href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@44118@[email protected]#Page_257" class="pginternal" tag="{http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml}a">The Art of Dying
Can Philosophy Bring any Blessing to Mankind?
Goethe on the Bible
"Now we Can Fly Too! Hurrah"
The Fall and Original Sin
The Gospel
Religious Heathen
The Pleasure-Garden
The Happiness of Love
Our Best Feelings
Blood-Fraternity
The Power of Love
The Box on the Ear
Saul, afterwards Called Paul
A Scene from Hell
The Jewel-Casket or his Better Half
The Mummy-Coffin
In the Attic
The Sculptor
On the Threshold at Five Years of Age
Goethe on Christianity and Science
Summa Summarum

Zones of the Spirit

THE HISTORY OF THE BLUE BOOK

(Prefixed to the Third Swedish Edition)

I had read how Goethe had once intended to write a Breviarium Universale, a book of edification for the adherents of all religions. In my Historical Miniatures I have attempted to trace God's ways in the history of the world; I included Christianity in my survey by commencing with Israel, but perhaps I made the mistake of ranging other religions by the side of Christianity, while they ought to have stood below it.

A year passed. I felt myself constrained by inward impulses to write a fairly unsectarian breviary; a word of wisdom for each day in the year. For that purpose I collected the sacred books of all religions, in order to extract from them "sayings" on which to write. But the books did not open themselves to me! The Vedas and Zend-Avesta were sealed, and did not yield a single saying; only the Koran gave one, but that was a lion! (page 45). Then I determined to alter my design. I formed the plan of writing apothegms of simply worldly wisdom regarding men, and of calling the book Herbarium Humane. But I postponed the work since I trembled at the greatness of the task and the crudity of my plan. Then came June 15, 1906. As I took my morning walk, the first thing I saw was a tramcar with the number 365. I was struck by this number, and thought of the 365 pages which I intended to write.

As I went on, I entered a narrow street. A cart went along by my side carrying a red flag; it was a powder-flag. The cart kept parallel with me and began to disturb me. In order to escape the sight of the powder-flag, I looked up in the air, and there an enormous red flag (the English one) flaunted conspicuously before my eyes. I looked down again, and a lady dressed in black, with a fiery-red hat, was crossing the street in a slanting direction.

I hastened my steps. Immediately my eyes fell on the window of a stationer's shop; in it a piece of cardboard was displayed, bearing the word "Herbarium."

It was natural that all this should make an impression on me. My resolution was now taken; I laid down the plan of my powder-chamber, which was to become the Blue Book. A year passed, slowly, painfully. The most remarkable thing that happened was this. They began to rehearse my drama, the Dream Play, in the theatre; simultaneously, a change took place in my daily life. My servant left me; my domestic arrangements were upset; within forty days I had six changes of servants—one worse than the other. At last I had to serve myself, lay the table and light the stove. I ate black broken victuals out of a basket. In short, I had to taste the whole bitterness of life without knowing why.

One morning during this fasting period I passed by a shop window in which I saw a piece of tapestry which attracted and delighted me. I thought I saw my dream-play in the design woven on the tapestry. Above was the "growing castle," and underneath the green island over-arched by a rainbow, and with Alpine summits illumined by the sun. Round it was the sea reflecting the stars and a great green sea-snake partly visible; low down in the border was a row of fylfots—the symbol Swastika, signifying good-luck. That was, at any rate, my meaning; the artist had intended something else which does not belong here.

Then came the dress-rehearsal of the Dream Play. This drama I wrote seven years ago, after a period of forty days' suffering which were among the worst which I had ever undergone. And now again exactly forty days of fasting and pain had passed. There seems, therefore, to be a secret