to enter this realm as though awakening out of the darkness of night into the light of day.

• 1. The reader should look at all diagrams as though facing a stage. Hence a downward arrow = a line forwards.
• 2. Dr. Steiner had previously given indications as to how words describing spiritual beings (God, Zeus, Dionysus, etc.) should be shown in the form. Such words are expressed by a curved line backwards.

To-day we must bring this course of lectures to its conclusion. It has, naturally, only been possible to give certain guiding lines; much still remains unsaid and must be reserved for a future occasion. It seemed to me better to develop these guiding lines in a really fundamental way out of the nature of eurythrny itself, rather than to attempt a more encyclopedic survey of the whole domain of eurythmy.

It is of the greatest importance that each individual eurythmist should strengthen this power of creating the movements out of an inner activity, for it is in this way alone that a true understanding for eurythmy can be developed.

I shall deal first (my attention having been drawn to the matter) with the two sounds g and v (German w). Let us first take the g. In modern languages,—in modern European languages, at least,—this sound has not the same significance as it had in earlier times. For this reason we have not considered it until now. The sound g, when properly formed—gg—signifies an inner strengthening of the self, a strengthening of the soul-forces, a concentrating in itself of everything in the human being which naturally spreads outwards. It is therefore the sound of speech which, so to speak, holds our being together, in so far as the latter is a vessel for natural forces. This is the sound g.

Perhaps Frl. V. . . . will make the movement for g, in order that you may see how well the character of this gesture is adapted to show this inner strengthening and concentration. The warding off of everything external and the welding together of everything inward is expressed in the gesture for g.

Now we come to the remarkable sound v. We find this sound less frequently in the more ancient languages, in the Oriental languages that is to say. It expresses a special need of the human soul. It is as if the human soul were not used to the shelter of a firmly-built structure, but felt compelled to wander. Instead of the firmly-built house which may be experienced in the b-sound, instead of this solid house, the soul feels the need of a tent, or of the shelter of the woods. In the v-sound there lies the feeling of what may be described as a moving shelter.

This is why one always feels, with the sound v, that one is, as it were, carrying a shelter which is constantly being set up anew. Everything of a wandering nature, where the essential element is movement, must be experienced in this sound. It is the surging of the waves which is expressed by a strongly formed v; when delicately formed it expresses the sparkling of the waters. This will help you to realize what must be felt in the sound v. Now it is a remarkable fact that, when using the sound v (German w), one quite naturally finds oneself repeating it. One feels compelled to repeat it several times in succession. Something seems amiss if one simply says: ‘es wallet’; one wishes to say: ‘es wallet und woget, es weht und windet, es wirkt und webt,’ and so on. There is, in short, no sound which leads so naturally into the sphere of alliteration as this sound v. An alliteration can be made up with other sounds, but in no other way will it come about so naturally.

Perhaps Frl. S. . . . will demonstrate the sound v. You see how it demands a gesture filled with movement. V may thus be said to be that sound which permeates being with movement. Will you now show us, just going round in a circle without actually showing the structure of the alliteration,—we shall add this shortly, an alliteration built up on the sound v. In this example there are also other alliterated sounds; but observe how slight an impression they make when compared to one built up on the v-sound (German w). Thus we have

Wehe nun,
Waltender Gott,
Wehgeschick naht.
Ich wallete
der Sommer und Winter Sechsig ausser Landes,
Wo man mich immer scharte

(now comes the other alliteration)

In die Schar der Schntzen,
Doch vor keiner Burg Man den
Tod mir brachte.

Then we have a very marked alliteration, built up on m; you will feel this strongly, yet not so strongly as in the case of v:

Nun soll mein eigenes Kind
Mich mit dem Schwerte hauen,
Morden mich mit der Mordaxt!
Oder soll ich zum Morder werden?

One cannot help feeling that every alliteration based upon the v-sound appears to come about quite as a matter of course, whereas all other alliterations, no matter what sound is repeated, have the effect of being drawn out from the v.

Alliteration is an essential and fundamental element in poetry, especially where the sound v is experienced in a living way. In this connection we must develop a two-fold feeling. In the first place there lies in the nature of alliteration,—that is to say, when the first letter of certain words is repeated,—something which takes us back into earlier stages of European culture. Wilhelm Jordan has attempted to revive alliteration, and has indeed succeeded in introducing it into his work with a certain strength and conviction. In modern German this element of alliteration appears somewhat out of place. A feeling for it, however, can always be recaptured if one has the gift of going back in imagination to an earlier epoch. The short poem which I have read to you is taken from the Song of Hildebrand. Hildebrand was long absent from his native country, and on his return journey he met his son Hadubrand with whom he came into conflict. It is the battle between these two which is related in this alliterative form,—a form which was at that time an instinctive and completely natural means of expression.

An alliteration may be shown in the following way: Let a number of eurythmists form a circle, and now,—because the very essence of alliteration is consonantal, although not invariably based upon the v-sound,—they must emphasize the alliterated consonants by stepping round this circle. The vowel sounds do not form part of the alliteration; for this reason they may be shown by another group of eurythmists who stand inside the circle, making the movements for the vowels.

I will ask several of you to show the alliteration in the poem I have just read. Will you take your places in the circle; and now three others must stand in the centre and show the vowels.
The alliteration will be particularly strongly emphasized if, whenever a new alliterated sound occurs, it is shown by a different eurythmist, the preceding eurythmist at the same time repeating the previous sound. Only those vowels which follow directly after the alliterated consonant should be shown by those in the outer circle. The other vowel-sounds must be done more as an accompaniment by those standing in the centre. In order to make the whole thing quite clear let us take this example and do it quite slowly, those in the outer circle moving to the alliteration:

Wehe nun,
Waltender Gott,
Wehgeschick naht.
Ich wallete
Der Sommer und Winter
Sechsig ausser Landes,
Wo man mich scharte
In die Schar der Schützen,
Doch vor keiner Burg
Man den Tod mir brachte.
Nun soll mein eignes Kind
Mich mit dem Schwerte hauen,
Morden mich mit der Mordaxt!
Oder soll ich zum Mörder werden?

The alliterated consonant and the vowel sound immediately following it must be carried round the circle from one eurythmist to the next.

This will show you how in fact movement, and also restraint may be brought into such a poem sheerly by means of alliteration.

We will now pass on to something else, something which will help us to make of the human organism a fitting instrument for the service of eurythmy. In this connection it is very necessary to gain an understanding of the difference in eurythmy between walking and standing. Standing still always signifies that one is the image, the picture of some-thing. Walking, on the other hand, signifies that oneself will actually be something. When working out a poem in eurythmy you must be able to feel whether, at a certain point, it is a question of describing or indicating something or of representing the actual nature of something in a living way. It is according to this that one must decide whether to stand still (a lessening of the movement tends already in this direction), or whether to pass over into movement. We shall find that we have less occasion to stand still than to move, for there lies in the very nature of poetry the tendency to express something living, something which is, not merely that which signifies something. Here it is well that we should know how the human body is related to the whole cosmos. The feet of man correspond to the earth, for in their very structure they are suited to the earth, Where we have to do with gravity, with the weight of the earth,—and this feeling of the weight of the earth is present in nearly all forms of human suffering,—we must endeavour to express this in eurythmy by a graceful use of the feet and legs.

The hands and arms reveal the life of the soul. This soul-element is the most essential part of what may be brought to expression in eurythmy, and this is why in eurythmy the movements of the arms and hands play such an important part. Here already we pass over into the realm of the spiritual, for it is in the transition from one sound to the next that we find the best means of expressing that which is spiritual. In language the spiritual element finds expression in the mood of irony, for instance, or roguishness, in every-thing that is to say which emanates from the human spirit (aus dem menschlichen Spiritus), from man himself in that he is a spiritual being, gifted with intelligence in the best sense of the word. Such things must be indicated by means of the head, for the head is the instrument of the spirit.

We must become conscious of such things; then we shall be able to express them in the right way. It is specially important to be able to use the head in the most varied manner according to the possibilities of its organization.

Fri. S. . . . will you turn your head towards the right. The turning of the head towards the right may always be taken to signify: ` I will ' ; naturally I do not mean these two words merely, but everything which contains the feeling: ` I will.'

On the other hand, when you turn your head towards the left it signifies : I feel.' Thus, everything in a poem where the mood of `I feel' is dominant we must turn the head towards the left.

Now bend the head towards the right. This bending movement of the head (forwards towards the right) signifies: ` Iwill not.' Bend it in the same way towards the left and it signifies: ` I do not feel this, I do not understand it or realize it.'

And now bend the head forwards, straight forwards. You will see how natural this movement is if you do the following: Frau Sch. . . . will you stand facing Frl. S. . . . in profile, and do these movements. We must suppose that Frau Sch. . . . says: ` It is the gods who inspire the human heart with willing service.' Frl. S. . . . gives an eurythmic answer: ` You are too clever for me; I do not understand you.' She shows this by means of the aforesaid gesture, carried out clearly and definitely. You will find numberless opportunities of applying this movement. It signifies a sinking into oneself when faced with something which one is not able to understand.

Then, further, so that we may have at least one example, I must point out that the twelve gestures related to the Zodiac and the seven gestures related to the moving planetary circle may be made use of in a variety of ways. Quite apart, for instance, from what was said yesterday with regard to rhyming we must learn to understand such an exercise as the following:

Fri. S. . . . and Fri. V. . . . will you demonstrate what I am now going to describe. Fri. S. . . . will you make the gesture for Leo, and you, Frl. V. . . . the gesture for Aquarius; now, as I read this little poem, try to show it in eurythmy. In the case of the emphasized rhymes, the rhymes which fall on an accented beat, you, Fri. S.. . . must make the gesture for Leo. With the unemphasized rhymes, thus those which do not fall on the accented but on the unaccented beat, you, Frl. V. . . . must make the gesture of Aquarius. Make the movements standing still, choosing perhaps the vowel sounds, and only making the zodiacal gestures at the end of the lines so that we may really see their effect when they follow immediately after the rhyme.

Es rauschst das Bachlein -Ether Gestein... .

(You, Frl. V. . . . must hold the sound)

Ein Weidenbaum driiber gebogen,
Drauf sitzt des Miillers Büblein klein,
Im Schosse ein kleines Zitherlein,
Die Füsschen bespiilt von den Wogen.
Es kommt ein Mann des Wegs zu gehn,
Er bleibt so still, so schweigsam stehn
Sieht zu dem sinnigen Knaben;
Hatt' auch ein Büblein klein,
War auch so still und auch so fein.
Das liegt nun draussen begraben.

You see how the rhyme may be emphasized in this way by means of the zodiacal gestures. I am drawing your attention to such things so that you may be able to work out similar exercises for yourselves, thus gaining assurance and certainty in the development of eurythmic gestures.

I will now ask a number of eurythmists to come forward and make various movements as I explain them: Number one must place the feet together, stretching the arms out so that they lie in a horizontal direction, on a level with the shoulders.

Number two must stand with the feet slightly apart, holding out the arms in such a way that the hands about correspond with the level of the larynx:

Now for number three: stand with your feet somewhat further apart, and hold the arms in such a way that, if a line were drawn from hand to hand, it would pass just below the heart.

Number four: stand with the feet still further apart, quite wide, holding the arms right up above the head. The hands must be held in such a way that they could be connected with the feet by means of a straight line.

Number five: stand with the feet in a similar position to number three, and now hold the arms in such a way that a line drawn from hand to hand would pass at the level of the top of the head.

Here (in the case of Number two) the line passes across the larynx; here (Number one) the line is quite horizontal; here (Number four) it is high up above the head; and here (Number five) it is just at head-level. Continue to hold all these gestures.

Number six: you must stand with the legs close together, with the arms held upwards in an absolutely vertical line: To these gestures we must add the following words:

Ich denke die Rede—I
Ich rede—II
Ich habe geredet—III
Ich suche mich im Geiste (meinen geistigen Ursprung)—IV
Ich fühle mich in mir—V
Ich bin auf dem geistigen Wege—VI
Ich bin auf dem Weg zum Geiste (zu mir).

I think speech I speak
I have spoken
I seek for myself in the Spirit
(my spiritual origin)
I feel myself within myself
I am on the spiritual path
I am on the way to the Spirit (to myself).

Approximately in this way. And now you must try to pass from one position to the next. Frl. V. . . . will you do this? Place yourself in front of each one in turn, and, as you take up each position, you must feel impelled to express the words that are said by means of the gesture being carried out by the eurythmist standing behind you. As Number one, you have to begin:

Ich denke die Rede

Passing on take up your place in front of Number two:

Ich rede
Ich habe geredet
Ich suche mich im Geiste
Ich fühle mich im mir
Ich bin auf dem Geistwege.

In this way we get the whole series of gestures.

Ich denke die Rede
Ich rede
Ich habe geredet
Ich suche mich im Geiste
Ich fühle mich in mir
Ich bin auf dem Wege zum Geiste (zur mir).

If, when teaching eurythmy to adults, a beginning is made with this very exercise, it will certainly help them to find their way into eurythmy easily and well.

These gestures, when carried out in this way one after the other, form an exercise which may be classed among those having a harmonizing and curative effect. Thus, when anyone is so much disturbed in his soul-life that this disturbance works itself out into his physical body, manifesting itself in all sorts of digestive troubles, then this exercise, taken in such a case as a curative exercise, may always be given with the greatest benefit.

And finally, my dear friends, I must once again impress upon your hearts the fact that really good eurythmy can only be achieved when there is the determination always to make a thorough and careful preparatory analysis, of anything which is to be interpreted by means of eurythmy. Every poem must be studied in the first place with a view to discovering which are the most fundamental sounds. If in a poem expressing the feeling of wonder, the wonder experienced by the poet, we find many a sounds, then we may be quite sure that this poem is well suited to eurythmy, for it is the sound a which expresses wonder. The poet himself has felt that a is specially related to the mood of wonder. And the eurythmist will be able to intensify the effect by laying stress on the movement corresponding to the sound a. In eurythmy it is even more important to concentrate on the sounds contained in a poem than on the actual sense-content of the words. For the sense-content is the prose element. The more a poem depends upon its sense-content, so much the less is it a poem; and the more the sound-content is brought out, the more a poem is dependent on sound, the nearer it approaches to true poetry.

As a eurythmist, then, one should not take one's start from the prose-content, but should enter so deeply into the nature of the sounds as to be able to say: When many a-sounds occur in a poem it is obvious that it is a poem based upon the mood of wonder and must be so expressed. This shows us the attitude we must have towards language as such. Further we must seek in poetry for those characteristics of language which we have already mentioned here,—what is concrete, for instance, what abstract, and other details of this kind. This means that one must first enter into the nature of a poem and study it according to the structure and formation of its language, only later trying to express it in eurythmy.

In eurythmy there is still another thing to bear in mind, and that is the way in which, in the eurythmy figures, I have tried to portray Movement, Feeling and Character.¹ This is another field of study for eurythmists. The movement must be felt as movement, and is depicted as such in the figures. As a eurythmist one lives in movement. We must, however,—more especially when a veil is floating around us, but also when we are not actually wearing one,—picture this veil as expressing the aura (see Eurythmy Figures). It is only when one bears this in mind that one can bring the necessary grace and beauty into the movements. Let us look at the eurythmy figure for I. The 1-sound itself lies in the movement; but that which can be added to the 1 as feeling, is shown by the fact that here, in the region of the arms, the aura is quite wide, becoming narrower as it hangs down. You must imagine that your arms reveal your feeling by means of the floating aura of the veil. The dress which here appears somewhat wider at the bottom must be studied in a similar way. This is how one must picture oneself. As a eurythmist, one should always feel oneself attired in dress and floating veil as I have indicated here in the figure.

Character also is of the greatest importance. When stretching out the arms one should actually feel that here (see figure) the muscles are stretched and taut. Everywhere where character is indicated by means of its corresponding colour there must be a tension of the muscles. This must also be shown by the eurythmist. And here again, for example, (see figure) you must use the legs in such a way that you really experience this muscular tension. The eurythmy figures are intended to show such things and have been designed accordingly.

When you have in this way made a study of each separate sound, your whole organism will be so sensitive to sound that you will feel: This whole poem is built up upon the mood of l, let us say, or upon the mood of b; and it will then be possible for you to create your interpretation of a poem out of the sounds themselves.

All these things must be very carefully borne in mind when it is a question of teaching eurythmy. In educational eurythmy it is naturally important to introduce such movements of the body as can work with moral benefit upon the soul-life, and serve to further the development of intellect and feeling.

In artistic eurythmy the essential thing is that the soul should gain the power of working through the medium of the body. Thus the movements of eurythmy, these gestures as they are shaped and formed, must be felt to be absolutely natural, indeed inevitable. One must feel that they could not be otherwise, that it is only by means of these very gestures that certain moods or artistic concepts can be expressed.

Yet another thing must be borne in mind, and that is the fact that the learning of eurythmy entails an actual trans-formation of the human organism. Any performance which reveals the slightest trace of struggle between body and soul must be looked upon as unfinished and imperfect. In a eurythmy performance the whole body must have become soul.

A programme is sometimes given—as you yourselves know—which has been prepared with unbelievable industry and is then shown for the first time. One can enjoy such a programme, where everything is fresh and spontaneous, where there is still a struggle with the form-running, and where on occasion the arms are not moved but thrown about, appearing so heavy as to be liable at any moment to fall to the ground. There is spontaneity in all this and it gives us a certain pleasure.

Then the time comes when the programme is taken on tour and given perhaps in some ‘two dozen' towns. (As a matter of fact, I believe this has never actually happened, but it might well happen.) The programme is, as I said, performed in about two dozen towns and the eurythmists return. Then,—because Frau Dr. Steiner has had no time to prepare a new programme,—this old programme, which we saw some six weeks ago in all its youthful spontaneity, is presented again. Now the pleasure is of a very different kind. Everything has become easy and fluent. One notices, too, that the eurythmists, because they have visited new towns and learned to know fresh conditions, are stimulated by the outer world and have gained a certain inner enthusiasm. All this has had its effect on the movements and they have become effortless and free. The performance is now sheer delight, and one can only exclaim: ‘Oh, if this programme could be performed fifty times more, how beautiful it would be then!'

We must have an understanding for these things. Every artist whose work is bound up with the stage knows the truth of what I have just said. A good actor would never think that he has mastered a role before he had played it some fifty times. With the fifty-first performance he might perhaps think that he could play the part, for then every-thing would have become second nature. We, too, must acquire this attitude of mind, my dear friends. We must develop such a love for anything which is to be shown in a performance that we simply cannot put it aside. Indeed no one but the onlooker may be permitted to find an often repeated item dull or tedious! It is in the sphere of art above all, that it is important to realize this; one must come back to a thing again and again. In a place where I once happened to be staying, I had the opportunity of seeing a play repeated fifty times. I went every evening to see this same play and allowed it to work upon me. By the fifth evening I did perhaps have a certain feeling of boredom, but by the fifty-first evening I was not in the least bored. Even though the performance, in a small provincial theatre, was very mediocre, so much could be learned from its very imperfection that this experience,—peculiar though it was,—could be of life-long benefit. As a matter of fact, I did not like the play in question; as a play it did not interest me at all. (It was Sudermann's Ehre.) I could not stand the play; nevertheless, I saw it performed fifty times by a some-what mediocre cast. My aim was to enter into all the details unconsciously, thus experiencing it purely with the astral body. I wished to take it right out of the realm of conscious perception and simply to live with it.

People must learn,—and now, when I am speaking about eurythmy, I will take the opportunity of mentioning it,—people must learn the value of rhythm, even in more complicated matters. We say the Lord's Prayer not fifty times only, but countless times, and we never find it tedious. Notice is seldom paid to the fact that such things are connected with experiences of the human organism, experiences which are apparently more or less immaterial and to which our Karma leads us at one time or another.

With this, my dear friends, we must bring this course of lectures to a close. From the way I have developed the subject, you will have realized that my first aim has been to show you that it is out of the feelings, out of the soul-life, that eurythmy must proceed. Eurythmic technique must be won out of a love for eurythmy, for in truth, everything must proceed out of love.

How much I myself love eurythmy, my dear friends, I have told you recently in the ‘News Sheet'.² I said then how earnestly I wish that the great devotion demanded of all those actively engaged in the work of eurythmy,—work which was begun by Frau Dr. Steiner, begun by our eurythmy artists here in Dornach and which has gradually won wider recognition and esteem,—how earnestly I wish that all this may be rightly appreciated; for it cannot be too highly prized in Anthroposophical circles. It is my hope that this course of lectures may have contributed something towards the furthernace of eurythmy in this respect, in that all of us who are gathered together here,—whether as eurythmists who already know the fundamentals of eurythmy, as beginners, or indeed as those merely interested in eurythmy, that all of us here will feel ourselves as the helpers and promoters of eurythmy, of this art which springs from no humble source, but has as its lofty origin, that cosmic knowledge which creates from out of the spirit. If we feel ourselves as the helpers of eurythmy, either in an active or in a more passive sense, then eurythmy will be able to fulfil the mission which it can and should fulfil in the general development of Anthroposophy.

When people will see in beauty the spirit working in human movement, then this will make some contribution to the whole attitude which humanity, through Anthroposophy, should take up towards the spirit.

Let us think of all the many things which have grown up out of anthroposophical soil, forming together one great whole; and then, inspired by the Anthroposophy in our hearts, let us build up and develop each separate activity as it should and will be developed if we prove ourselves worthy of the real aims of Anthroposophy. This course of eurythmy lectures may perhaps have done something towards this end.

• 1. See page 274. The Eurythmy Figures.
• 2. S. page 260.

Introductory words to the Eurythmy performance given in Dornach, 26th December, 1923, on the occasion of the Foundation Meeting of the General Anthroposophical Society.

The nature of eurythmy has certainly been repeatedly discussed before the most varied groups of our friends, lately also it was presented in the most varied way in the Goetheanum,¹ and it is indeed unnecessary to speak at this performance, which is to be given exclusively to our friends about the essential nature of eurythmy, about the basic principles, which are known to all. Yet I should like to characterize again and again from a certain standpoint both the way in which eurythmy stands in the artistic development of the present and what its position among the arts in general is. To-day I will speak a few words about how eurythmy must in fact, as it were from its very nature, be drawn out from the being of man by a spiritual world-conception, which, in accordance with the signs of the times, is making itself felt in our present age.

We look at another art which portrays the human being—the plastic art, which portrays him in his quiescent form. Whoever approaches plastic art with a certain feeling for form, whoever experiences the human being, human characteristics, through a plastic work of art does so in the best way when he has the feeling: here the human being is silent, speaking through his quiescent form.

Now we know that in the eighteenth century Lessing wrote a paper on the limits of plastic art,—it was not called that, but that was its content,—in which he said that sculpture should in its very nature be a manifestation of that which is at rest, of that which is silent in man,—in man as a being placed into the cosmos. So that sculpture can only express that which manifests itself as silence, as stillness, in the human being. Hence any attempt to represent the human being in movement through the medium of sculpture will undoubtedly prove to be an artistic error.

In times gone by, indeed up to the time of the Renaissance, it was a matter of course that plastic art could only represent the human being in a state of rest. For it may be said: This age, which began with ancient Greece and ended with the Renaissance, was mainly concerned with the development in the human being of the intellectual soul. With regard to the inner configuration of man’s being, the sentient soul, the mind soul and the consciousness soul,—it is the mind soul, embracing as it does all that is connected with the human mind, that holds the middle place; and the mind is in fact permeated with that quiescent feeling which also comes to expression in the quiescent human form.

We live to-day in an age in which we must advance from the feeling element in man to the will element; for fundamentally speaking it is the descent into the will element which, if consciously achieved, would enable us to-day to attain to spiritual insight.

This brings us to the point where we may turn our spiritual gaze to the human being in movement; not to the human being who, as the expression of the Cosmic Word, remained silent in order to rest in form, but to the human being as he stands in the living weaving of the Cosmic Word, bringing his organism into activity in accordance with his cosmic environment.

It is this clement in man which must find expression in eurythmy. And if one is able to observe things from the point of view of the spiritual science which is suited to the humanity of to-day, one will always have the feeling that form must become fluidic. Let us look at a human hand. Its silence finds expression in its quiescent form. What then is the meaning of this quiescent form when the human being as a whole is taken into consideration? Its meaning is apparent when the quiescent element of feeling is allowed to hold sway as it did hold sway from the age of the ancient Greeks to the time of the Renaissance. There is certainly great significance in such a gesture as this, in which I indicate something with my hand, then allowing it to remain in a state of rest. But it does not enable us to understand what must be realized to-day with regard to man, it does not enable us to understand the human being in his totality.

It is indeed impossible to understand the human form, when observing the human being as a whole, unless one is conscious of the fact that every motionless form in man has meaning only because it is able to pass over into definite movement. What would be the significance of the human hand if it were compelled to remain motionless. Even in its motionless state the form of the hand is such as to demand movement.

When one studies the human being with that inner mobility which is essential to the Spiritual Science of to-day, then from out of the quiescent form, movement reveals itself on all sides. It is not too much to say that anyone who visits a museum containing sculpture belonging to the best periods of plastic art, and who looks at the figures with the inner vision arising out of the spiritual knowledge of our time, will see these figures descend from their stands, move about the room and meet each other, becoming on all sides enfilled with movement.

And eurythmy,—now eurythmy arises naturally out of sculpture. And to learn to understand this is our task also. To-day people gifted with a certain spiritual mobility feel disturbed if obliged to look for a long time at a motionless Greek statue. They have to force themselves to do it. This can, and indeed must be done in order not to spoil the Greek statue in one’s own personal fantasy. But at the same time the urge remains to bring movement into this motionless form. As a consequence there arises that moving sculpture to which we give the name of Eurythmy. Here the Cosmic Word is itself, movement. In eurythmy man is no longer silent but through his movement communicates innumerable cosmic secrets.

It is indeed always the case that man communicates through his own being numberless secrets of the universe. One can, however, have yet another cosmic feeling. Anyone who has a living understanding for such descriptions of cosmic evolution as are to be found in my Outline of Occult Science will realize from the outset that, in the case of the human form of to-day, it is as though one had allowed an inner mobility to become dried up, to become rigid. One need only to look back to the time of the Old Moon. The human being was then in a continual state of metamorphosis. Such a definitely formed nose, such definitely formed ears as man has to-day, these did not exist at that time. The once mobile forms had to become frozen. He who with his vision can transport himself into the time of the Old Moon, to him people to-day often appear as frozen, immobile beings, incapable of metamorphosis. And what we achieve by means of eurythmy, when we make it into a visible speech, is no less than this: The bringing of movement, of fluidity, into the frozen human form.

This demands a study which must in its very nature be artistic. In this sphere everything intellectualistic is positively harmful. Eurythmy is and must remain an art.

Just consider for a moment that some such eurythmy form as you have sometimes seen here in connection with poems which really have in their experience and structure the profundity, for instance, of the poems of Steffen, just consider that such a form would best be found when, let us say—one imagines ten or twelve people of the present day. You are certainly all individually different with regard to your external form; but one can say of every person, no matter whether he has a round or long head, a pointed or blunt nose,—one can say of every person how, in the case of a poem, he would move his etheric body. And it would certainly be interesting for one to take those sitting in a certain row and show how, in the case of a poem, each one of those sitting here would move in accordance with his own form, if this came about entirely from the individual characteristics of the person in question. Here are sitting, for instance, eight people in this row. In such a case quite different eurythmy forms would arise from the human form. This would be very interesting. One would have to look at many people in order to say how the human being would move for “Und es wallet und woget und brauset und zischt”.

And then one gets the idea of how the forms are necessary. Thus eurythmy is born wholly out of the moving human form, but one must be able to take up such a standpoint that, when asked why the form for a poem is such and such, one must say: Yes, that is how it is! If anyone demands an intellectual explanation in justification of such a form, then one will feel annoyed to give it, because that is really inartistic. Eurythmy is created entirely out of feeling and can also only be understood through feeling.

Of course one must learn certain things, the letters must be learned, and so on. But after all, when you write a letter, here also you do not think about how an i or a b is written, but you write because you are able to do so. The point, then, is not how the eurythmist must learn a, b, c but to enjoy what comes out of it in the end.

What must develop out of eurythmy is a newly created, moving sculpture. And for this living sculpture one must of course make use of the human being himself; here one cannot use clay or marble. This leads into a realm of art which, in the profoundest sense, touches reality just where sculpture departs from it. Sculpture portrays that which is dead in the human being, or at least that which is death-like in its rigidity. Eurythmy portrays all that in the human being which is of the nature of life itself. For this reason eurythmy can call forth the feeling of how the universal cosmic life laid hold of man and placed him into earthly evolution, giving him his earthly task. There is perhaps no other art through which one can experience man’s relationship to the cosmos so vividly as one is able to do through the art of eurythmy. Therefore this art of eurythmy, based as it is on the etheric forces in man, had to appear just at that time a modern Spiritual Science was being sought. For it was out of this modern Spiritual Science that eurythmy had to be born.

• 1. See Rudolf Steiner, foreword to a eurythmy performance in ‘Das Goetheanum’ Year 3, No. 7. 23rd Sept., 1925.