Frederik van Eeden
Little Johannes
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.
