FREDERIK VAN EEDEN (continued 3)

'That is the clock,' said Pluizer, 'it is always cheerful, year in, year out. It sings the same song every hour, with the same vigour and vivacity; and it sounds more gleeful by night than even by day, as if the clock rejoiced that it has no need of sleep, that it can sing at all times with equal contentment, while thousands, just below, are weeping and suffering. But it sounds most gladly when some one is just dead.'

Again the jubilant peal rang out.

'One day, Johannes,' Pluizer went on,' a dim light will be burning in a quiet room, behind just such a window as that yonder; a melancholy light, flickering pensively, and making the shadows dance on the wall. There will be no sound in that room but now and then a low, suppressed sob. A bed will be standing there, with white curtains, and long shadows in their folds. In the bed something will be lying—white and still. That will have been little Johannes. And then, how loud and joyful will that chime sound, breaking into the room, and singing out the first hour after his death!'

Twelve was striking, booming through the air with long pauses between the strokes. At the last stroke, Johannes, all at once, had a strange feeling as though he were dreaming; he was no longer walking, but floating along a little way above the ground, holding Pluizer's hand. The houses and lamps sped past him in swift flight. And now the houses stood less close together. They formed separate rows, with dark, mysterious gaps between them, where the gas lamps lighted up trenches, puddles, scaffoldings and woodwork. At last they reached a great gate, with heavy pillars and a tall railing. In a winking, they had floated over it and come down again on some soft grass by a high heap of sand. Johannes fancied he must be in a garden, for he heard the rustling of trees hard by.

'Now pay attention, and then confess whether I cannot do greater things than Windekind.'

Then Pluizer shouted aloud a short and awful name which made Johannes quake. The darkness on all sides echoed the sound, and the wind bore it up in widening circles till it died away in the upper air.

And Johannes saw the grass blades growing so tall that they were above his head, and a little pebble which but just now was under his feet, seemed to be close to his face. Pluizer, by his side, and no bigger than he was, picked up the stone with both hands and threw it away with all his might. A confused noise of thin, shrill voices rose up from the spot he had cleared.

'Hey day! who is doing that? What is the meaning of it? Lout!' they could hear said.

Johannes saw black objects running in great confusion. He recognised the quick, nimble ground-beetle, the shining, brown ear-wig with his fine nippers, the millipede with its round back and thousand tiny feet, in the midst of them a long earthworm shrank back as quick as lightning into its burrow! Pluizer made his way through the angry swarm of creatures to the worm's hole.

'Hey there! you long, naked crawler! come up and show yourself once more with your sharp red nose!' he cried.

'What do you want?' asked the worm from below.

'You must come out, because I want to go in; do you hear, you bare-skinned sand-eater!'

The worm cautiously put his pointed head out of the hole, felt all round it two or three times, and then slowly dragged his naked ringed body up to the surface. Pluizer looked round at the other creatures who had crowded curiously about them.

'One of you must go first with a light—no, Master Beetle, you are too stout, and you with your thousand feet would make me giddy. Hey, you ear-wig! I like your looks. Come with me and carry a light in your nippers. You, beetle, must look about for a will-o'-the-wisp, or fetch a chip of rotten wood.'

The creatures were scared by his commanding tones and obeyed him.

Then they went down into the worm's burrow; the ear-wig first, with the shining wood, then Pluizer, and then Johannes. It was a narrow passage and very dark down there. Johannes saw the grains of sand glittering in the dim blue gleam. They looked like large stones, half transparent and built up into a smooth firm wall by the worm's body. The worm himself followed, full of curiosity. Johannes saw the pointed head come close up behind him, and then stop till the long body had been dragged after it. Down they went, without speaking, far and deep. When the path was too steep for Johannes, Pluizer helped him. They seemed never to be coming to an end; still fresh galleries of sand, and still the ear-wig crept on, turning and bending with the sinuosities of the passage. At last this grew broader, and the walls opened out. The grains of sand were black and wet, forming a vault overhead, down which driblets of water made shining streaks, while the roots of trees came through in coils like petrified snakes.

And suddenly there rose before Johannes's eyes an upright wall, black and high, cutting off all space beyond. The ear-wig turned round.

'Here we are. The next question is how to get any further. The worm ought to know; he is at home here.'

'Come on; show us the way,' said Pluizer.

The worm slowly dragged his jointed body up to the black wall and felt it inquisitively. Johannes could see that it was of wood. Here and there it had fallen into brownish powder. The worm bored his way into one such place and the long, wriggling body vanished with three pushes and pauses.

'Now for you,' said Pluizer, pushing Johannes into the little round opening. For a moment he thought he should be suffocated in the soft damp stuff, but he soon felt his head free, and with some trouble worked his way completely through. A large room seemed to lie open before him; the floor was hard and moist, the air thick and intolerably oppressive. Johannes could scarcely breathe, and stood waiting in mortal terror.

He heard Pluizer's voice, which sounded hollow, as in some vast cellar.

'Here, Johannes, follow me.'

He felt the ground before him rise to a hill—and he climbed it, clutching Pluizer's hand in the darkness. He trod, as it were, on a carpet which yielded under his foot. He trampled over hollows and ridges, following Pluizer who led him on to a level spot where he held on by some long stems which bent in his hand like reed-grass.

'Here we can stand very comfortably. Bring a light,' said Pluizer.

The dim light came on from a distance, up and down with its bearer. The nearer it approached, and the more its pale gleam spread in the place they were in, the more terrible became Johannes's anguish of mind. The eminence on which he stood was long and white; the support he clung to was brown, and lay about in glistening waves and curls.

He recognised the features of a human being, and the icy level on which he stood was the forehead. Before him lay the sunken eyes, two deep, dark hollows, and the blue gleam fell on the pinched nose and ashy lips which were parted in the hideous, rigid smile of death.

Pluizer laughed sharply, but the sound seemed smothered by the damp, wooden walls.

'Is not this a surprise, Johannes?'

The worm crept up along the plaits of the shroud: he glided over the chin and the stiffened lips and into the mouth.

'This was the beauty of the ball, whom you thought lovelier even than an elf. Then her hair and dress shed sweet fragrance; then her eyes sparkled and her lips smiled. Now,—look at her!'

With all his horror there was doubt in Johannes's eyes. So soon? The splendour was but now—and already——?

'Do you not believe me?' grinned Pluizer. 'Half a century lies between now and then. Time and the hour are no more. What has been shall always be, and what shall be has ever been. You could not conceive of it, but you must believe it. Everything here is the truth. All I tell you is true! True!—and Windekind could not say that.'

With a nod and a grimace he leaped round the dead face, and played the most horrible antics. He sat on the eyebrows and raised the eyelids by the long lashes. The eye, which Johannes had seen bright with gladness, stared dull and white in the pale light.

'Now onwards!' cried Pluizer. 'There is more yet to be seen.'

The worm came creeping up from a corner of the mouth, and the dreadful march began once more. Not back again, but along new paths, no less long and gloomy.

'This is much older,' said the earthworm as he made his way through another black wall. 'This has been here a very long time.'

It was less dreadful here than before. Johannes saw nothing but a confused mass, out of which brown bones projected. Hundreds of insects were silently busy here. The light startled and alarmed them.

'Where do you come from? Who brings a light here? We want no light.' And they hastily vanished into the folds and crevices. But they recognised a fellow-creature.

'Have you been in the next one?' asked the worms. 'The wood is still hard.'

The first worm denied it. 'He wants to keep the find to himself,' said Pluizer to Johannes in a low voice.

Then they went forward again; Pluizer explained everything, and pointed out persons whom Johannes had known. They came to an ugly face with prominent, staring eyes, and thick dark lips and cheeks.

'This was a very fine gentleman,' said he in high glee. 'You should have seen him—so rich, so fashionable, so arrogant. He is as much puffed up as ever!'

And so they went on. There were lean and haggard faces with white hair that shone blue in the feeble light, and little children with large heads and old-looking, anxious features.

'These, you see, died first and grew old afterwards,' said Pluizer.

They came to a man with a flowing beard and parted lips, showing glistening white teeth. There was a round black hole in the middle of his forehead.

'This one lent Death a helping hand. Why had he not a little patience? He would have come here in the end.'

Through passage after passage, one after another, they passed, no end of them—straight-laid figures, with rigid, grinning faces, and motionless hands laid one over the other.

'Now I can go no further,' said the ear-wig. 'I do not know my way beyond this.'

'Let us turn back,' said the worm.

'One more, one more!' cried Pluizer.

So on they went.

'Everything you see here, actually exists,' said Pluizer, as they made their way forward. 'It is all real. One thing only is not real, and that is yourself, Johannes. You are not here; you cannot come here.'

And he laughed maliciously as he saw Johannes's terrified and bewildered face at these words.

'This is the last, positively the last.'

'The way stops here. I am going no further,' said the ear-wig crossly.

'I will go further,' said Pluizer; and where the path ended he began grubbing the earth with both hands.

'Help me, Johannes.'

And Johannes, submissive with wretchedness, obeyed, scratching away the fine damp soil. Silent and breathless they worked away till they came to the black wood.

The worm had drawn back his ringed head and disappeared. The ear-wig dropped the light and turned away.

'It is impossible to get in, the wood is new,' said he as he withdrew.

'I will do it!' said Pluizer, and with his clawed fingers he tore long white splinters cracking out of the wood.

A fearful anguish came over Johannes. But he could not help himself; there was no escape.

At last the dark thing was opened. Pluizer seized the light and hurried in.

'Here, here!' he cried, running to the head.

But when Johannes came as far as the hands, which lay quietly folded over the breast, he stopped. He gazed at the thin white fingers, dimly lighted from above. On a sudden, he recognised them,—he knew the shape and turn of the fingers, the look of the long nails, now blue and dull. He recognised a brown spot on one of the forefingers. These were his own hands.

'Here, this way!' Pluizer called from the head. 'Only look, do you know him?'

Hapless Johannes tried to stand up and go towards the light which winked at him; but he could not. The gleam died into total darkness and he fell senseless.

XII

He had sunk into deep sleep—that sleep which is too deep for dreams.

When he came out of the darkness—very slowly—into the cool grey light of dawn, he passed through varied and peaceful dreams of an early time. He woke up, and they glided off his soul, like dew-drops off a flower. The look in his eyes was calm and sweet as they still gazed on the crowd of lovely images.

But he closed them again quickly as though the glare were painful, to shut out the pale daylight. He saw just what he had seen the morning before. It seemed to him far away and a long time ago. Still, hour by hour, he remembered it all, from the dreary day-break to the terrible night. He could not believe that all these horrors had come upon him in a single day. The beginning of his wretchedness seemed so remote, lost in grey mist.

The sweet dreams vanished, and left no trace on his spirit; Pluizer shook him, and the dreadful day began, gloomy and colourless; the first of many, many more. But all he had seen last night in that terrible walk dwelt in his mind. Had it been no more than a fearful vision?

When he asked Pluizer doubtfully, he looked at him with mockery and amazement.

'What do you mean?' he said.

But Johannes did not see the sarcasm in his eyes, and asked whether all this, which he still saw so plainly and clearly, had not indeed been true.

'Why, Johannes, how silly you are! Such a thing could never happen at all.'

And Johannes did not know what to think.

'We must set you to work at once, and then you will ask no more such foolish questions.'

So they went to Doctor Cypher, who was to help Johannes to find what he sought.

But as they went along the crowded street, Pluizer suddenly stood still, and pointed out a man in the throng.

'Do you remember him?' asked Pluizer, and he laughed aloud when Johannes turned pale and stared at the man in terror. He had seen him last night, deep under ground.

The doctor received them kindly and imparted his learning to Johannes, who listened to him for hours that day—and for many days after. The doctor had not found what they sought; but was very near it, he said. He would lead Johannes as far as he himself had gone, and then, together, they would be sure to achieve to it.

Johannes learned and listened, diligently and patiently—day after day, and month after month. He had very little hope, but he understood that he must go on now, as far as possible. He thought it strange that the longer he sought the light the darker it grew around him. The beginning of everything, he learned, was the best part of it, but the deeper he got the duller and more obscure it became. He began with the study of plants and animals, of everything about him, and when he had studied these a long time they all turned to numbers. Everything resolved itself into numbers—pages of figures. This Doctor Cypher thought quite splendid; he said that light would come to them as the numbers came, but to Johannes it was darkness.

Pluizer never left him, and drove and urged him on when he was disheartened or weary. His presence marred every moment of enjoyment and admiration. Johannes was amazed and delighted when he learnt and saw how exquisitely flowers were constructed, how the fruit was formed, and how insects unconsciously helped in the process.

'That is beautiful!' he exclaimed. 'How exactly it is all arranged, and how delicately and accurately contrived!'

'Yes, amazingly contrived,' said Pluizer. 'The pity is that the greater part of this ingenuity and accuracy comes to nothing. How many flowers produce fruit, and how many seeds become trees?'

'But still, it seems to be all wrought by some grand plan,' said Johannes. 'Look, the bees seek honey for their own ends and do not know that they are serving the flowers, and the flowers attract the bees by their colours. That is a scheme, and they both work it out without knowing it.'

'That all looks very pretty, but it fails in many ways. When the bees have a chance, they bite a hole through the flower and make the whole internal structure useless. He is a clever Contriver indeed who can be laughed to scorn by a bee!'

And when he came to study the organism of men and beasts, matters were even worse. Whenever Johannes thought anything beautiful or well adapted, Pluizer would demonstrate its imperfections and inefficiency. He expatiated on the host of ills and woes to which every living creature is liable, selecting by preference the most disgusting and terrible.

'The Contriver, Johannes, was very shrewd, but in everything he made he forgot something, and men have as much as they can do to patch up these defects as best they may. You have only to look about you. An umbrella, a pair of spectacles—for shelter and better sight—these are specimens of man's patching. They are no part of the original plan. But the Contriver never considered that men would have colds, and read books, and do a thousand other things for which his plan was inadequate. He gave his children clothes without reflecting that they would outgrow them. Almost all men have by this time long outgrown their natural outfit. Now they do everything for themselves, and never trouble themselves at all about the Contriver and his schemes. What he failed to give them, they simply take by brute force; and when the obvious result is that they must die, they evade death, sometimes for a long period, by a variety of devices.'

'But it is men's own fault,' said Johannes. 'Why do they wilfully deviate from the laws of nature?'

'Oh, silly Johannes! If a nursemaid lets an innocent child play with fire and it is burned, whose fault is it? The child's, who knew nothing about fire; or the nurse's, who knew that it would burn itself? And who is to blame if men pine in misery and disobedience to nature—they or the all-wise Contriver, compared with whom we are ignorant children?'

'But they are not ignorant, they know—'

'Johannes, if you say to a child: Do not touch that fire, it will hurt you—and if the child touches it all the same because it does not know what pain is, can you then plead your own innocence and say: The child was not ignorant? Did you not know that it would not heed your advice? Men are as foolish as children. Glass is brittle and clay is soft. And He who made men and did not take their folly into account, is like a man who should make weapons of glass and not expect them to break, or arrows of clay and not expect them to bend.'

His words fell like drops of liquid fire on Johannes's soul, and his heart swelled with a great grief to which his former woes were as nothing, and which often made him weep in the silent, sleepless hours of the night.

Oh, for sleep! sleep! There came a time after long days, when nothing was so dear to him as sleep. Then he neither thought nor suffered; in his dreams he was always carried back to his old life. It seemed to him beautiful as he dreamed of it, but day by day he could never remember exactly how things had then been. He only knew that the vexations and cravings of that former time were better than the vacant, stagnant feeling of the present. He once had longed bitterly for Windekind; he once had waited hour after hour on Robinetta. How delightful that had been!

Robinetta! Did he still long for her? The more he learnt the feebler that craving became. For that too was dissected, and Pluizer showed him what love really was. Then he felt ashamed, and Doctor Cypher said that he could not as yet express it in numbers, but that he should soon accomplish this. Then things grew darker and darker round little Johannes. He had an obscure feeling of thankfulness that he had not seen Robinetta in the course of that fearful expedition with Pluizer.

When he spoke of it to Pluizer he made no reply but a sly laugh; but Johannes understood that this was from no desire to spare him.

Those hours which Johannes did not spend in study or work Pluizer took advantage of to show him the life of men. He managed to take him everywhere—into the hospitals where sick people lay in great numbers—long ranks of pale, haggard faces with a dull, suffering expression—and where unearthly silence reigned, broken only by coughing and groaning. And Pluizer showed him how many of them could never leave the place. And when at a fixed hour streams of men and women came pouring into the place to visit their sick relations, Pluizer said: 'You see, they all know that they too must some day find their way into this house and these gloomy rooms, only to be carried out in a black chest.'

'Then how can they ever be so light-hearted?' thought Johannes.

And Pluizer took him up to a little attic-room where a dismal twilight reigned, and where the distant tinkle of a piano in a neighbouring house made an incessant dreamy noise. Here they found, among others, one man who lay staring helplessly before him at a narrow sunbeam which slowly crept up the wall.

'He has lain there for seven years,' said Pluizer. 'He was a sailor, and has seen the palms of India, the blue seas of Japan, the forests of Brazil; and now, for seven long years, he has amused himself all day and every day with the sunbeams and the sound of the piano. He will never leave this room again; but it cannot last much longer now.'

After this day Johannes had his worst dream; he fancied himself in that little room, listening to the feeble music, in the melancholy half-light, with nothing to look at but the rising and waning sunbeams —never more till the end.

Pluizer took him, too, to the great churches to listen to what was said there. He took him to festivals and grand ceremonies, and made him intimate in many houses. Johannes learnt to study men, and it sometimes happened that he could not help thinking of his past life, of the tales Windekind had told him and of his own disappointments. There were men who reminded him of the glow-worm, who fancied that the stars were his departed friends; or of the cockchafer who was one day older than his comrade, and who had said so much about a vocation; and he heard tales which made him think of Kribbelgauw, the Spider-Hero, and of the eel who did nothing, but was fed because it was a grand thing to have a fat king. Himself, he could only compare to the younger cockchafer, who did not know what a vocation was, and flew to the light. He felt that he in the same way was creeping, helpless and crippled, over the carpet with a string round his body, a cruel string which Pluizer tugged and twitched.

Ah! he should never see the garden again! When would the heavy foot come and crush him to death?

Pluizer laughed at him if he ever spoke of Windekind; and by degrees he began to think that Windekind had never existed.

'But, Pluizer, then the little key does not exist—nothing is real!'

'Nothing, nothing. Men and numbers—those are real and exist, endless numbers!'

'Then you deceived me, Pluizer. Let me go away—let me seek no more—leave me alone.'

'Have you forgotten what Death told you? That you are to become a man, a complete man?'

'I will not! it is horrible!'

'You must. You wished it once. Look at Doctor Cypher, does he think it horrible? Become like him——'

It was very true. Doctor Cypher seemed always content and happy. Unwearied and imperturbable, he pursued his way, studying and teaching, satisfied and equable.

'Look at him,' Pluizer went on, 'he sees everything, and yet sees nothing. He looks on men as though he himself were a being apart, having nothing to do with their sufferings. He moves among griefs and wretchedness as though he were invulnerable, and meets Death face to face as though he were immortal. All he aims at is to understand what he sees, and everything is good in his eyes that comes in the way of knowledge. He is satisfied with everything so long as he understands it. That is what you must be.'

'But that I can never be.'

'Well, I cannot help that.'

This was the hopeless conclusion of all their discussions. Johannes grew dull and indifferent, and searched and searched, knowing no longer why, or for what. He had become like the multitudes of whom Wistik had spoken.

It was now winter, but he scarcely observed it.

One chill and misty morning, when the snow lay wet and dirty on the roads, and fell from the trees and roofs, he went with Pluizer for his daily walk. In a public garden he met a party of young girls, in a row, and carrying school-books. They pelted each other with snow, and laughed and gambolled; their voices rang out clearly over the snowy plain. There was no sound of feet or wheels to be heard; nothing but the tinkling bells of the horses, or the latch of a shop door. Their merry laughter sounded distinctly through the silence.

Johannes noted that one of these damsels looked at him and stared back after him. She wore a coloured cloak and a black hat. He knew her face very well, but he could not think who she was. She nodded to him once and again.

'Who is that? I know her.'

'Yes, very likely. Her name is Maria, some persons call her Robinetta.'

'No, that cannot be. She is not like Windekind. She is a girl like any other.'

'Ha, ha, hah! She cannot be like Nobody. But she is what she is. You have longed to see her so much; now I will take you to see her!'

'No, I do not want to see her. I would rather see her dead like the others.'

And Johannes would not look round again, but hurried on, murmuring: 'This is the last! There is nothing—nothing!'

XIII

The clear warm sunshine of an early spring morning shone down on the great city. Its bright rays fell into the room where Johannes lived, and on the low ceiling danced and flickered a large patch of light reflected from the rippling water in the canal. Johannes sat by the window in the sunshine, looking out over the town. Its aspect was completely changed. The grey fog was now a sheeny blue sun-mist, veiling the end of the long streets and the distant towers. The slopes of the slate roofs shone like silver. All the houses showed clear outlines and bright surfaces in the sunshine; the pale blue atmosphere was full of glittering warmth. The water seemed alive. The brown buds of the elm-trees were swollen and shiny, and loudly-chirping sparrows fluttered among the branches. A strange feeling came over Johannes as he sat looking out on it all. The sunshine filled him with sweet vague emotion, a mixture of oblivion and ecstasy. He gazed dreamily at the dancing ripples, the bursting leaf-buds; he listened to the chirping of the birds. There was gladness in their tune.

He had not for a long time felt so soft at heart, nor for many a day been so happy.

This was the sunshine of old; he knew it well. This was the sun which of yore called him forth—out into the garden where, under the shelter of a low wall, he would stretch himself on the warm ground, where he might for hours enjoy the light and heat, gazing before him at the grasses and sods basking in the glow.

He was glad in that light; it gave him a safe home-like feeling, such as he remembered long ago when his mother held him in her arms. He thought of all he had gone through, but without either grieving or longing. He sat still and mused, wishing nothing more than that the sun might continue to shine.

'What are you about, mooning there?' cried Pluizer. 'You know I do not approve of dreaming.'

Johannes looked up with absent, imploring eyes. 'Leave me alone for a little longer,' said he; 'the sun is so good!'

'What can you find in the sun?' said Pluizer. 'It is nothing, after all, but a big candle—sunlight or candlelight, it is all the same in the end. Look at the patches of light and shadow in the street—they are nothing more than the effect of a light which burns steadily and does not nicker. And that light is really quite a small flame shining on a quite small speck of the universe. Out there, beyond the blue, above and beneath, it is dark,—cold and dark! It is night there, now and always.'

But his words had no effect on Johannes. The calm warm sunbeams had penetrated him, bathed his whole soul—he was full of light and peace.

Pluizer carried him off to Doctor Cypher's cold house. For some time yet the sunny images floated before his brain; then they slowly faded away, and by the middle of the day all was dark again within him.

But when evening came he made his way through the town once more, the air was soft and full of the vapourous odours of the past. Only the fragrance was ten times stronger, and oppressed him in the narrow streets. But as he crossed the open square he smelt the grass and leaves from the country beyond. And overhead he saw the spring in the tranquil little clouds and the tender rose of the western sky. The twilight shed a soft grey mist, full of delicate tints, over the town. The streets were quiet, only a grinding organ in the distance played a love-sick tune; the houses stood out black against the crimson heavens, their fantastic pinnacles and chimneys stretching up like numberless arms.

To Johannes it was as though the sun were giving him a kind smile as he shed his last beams over the great city—kind, like the smile which seals a pardon. And the warmth stroked Johannes's cheek with a caress.

Deep tenderness came over his soul, so great that he could walk no farther, but lifted up his face to the wide heavens with a deep sigh. The Spring was calling to him and he heard it. He longed to answer—to go. His heart was full of repentance and love and forgiveness. He gazed up with longing tears flowing from his sad eyes.

'Come, Johannes! do not behave so strangely; people are staring at you!' cried Pluizer.

The long monotonous rows of houses stretched away on each side, gloomy and repulsive—an offence in the soft atmosphere, a discord in the voices of the Spring.

The folk were sitting at their doors and on the steps, to enjoy the warmth. To Johannes this was a mockery. The squalid doors stood open and the stuffy rooms within awaited their inhabitants. The organ was still grinding out its melancholy tune in the distance.

'Oh, if I could but fly away—far away! To the sand-hills and the sea!'

But he must needs go home to the little garret room; and that night he could not sleep.

He could not help thinking of his father, and of the long walks he had been used to take with him, when he trotted ten yards behind, or his father traced letters for him in the sand. He thought of the spots where the violets grew under the brushwood, and of the days when he and his father had hunted for them. All the night he saw his father's face just as he had seen him in the evenings when he sat by his side in the silence and lamplight, watching him and listening to the scratching of his pen.

Every morning now he asked Pluizer when he might once more go home to his father, and see the garden and the sand-hills again. And he perceived now that he had loved his father more than Presto, or his little room, for it was of him that he asked—

'Tell me how he is, and if he is not angry with me for staying away so long.'

Pluizer shrugged his shoulders. 'Even if I could tell you, what good would it do you?'

But the spring still called him, louder and louder. Night after night he dreamed of the dark green moss and the downs, and the sunbeams falling through the fine, fresh verdure.

'I can bear it no longer,' thought Johannes. 'I cannot stay.'

And as he could not sleep he softly got out of bed, went to the window, and looked out on the night. He saw the drowsy, fleecy clouds slowly sailing beneath the full moon, peacefully floating in a sea of pale light. He thought of the downs far away, sleeping through the warm night; how beautiful it must be in the low woods where none of the baby leaves would be stirring, and where the air was smelling of damp moss and young birch sprouts! He fancied he could hear the rising chorus of frogs, sounding mysteriously from afar over the meadows, and the pipe of the only bird which accompanies the solemn stillness—which begins its song with such soft lament and breaks off so suddenly that the silence seems more still than before. And it called to him—everything called to him. He bowed his head on the window-sill and sobbed in his sleeve.

'I cannot, I cannot bear it! I shall die soon, if I do not get away!'

When Pluizer came to call him next day he was still sitting by the window, where he had fallen asleep with his head on his arm.

The days went by, longer and warmer, and still there was no change. But Johannes did not die, and had to bear his troubles.

One morning Doctor Cypher said to him—

'Come with me, Johannes; I have to visit a sick man.'

Doctor Cypher was well known as a learned man, and many appealed to him for help against disease and death. Johannes had already gone with him on such errands now and then. Pluizer was unusually cheerful that morning. He would at times stand on his head, dance and leap, and play all sorts of impudent tricks. He wore a constant mysterious grin, as though he had a surprise in store for some one. Johannes dreaded him most in this mood.

Doctor Cypher was as grave as ever. They went a long way that morning, in a train, and on foot. They went farther than Johannes had ever been before outside the town.

It was a fine hot day. Johannes, looking out from the train, saw the broad green fields fly past, with tall feathery grasses and grazing kine. He saw white butterflies flitting over the flowery land where the air quivered with the heat of the sun.

But suddenly he saw a gleam in the distance.—There lay the long undulating stretch of sand-hills.

'Now, Johannes,' said Pluizer with a grin, 'now you have your wish, you see.'

Johannes, half incredulous, sat gazing at the sand-hills. They came nearer and nearer. The long ditches on each side of the railway seemed to whirl round a distant centre, and the little houses flew swiftly past and away down the road.

Then came some trees: thickly green horse-chestnut trees, covered with thousands of spikes of pink and white blossoms—dark, blue-green pines—tall, spreading lime-trees. It was true, then,—he was going to see his sand-hills once more. The train stopped; they all three jumped out, under verdurous shade.

Here was the deep, green moss, here were the flecks of sunshine on the ground under the forest-trees—this was the fragrance of birch-buds and pine-needles.

'Is it real—is it true?' thought Johannes. 'Can such happiness befall me?'

His eyes sparkled and his heart beat high. He began to believe in his happiness. He knew these trees and this soil. He had often trodden this forest-path.

They were alone here. But Johannes could not help looking round, as though some one were following him. And he fancied that between the oak boughs he caught sight of a dark figure hiding itself, as they threaded the last turns of the path.

Pluizer looked at him with mysterious cunning. Doctor Cypher hurried forward, with long strides, keeping his eyes on the ground.

At each step the way was more familiar—he knew every stone and every shrub—and suddenly Johannes started violently: he stood before his old home.

The horse-chestnut in front of the house spread the shade of its large, fingered leaves. Above him the beautiful white flowers, and thick, round mass of foliage towered high overhead. He heard the sound of an opening door which he knew well—and he smelt the peculiar smell of his own home. He recognised the passage, the doors, everything, bit by bit—with a keen pang of lost familiarity. It was all a part of his life—of his lonely dreamy childhood. He had held council with all these things, had lived with them his own life of thoughts—to which he had admitted no human being. But now he felt himself dead, as it were, and cut off from the old house, with its rooms and passages and doorways. The severance, he knew, was irremediable, and he felt as melancholy and woeful as though he had come to visit a graveyard. If only Presto had sprung out to meet him, it would have been less dreary. But Presto, no doubt, was gone or dead.

But where was his father?

He looked back through the open door out into the sunny garden, and saw the man who, as he had fancied, was following them on the way, coming towards the house. He came nearer and nearer, and seemed to grow in stature as he approached. When he reached the door a vast cold shadow filled the entrance. Then Johannes knew him.

There was perfect silence indoors, and they went up-stairs without speaking. There was one step which always creaked under foot as Johannes knew; and now he heard it creak three times with a sound like a groan of pain. But under the fourth footstep it was like a deep sob.

Above stairs, Johannes heard moaning, as low and as regular as the slow ticking of a clock. It was a heart-rending and doleful sound. The door of his own little room stood open; he timidly glanced in. The strange flowers on the curtains stared at him with unmeaning surprise. The clock had stopped. They went on to the room whence the groaning came. It was his father's bedroom. The sun shone in brightly, on the green bed-curtains which were drawn close. Simon, the cat, sat on the window-sill, in the sun. There was an oppressive smell of wine and camphor; the low moaning now sounded close at hand.

Johannes heard whispering voices and carefully softened footsteps. Then the green curtains were opened.

He saw his father's face, which had so often risen before him during the last few weeks. But it was quite different. The kind, grave expression had given way to a rigid look of suffering, and his face was ashy pale, with brown shadows. The teeth showed through the parted lips, and the white of the eyes under the half-closed lids. His head lay sunk in pillows, and was lifted a little with every moaning breath, falling back wearily after each effort.

Johannes stood by the bed without stirring, staring with wide fixed eyes at the well-known features. He did not know what he thought; he dared not move a finger, he dared not take the wan old hands, which lay limp on the white linen sheet.

All about him was black, the sun and the bright room, the greenery outside and the blue air he had come in from—all the past was black—black, heavy and impenetrable. And that night he could see nothing but that pale face. He could think of nothing but the poor head which seemed so weary, and yet was lifted again and again with a groan of anguish.

But there was a change in this regular movement. The moaning ceased, the eyes slowly opened and stared about inquiringly, while the lips tried to say something.

'Good-morning, father,' whispered Johannes, looking into the seeking eyes and trembling with terror. The dim gaze rested on him, and a faint, faint smile moved the hollow cheeks; the thin clenched hand was lifted from the sheet and made a feeble movement towards Johannes, but it dropped again, powerless.

'Come, come,' said Pluizer. 'No scenes here.'

'Get out of the way, Johannes,' said Doctor Cypher. 'We must see what can be done.'

The Doctor began his examination, and Johannes went away from the bed-side and stood by the window, looking out at the sunlit grass and broad chestnut leaves on which large flies were sitting which shone blue in the sun.

The groaning began again with the same regularity.

A blackbird was hopping among the tali grass, large red and black butterflies fluttered over the flower-beds, and from the topmost boughs of the highest trees a soft, tender cooing of wood-pigeons, fell on Johannes's ear. In the room the moaning went on—without ceasing. He could not help listening—and it came as regularly, as inevitably as the falling drip which may drive a man mad. He watched anxiously at every interval and it always came again—as awful as the approaching footsteps of Death.

And outside, warm and rapturous delight in the sunshine reigned. Everything was basking and happy. The blades of grass thrilled and the leaves whispered for sheer gladness. High above the trees in the deep, distant blue, a heron was soaring on lazy wing.

Johannes did not understand—it was all a mystery to him. Everything was confused and dark in his soul—

'How can all this exist in me at the same time?' thought he. 'Am I really myself? Is that my father—my own father? Mine—Johannes's?' And it was as though a stranger spoke.

It was all a tale which he had heard. He had heard some one tell of Johannes, and of the house where he dwelt with his father from whom he had run away, and who was now dying. This was not himself—he had only heard of it all; and indeed it was a sad story,—very sad. But it had nothing to do with him.

And yet—and yet.—It was he himself, Johannes.

'I cannot understand the case,' said Doctor Cypher, pulling himself up. 'It is a very mysterious attack.'

Pluizer came up to Johannes.

'Come and look, Johannes; it is a very interesting case. The Doctor knows nothing about it.'

'Leave me alone,' said Johannes, without turning round. 'I cannot think.'

But Pluizer went close behind him and whispered sharply in his ear, as was his wont—

'You cannot think? Did you fancy that you could not think? That is a mistake. You must think. Staring out like this at the green grass and the blue sky will do no good. Windekind will not come to you. And the sick man is sinking fast; that you must have seen as clearly as we did. But what is his disorder, do you think?'

'I do not know!—I do not want to know!'

Johannes said no more, but listened to the moaning; it sounded like a gentle complaint and reproach. Doctor Cypher was taking notes in a book. At the head of the bed sat the dark figure which had followed them in; his head was bowed, his lean hand extended towards the sick man, and his hollow eyes steadfastly gazing at the clock.

That sharp whisper in his ear began again.

'Why are you so unhappy, Johannes? You have got what you wished for. There lie the sand-hills, there is the sunshine through the verdure, there are the dancing butterflies, the singing birds. What more do you want? Are you waiting for Windekind? If he exists anywhere, it must be there. Why does he not come to you? He is frightened, no doubt, by our dark friend by the bed. He always has been afraid of him. Don't you see, Johannes, that it was all fancy? And listen to the moaning. It is weaker than it was just now. You can hear that it will soon cease altogether. Well, and what matter? Many folks must have groaned just so when you were at play here among the wild roses. Why do you now sit here grieving instead of going out to the sand-hills as you used to do? Look! Out there everything is as flowery and fragrant as if nothing had happened. Why do you care no more for all the gladness of that life?

'First you complained and longed to be here. Now I have brought you where you yearned to be, and yet you are not content. See. I will let you go—go out into the tall grass, lie in the cool shade, let the flies hum about you, and breathe the perfume of growing herbs. You are free! Go. Find Windekind once more. You will not? Then do you now believe in me alone? Is all I have told you true? Am I or is Windekind the false one?

'Listen to the moans! So short and feeble! They will soon be stilled. But do not look so terrified, Johannes, the sooner it is ended, the better. There could be no long walks now, no more seeking for violets together. With whom has he wandered these two years, do you think, while you were away? You can never ask him now. You can never know. If you had known me a little earlier you would not look so wretched now. You are a long way yet from being what you must become. Do you think that Doctor Cypher in your place would look as you do? It would sadden him no more than it does the cat blinking there in the sunshine. And it is best so. Of what use is brooding sorrow? Have the flowers learnt to grieve? They do not mourn if one of them is plucked. Is not that far happier? They know nothing, and that is why they are thus content. You have begun to know something; now you must learn everything to become happy. I alone can teach you. All, or nothing.

'Listen to me. What is there remarkable in your father's case? It is the death of a man—that is a common occurrence. Now do you hear the gasping? Weaker still! It must be very near the end!'

Johannes looked at the bed in agonised fear.

Simon the cat jumped down from the window-sill, stretched himself, and then, still purring, lay down on the bed by the dying man.

The poor weak head moved no longer; it lay still, sunk in the pillows, but the short, dull panting still came through the half-open mouth.

It grew weaker and weaker till it was scarcely audible.

Then Death took his hollow eyes off the clock and looked at the weary head; he raised his hand. Then all was still.

A grey shadow fell on the rigid features.

Silence, oppressive, unbroken silence!

Johannes sat and sat, waiting. But the regular sound was heard no more. All was still—a great, murmuring stillness.

The tension of the last hours of listening was over, and to Johannes it seemed that his soul had been let fall down into black and bottomless space. Deeper and deeper he fell. All about him grew darker and more silent.

Then he heard Pluizer's voice as if it were a long way off.

'There! That tale is told.'

'That is well,' said Doctor Cypher. 'Now you can see what was wrong with him. I leave that to you. I must be off.'

Still, as if half-dreaming, Johannes saw the gleam of bright knives. The cat set her back up. It was cold by the corpse, and she returned to the sunshine.

Johannes saw Pluizer take a knife, which he examined carefully, and then went up to the bed.

Then he shook off his lethargy. Before Pluizer could get to the bed he stood in front of him.

'What do you want?' he asked. His eyes were wide open with horror.

'We must see what he died of,' said Pluizer.

'No,' said Johannes, and his voice was as deep as a man's.

'What is the meaning of this?' said Pluizer, with a glare of rage. 'Can you hinder me? Do you not know how strong I am?'

'I will not have it,' said Johannes. He drew a deep breath and set his teeth, staring firmly at Pluizer, and put out his hand against him.

But Pluizer came nearer. Then Johannes gripped him by the wrists and struggled with him.

Pluizer was strong; he knew that; nothing had ever been able to resist him. But he did not leave go, and his will was steadfast.

The knife gleamed before his eyes; he seemed to see sparks and red flames, but he did not give in, and wrestled on. He knew what would happen if he yielded. He knew—he had seen it before. But that which lay behind him was his father, and he would not see it now.

And while he panted and struggled, the dead body lay stretched out motionless, just as it was lying when the silence fell; the white of the eyes visible through a narrow opening, the corners of the mouth curled to a ghastly smile. Only as the two knocked against the bed in their wrestling, the head gently moved a little.

Still Johannes held his own. His breath came hard and he could not see; a blood-red mist was before his eyes—and still he stood firm.

Then gradually the resistance of those wrists grew weaker in his grasp, his muscles relaxed, his arms fell limp by his sides and his clenched hands were empty.

When he looked up Pluizer had vanished. Death sat alone by the bed and nodded to him.

'That was well done, Johannes,' said he.

'Will he come back again?' whispered Johannes. Death shook his head.

'Never. Those who have once defied him, never see him again.'

'And Windekind? Shall I ever see Windekind again?'

The gloomy man gazed long at Johannes. His look was no longer terrible, but gentle and grave. It seemed to allure Johannes like some great deep.

'I alone can take you to Windekind. Through me alone can you find the Book.'

'Then take me too, there is no one left. Take me with you as you have taken others. I want nothing more.'

But again Death shook his head.

'You love men, Johannes. You do not know it, but you have always loved them. You must grow up to be a good man. It is a very fine thing to be a good man.'

'I do not want that—take me with you.'

'You are mistaken; you do want it; you cannot help it.'

The tall dark figure became dim in Johannes' sight—it melted into a vague shape—a formless grey mist filled its place and floated away on the sunbeams.

Johannes bowed his head on the edge of the bed and mourned for the dead man.

XIV

It was long before he looked up again. The sun's rays fell aslant into the room and were glowing red, looking like straight bars of gold.

'Father, father!' whispered Johannes.

Outside, the sun filled the whole atmosphere with a cloud of glittering golden fire. Every leaf was motionless, and all was still in the solemn, holy sunshine.

A low sighing chant came down on the sun's rays; it was as though they were singing: 'Child of the Sun—Child of the Sun!'

Johannes raised his head and listened. It was in his ears, 'Child of the Sun—Child of the Sun!'

It was like Windekind's voice. No one else had ever called him so. Was it he who called him now? But he looked at the face before him; he would listen no more.

'Poor, dear father!' he murmured.

But suddenly it sounded again close to him, on every side of him, so loud, so urgent, that he thrilled with strange excitement—

'Child of the Sun—Child of the Sun!'

Johannes rose and looked out. What radiance! What a glory of light! It flooded the leafy tree-tops, it sparkled in the grass, and danced even in the dappled shadows. The whole air was full of it, high up towards the blue sky where the first soft clouds of evening were beginning to gather.

Beyond the meadows, between the green trees and shrubs, he could see the sand-hills. They were crowned with glowing gold, and the blue of heaven hung in their dells.

There they lay, at rest, in their robe of exquisite tints. The beautiful curves of their expanse were as peace-giving as a prayer. Johannes felt once more as he had felt when Windekind had taught him to pray.

And was not that he, his slender form in its blue robe? There in the very heart of the light—gleaming in a shimmer of gold and blue—was not that Windekind beckoning to him?

Johannes flew out into the sunshine. There he stood still for a moment. He felt the consecration of the light, and scarcely dared stir where the very leaves were so motionless. But the figure was there, before his eyes. It was Windekind. Certainly, surely! The radiant face was turned towards him with parted lips, as if to call him. He beckoned Johannes with his right hand. In his left he held some object on high. He held it very high with the tips of his slender fingers, and it trembled and shone in his hand.

With a glad cry of joy and yearning, Johannes flew to meet the beloved vision. But it floated up and away before his eyes. With a smile on his face, and waving his hand now and then, he touched the earth, descending slowly; but then he rose again lightly and swiftly, soaring higher than the thistle-down borne by the wind.

Johannes, too, would fain float up and fly, as of yore—and as in his dreams. But the earth clung to his feet, and his tread was heavy on the grassy sod. He had to make his way with difficulty through the brushwood where the leaves caught and rustled against his clothes, and the lithe branches lashed his face. He climbed the moss-grown hillocks panting as he went. Still he went on, unwearied, and never took his eyes off the radiant vision of Windekind and the object which shone in his uplifted hand.

There he was, in the midst of the sandy downs. The wild roses of that soil were in bloom in the warm hollows, with their thousand pale yellow cups gazing up at the sun. There were many other flowers too, light-blue, yellow and purple; sultry heat lurked in the little hollows, warming the fragrant herbs; the air was full of strong aromatic scents. Johannes inhaled them as he toiled onward. He smelt the thyme and the dry reindeer-moss, which crackled under his feet. It was overpoweringly delightful.

Between him and the lovely vision he was pursuing, he saw the gaudy butterflies flitting—small ones, black and red, and the 'sand-eye' as they call it—the restless little flutterer with sheeny wings of tenderest blue. Round his head buzzed golden beetles that live on the wild rose—and heavy bumble-bees buzzed from blade to blade of the scorched short grass. How delicious it all was, how happy he could be, when he should find himself with Windekind once more!

But Windekind glided away, farther and farther, Johannes breathlessly following. The straggling, pale-leaved thorn bushes stopped his way and tore him with their spines; the grey woolly mulleins shook their tall heads as he pushed them aside in his course. He scrambled up the sandy slopes and scratched his hands with the prickly broom. He struggled through the low birch-wood where the tall grass came up to his knees, and the water-fowl flew up from the little pools which glistened among the trees. Thick white-blossomed hawthorns mingled their perfume with that of the birches and of the mints which grew all over the marshy ground.

But presently there were no more trees, or shade, or flowers. Only weird-looking grey eryngium growing amid the parched white-blossomed broom.

On the top of the farthest knoll rested the image of Windekind. That which he held up shone blindingly. From beyond, with mysterious allurement, there came, borne on a cool breeze, the great unceasing, surging roar. It was the sea. Johannes felt that he was getting near to it, and slowly climbed the last slope. At the top he fell on his knees, gazing over the ocean.

Now he had got above the sand-hills he found himself in the midst of a ruddy glow. The evening clouds had gathered round the departing day. They surrounded the sinking sun like a vast circle of immense rocks with fringes of light. Across the sea lay a broad band of living, purple fire—a flaming sparkling path of glory leading to the gates of distant heaven. Below the sun, on which the eye could not yet rest, soft hues of blue and rose mingled together in the heart of that cave of light; and all over the expanse of sky crimson flames and streaks were glowing, and light fleeces of blood-red down, and waves of liquid fire.

Johannes gazed and waited, till the sun's disc touched the rim of the path of light which led up to him.

Then he looked down; and at the beginning of the path of light he saw the bright form he had followed. A boat, as clear and bright as crystal, floated on the fiery way. At one end of the boat stood Windekind, slender and tall, with that golden object shining in his hand. At the other end, Johannes recognised the dark figure of Death.

'Windekind! Windekind!' he cried.

But as he approached the strange barque, he also saw the farther end of the path. In the midst of the radiant space, surrounded by great fiery clouds, he saw a small dark figure. It grew bigger and bigger, and a man slowly came forward, treading firmly on the surging glittering waters. The glowing waves rose and fell under his feet, but he walked steadily onward. He was a man pale of aspect, and his eyes were dark and deep-set: as deep as Windekind's eyes, but in his look was an infinite, gentle pity, such as Johannes had never seen in any other eyes.

'Who are you?' asked Johannes, 'are you a man?'

'I am more,' was the reply.

'Are you Jesus?—are you God?' said Johannes.

'Do not speak those names!' said the figure. 'They were holy and pure as priestly raiment, and precious as nourishing corn; but they are become as husks before swine, and as motley to clothe fools withal. Speak them not, for their meaning has become a delusion, and their sacredness is laughed to scorn. Those who desire to know me cast away the names and obey themselves.'

'I know Thee! I know Thee!' cried Johannes.

'It was I who made you weep for men when as yet you knew not the meaning of your tears. It was I who made you love before you understood what love was. I was with you, and you saw me not; I moved your soul and you knew me not!'

'Why have I never seen Thee till now?'

'The eyes that shall see Me must be cleared by many tears. And you must weep not for yourself alone, but for Me also; then I shall appear to you, and you will recognise Me for an old friend.'

'I know Thee! I recognised Thee. I will ever remain with Thee!'

Johannes stretched out his hand but the figure pointed to the gleaming barque which slowly drifted off up the fiery path.

'Look!' said he, 'that is the way to all you have longed for. There is no other. Without those two you will never find it. Now, take your choice; there is the Great Light; there you would yourself be what you crave to know. There,' and he pointed to the shadowy East, 'where men are, and their misery, there lies my way. I shall guide you there, and not the false light which you have followed. Now you know—take your choice.'

Then Johannes slowly took his eyes off Windekind's vanishing form, and put up his hands to the grave Man. And led by Him, he turned and faced the cold night wind, and made his toilsome way to the great dismal town where men are, and their misery.

Perhaps I may some day tell you more about Little Johannes; but it will not be like a fairy tale.

THE END.

Contents

Introduction

IVIII

IIIX

IIIX

IVXI

VXII

VIXIII

VIIXIV