Know thou thyself, O man. JOHANNES: (As though coming to himself, sees Maria. The meditation passes to the plane of inner reality.) Thou here, my friend? MARIA: I sought thee, friend, although I know full well How comforting to thee is solitude, When many varying thoughts of many men Have flooded o'er thy soul. I also know I cannot by my presence help my friend In this dark hour of strife--yet yearnings vague Drive me in this same moment unto thee; When Benedictus' words, instead of light, Such grievous sorrow drew from thy soul's depths. JOHANNES: How comforting to me is solitude! Yea, I have sought to find myself therein, So often when to labyrinths of thought The joys and griefs of men had driven me. But now, O friend, that, too, is past and gone. What Benedictus' words at first aroused Within my soul, and all that I lived through When listening to the speeches of those men, Seems but indeed a little thing, when I Compare therewith the storm that solitude With sullen brooding hath brought forth in me. Ah me! when I recall this solitude! It hounded me into the voids of space, And tore me from my very self in two. Within that soul to whom I brought such pain I stood, as though I were some other man. And there I had to suffer all the pain Of which I was myself the primal cause. Ah cruel, sombre, fearful solitude Thou giv'st me back unto myself indeed, Yet but to terrify me with the sight Of mine own nature's fathomless abyss. Man's final refuge hath been lost to me: I have been robbed of solitude itself. MARIA: