But even this is not the complete explanation. As yet we have only the two elements, sensuality and cruelty; the third, religion, is present also. It appears as the supplementary colour when we look carefully at the first two. Remember Novalis's words, already quoted: "The divine significance of the sacrament of the Lord's Supper is an enigma to the carnal mind. But he who even once has drunk in the breath of life from warm, beloved lips, whose heart has melted in the quivering flames of holy fire ... he will eat of His body and drink of His blood for ever more." The great Christian mystery was a subject occupying all minds at this time, Kleist's among the rest. One of his intimate friends was the most notable mystic of the day, the ingenious sophist, Adam Müller. It may astonish us, or offend us, to find traces of Christian mystic dogma in a pagan drama which has the Queen of the Amazons for heroine; but to understand this, and many other kindred phenomena, we must take the relative truth and justifiableness of this mysticism into consideration. These men could not shut their religious ideas into a cupboard, and keep them altogether apart from their lives and actions. It was not only twice, or possibly three times, a year that such a subject as the Lord's Supper occupied their minds; it pervaded all their thoughts; they strove to see life in the light of this great mystery. In the complete edition of Friedrich von Baader's collected works (vol. iv. Anthropology), amongst a number of short essays, such as: On the Ecstatic Rapture of those who Talk in Magnetic Sleep, The Vision Seer of Prevorst, Forty Tenets of Religious Love, &c., &c., we find one entitled: That, in the Spiritual, Good or Evil Meaning of the Word, all Men are Anthropophagi. It begins: "Man at heart, or, to use the language of Scripture, the inner man, does not live on tangible nourishment, on material bread; he lives, and that not in the symbolical, but in the most real meaning of the word, entirely upon other inner men, whose hearts and words are his food."
The great religious mystery ultimately became the centre round which even philosophical thought revolved. Henrik Steffens may serve as an example. This writer, in whose character, as Julian Schmidt[13] aptly remarks, "there is an undeniable strain of innate servility," was appointed to conduct the trial of the demagogues in Breslau. It was a task which he accomplished in a spirit at variance with sound human reason and the natural sense of justice, and during its performance he gave expression to the most reactionary religious sentiments, entirely forgetful of the pantheism of his youth. In the essay, How I Once More Became a Lutheran, he writes: "The Holy Sacrament is the chief individualising process in Christianity; by its means the whole mystery of the redemption enters in all its fulness into the receptive personality. The fertilising stream of grace, which, since the day of the great regeneration, has flowed through all nature and all history, and which matures us for a blessed future, here takes the form of the Saviour, in order that that which is all in all may be completely present.... By means of the satisfying personal presence of the Saviour, that which the Christian truly believes, that which pervades his whole life, and overcomes death, yet at the same time forces him back into the domain of the senses, here becomes certainty, enjoyment, nourishment. ... To me the communion of the Lord's Supper is the highest, most important, most mysterious of all religious acts; so important does it seem to me, that through it every doctrine acquires unfathomable significance."
We see, then, how tremendously important a part this sacrament plays in the Christian mysticism of the period under consideration. There existed a tender, almost an erotic, relation between the faithful and the consecrated elements. True believers were declared to be sensible of the presence of these elements at an extraordinary distance. Read what Görres writes on the subject in the second part of his Mystik. "To begin with what is holiest—" he says, "all who have attained to the higher spiritual life are aware, at a prodigious distance, of the presence of the Host." A number of examples of this are given, and we are told in the preface that all the facts instanced are vouched for by numerous witnesses, that these witnesses were the most reliable imaginable, either priests or pious laymen, and that they were particularly favourably situated for making the necessary observations. And we not only learn that saintly believers can detect the Host, no matter where it may be hidden, but that the Host feels such an attraction towards them, that it springs from the priest's hand into their mouths. Sometimes the priest actually feels that it is violently torn out of his hands, drawn like steel by a magnet; and the saintly, in their turn, are so forcibly attracted to the holy substance that they are carried through the air to it.
Nowhere in all Kleist's writings has mysticism taken such strange possession of a perfectly pagan, not to say wanton, theme as in his Amphitryon, which is an adaptation of Molière's well-known comedy. The story, not a very easy one to treat, is as follows. During Amphitryon's absence, Jupiter assumes his form and visits his wife, Alcmene, who believes the god to be her husband. Amphitryon returns, and a whole series of comical confusions ensue between the real and the pretended husband, the real slave, Sosias, and Mercury as Sosias. At last the true state of affairs is explained, and Amphitryon has to console himself with the consideration that there is nothing dishonourable in such a relationship with Jupiter,—a moral theory which it must have been very much to the interest of Louis the Fourteenth to defend and propagate.
"Mon nom, qu'incessamment toute la terre adore,
étouffe ici le bruit, qui pouvait éclater;
Un partage avec Jupiter
N'a rien du tout qui déshonore."
In genuine French fashion, Molière makes the collision between the husband and the lover the main point in his play; and when Alcmene upbraids Jupiter for the hard words he (i.e. Amphitryon) has used to her, the god takes refuge in the following fine distinction:—
"L'époux, Alcmène, a commis tout le mal;
C'est l'époux qu'il vous faut regarder en coupable:
L'amant n'a point de part à ce transport brutal,
Et de vous offenser son cœur n'est point capable.
Il a de vous, ce cœur, pour jamais y penser,
Trop de respect et de tendresse;
Et si de faire rien à vous pouvoir blesser
Il avait eu la coupable faiblesse,
De cent coups à vos yeux il voudrait le percer.
Mais l'époux est sorti de ce respect soumis
Ou pour vous on doit toujours être;
A son dur procédé l'époux s'est fait connaître,
Et par le droit d'hymen il s'est cru tout permis."
Jupiter expresses himself, we see, with the polished gallantry of a courtier. At the close of the play the bystanders congratulate the wretched Amphitryon, and Sosias recites an epilogue, in which the whole matter is treated from the comical point of view, and the moral pointed that the less said about such affairs the better.
Kleist naturally saw the subject in quite a different light. It is obvious that his Romantic mind was attracted first and foremost by the "Doppelgängerei;" then came the possibility of playing, faintly but clearly, on one of the most important mysteries of the Christian faith. Alcmene's husband is not the father of Hercules, yet the conception was no violation of her marriage vow; it was immaculate; the being to which she gives birth is not the child of a man, but of a god. Therefore, in the most important scene between Jupiter and Alcmene, the former is pantheistically exalted to the rank of the great world-spirit; he is not the wanton Olympian of the Greeks, he is as divine and spiritual as the "Absolute" of the Naturphilosophie. He says to Alcmene:—
"Nimmst Du die Welt, sein grosses Werk, wohl wahr?
Siehst Du ihn in der Abendröthe Schimmer,
Wenn sie durch schweigende Gebüsche fällt?
Hörst Du ihn beim Gesaüsel der Gewässer,
Und bei dem Schlag der üpp'gen Nachtigall?
Verkündigt nicht umsonst der Berg ihn Dir,
Gethürmt gen Himmel, nicht umsonst ihn
Der felszerstiebten Katarakten Fall?
Wenn hoch die Sonn' in seinen Tempel strahlt,
Und, von der Freude Pulsschlag eingeläutet,
Ihn alle Gättungen Erschaff'ner preisen,
Steigst Du nicht in des Herzens Schacht hinab
Und betest Deinen Götzen an?"[14]