Frederik van Eeden
The Quest
V
"Well, well, Master Johannes!" said Daatje, the old servant, as she thrust the heated bed-pan between the fresh linen sheets. "Truly, that was a blessed escape for you; like getting out of purgatory into paradise – away from those vile people to be with our mistress. That was fortunate, indeed. My! My!"
Damp sheets are dangerous, even in midsummer, and Daatje had been drilled very strictly by her mistress in caring for the comfort of guests.
Daatje wore a snow-white cap and a purple cotton gown. Her face was wrinkled, and her hands and arms were still more so. She had been an astonishingly long time in Aunt Seréna's service – perhaps forty years – and lost no opportunity clearly to prove to Johannes what an excellent being his aunt was: always polite and kind, always ready to assist, a blessing to the poor, a refuge for every one in the neighborhood, adored by all who knew her, and pure as an angel.
"She is converted," said Daatje, "yes, truly converted. Ask whoever you please; like her there are not many living."
Johannes perceived that "converted" meant "very good." According to Daatje, the natural man was not good, and it was necessary for every one to be converted before he was fit for anything. For a long time before falling asleep, while looking around the big, quiet bedroom, Johannes lay thinking over these things. A night-light was spluttering in a glass filled with equal parts of water and oil. As soon as the flame was lighted, behind the milk-white, translucent shade appeared strange, dreamy landscapes – formed by the unequal thicknesses.
The chamber had an ancient, musty odor, and all the furniture bore an old-fashioned stateliness. There was a queer pattern upon the green bed-curtains, distressing to see; like half-opened eyes, alternately squinting. The big bed-tassel hung down from above in dogged dignity, like the tail of a lion keeping watch up above, on the canopy of the four-poster.
Johannes felt very comfortable, yet there was something uncanny around him that he did not quite relish. Once, it really seemed to be the ponderous linen-chest of dark wood, with its big, brass-handled drawers, upon which stood, under a bell-glass, a basket filled with wax fruit. What the pictures represented could not be seen in the dim light, but they were in the secret too, as was also the night-stand with its crocheted cover, and the fearfully big four-poster.
Every half-hour "Cuckoo! Cuckoo!" rang through the house, as if those out in the hall and in the vestibule were also in the secret; the only one left out being the little fellow in clean underclothes and a night-gown much too big for him, who lay there, wide awake, looking around him. In the midst of all these solid, important, and dignified things, he was a very odd and out-of-place phenomenon. He felt that, in a polite way, he was being made sport of. Besides, it remained to be seen whether, after his more or less unmannerly adventures, he could ever be taken into confidence. Evidently the entire house was, if not precisely hostile, yet in a very unfriendly attitude. He kept his eye upon the bed-tassel, all ready to see the lion wag his tail. In order to do that, however, he must surely first become "converted," just like Aunt Seréna.
When the day dawned, this new life became more pleasant than he had anticipated. Aunt Seréna presided at the breakfast, which consisted of tea, fresh rolls, currant buns, sweet, dark rye-bread, and pulverized aniseed. Upon the pier-tables, bright with sunshine, stood jars of Japanese blue-ware, filled with great, round bouquets of roses, mignonette, and variegated, ornamental grasses. The long glass doors stood open, and the odor of new-mown grass streamed in from the garden to the room, which was already deliciously fragrant with the roses and mignonette, and the fine tea.
Aunt Seréna made no allusion to the foregoing day, nor to the death of Johannes' father. She was full of kindly attentions, and interrogated him affably, yet in a very resolute manner, concerning what he had learned at school, and asked who had given him religious instruction. It was now vacation time, and he might rest a little longer, and enjoy himself; but then would come the school again and the catechism.
Until now Johannes had had small satisfaction out of his solemn resolution to value men more highly in order to live with them in a well-disposed way. But this time he was more at ease. The nice, cool house, the sunshine, the sweet smells, the flowers, the fresh rolls, everything put him in good humor; and when Aunt Seréna herself was so in harmony with her surroundings, he was soon prepared to see her in the light of Daatje's glorification. He gazed confidingly into the gleaming glasses of her spectacles, and he also helped her carry the big, standing work-basket, out of which she drew the bright-colored worsteds for her embroidery – a very extensive and everlasting piece of work.
But the garden! It was a wonder – the joy of his new life. After being released by his aunt until the hour for coffee, he raced into it like a young, unleashed hound – hunting out all the little lanes, paths, flower-plots, arbors, knolls, and the small pool; and then he felt almost as if in Windekind's realm again. A shady avenue was there which made two turns, thus seeming to be very long. There were paths between thick lilac-bushes already in bloom; and there were mock-oranges, still entirely covered with exceedingly fragrant white flowers. There was a small, artificial hill in that garden, with a view toward the west, over the adjacent nursery. Aunt Seréna was fond of viewing a fine sunset, and often came to the seat on the hilltop. There was a plot of roses, very fragrant, and as big as a plate. There were vivid, fiery red poppies with woolly stems, deep blue larkspurs, purple columbines, tall hollyhocks, like wrinkled paper, with their strange, strong odor. There were long rows of saxifrage, a pair of dark brown beeches; and everywhere, as exquisite surprises, fruit trees – apples, pears, plums, medlars, dogberries, and hazel-nuts – scattered among the trees which bore no fruit.
Indeed, the world did not now seem so bad, after all. A human being – a creature admirably and gloriously perfect – a human dwelling filled with attractive objects, and, close beside, a charming imitation of Windekind's realm, in which to repose. And all in the line of duty, with no departure from the prescribed path. Assuredly, Johannes had looked only on the dark side of life. To confess this was truly mortifying.
Towards twelve o'clock Daatje was heard in the cool kitchen, noisily grinding coffee, and Johannes ventured just a step into her domain, where, on all sides, the copper utensils were shining. In a little courtyard, some bird-cages were hanging against the ivy-covered walls. One large cage contained a skylark. He sat, with upraised beak and fixed gaze, on a little heap of grass. Above him, at the top of the cage, was stretched a white cloth.
"That's for his head," said Daatje, "if he should happen to forget he was in a cage, and try to fly into the air."
Next to this, in tiny cages, were finches. They hopped back and forth, back and forth, from one perch to another. That was all the room they had; and there they cried, "Pink! Pink!" Now and then one of them would sing a full strain. Thus it went the whole day long.
"They are blind," said Daatje. "They sing finer so."
"Why?" asked Johannes.
"Well, boy, they can't see, then, whether it is morning or evening, and so they keep on singing."
"Are you converted, too, Daatje?" asked Johannes.
"Yes, Master Johannes, that grace is mine. I know where I'm going to. Not many can say that after me."
"Who besides you?"
"Well, I, and our mistress, and Dominie Kraalboom."
"Does a converted person keep on doing wrong?"
"Wrong? Now I've got you! No, indeed! I can do no more wrong. It's more wrong even if you stand on your head to save your feet. But don't run through the kitchen now with those muddy shoes. The foot-scraper is in the yard. This is not a runway, if you please."
The luncheon was not less delicious: fresh, white bread, smoked beef, cake and cheese, and very fragrant coffee, whose aroma filled the entire house. Aunt Seréna talked about church-going, about the choosing of a profession, and about pure and honest living. Johannes, being in a kindly mood, and inclined to acquiescence, avoided argument.
In the afternoon, as he sat dreaming in the shady avenue of lindens, Aunt Seréna came bringing a tray, bearing a cooky and a glass of cherry-brandy.
At half-past five came dinner. Daatje was an excellent cook, and dishes which were continually recurring on stated days were particularly well prepared. Vermicelli soup, with forced-meat balls, minced veal and cabbage, middlings pudding with currant juice: that was the first meal, later often recalled. Aunt Seréna asked a blessing and returned thanks, and Johannes, with lowered eyes and head a little forward, appeared, from the movement of his lips, to be doing a little of the same thing.
Through the long twilight, Aunt Seréna and Johannes sat opposite each other, each one in front of a reflector. Aunt Seréna was thrifty, and, since the street lantern threw its light into the room, she was not in a hurry to burn her own oil. Only the unpretending little light for the making of the tea was glimmering behind the panes of milk-white glass – with landscapes not unlike those upon the night-light.
In complete composure, with folded hands, sat Aunt Seréna in the dusk, making occasional remarks, until Daatje came to inquire "if the mistress did not wish to make ready for the evening." Then Daatje wound up the patent lamp, causing it to give out a sound as if it were being strangled. A quarter of an hour later it was regulated, and, as soon as the cozy, round ring of light shone over the red table-cover, Aunt Seréna said, in the most contented way: "Now we have the dear little lamp again!"
At half-past ten there was a sandwich and a glass of milk for Johannes. Daatje stood ready with the candle, and, upstairs, the night-light, the chest of drawers with the wax fruit, the green bed-curtains, and the impressive bed-tassel were waiting for him. Johannes also descried something new – a big Bible – upon his night-table. There was no appearance yet of any attempt at a reconciliation on the part of the furniture. The cuckoo continued to address himself exclusively to the stilly darkness, in absolute disregard of Johannes; but the latter did not trouble himself so very much about it, and soon fell fast asleep.
The morning differed but little from the foregoing one. Some Bibles were lying ready upon the breakfast-table. Daatje came in, took her place majestically, folded her half-bare wrinkled arms – and Aunt Seréna read aloud. The day before, Aunt Seréna had made a departure from this, her custom, uncertain how Johannes would take it; but, having found the boy agreeable and polite, she intended now to resume the readings. She read a chapter of Isaiah, full of harsh denunciations which seemed to please Daatje immensely. The latter wore a serious look, her lips pressed close together, occasionally nodding her head in approval, while she sniffed resolutely. Johannes found it very disconcerting, and could not, with his best endeavors, keep his attention fixed. He was listening to the twittering of the starlings on the roof, and the cooing of a wood-dove in the beech tree.
In front of him he saw a steel engraving, representing a young woman, clad in a long garment, clinging with outstretched arms to a big stone cross that stuck up out of a restless waste of waters. Rays of light were streaming down from above, and the young person was looking trustfully up into them. The inscription below the engraving read, "The Rock of Ages," and Johannes was deep in speculation as to how the young lady had gotten there, and especially how she was to get away from there. It was not to be expected that she could long maintain herself in that uncomfortable position – surely not for ages. That refuge looked like a peculiarly precarious one; unless, indeed, something better might be done with those rays of light.
Upon the same wall hung a motto, drawn in colored letters, amid a superfluity of flowers and butterflies, saying: "The Lord is my Shepherd. I shall not want."
This awakened irreverent thoughts in Johannes' mind. When the Bible-reading was over, he was suddenly moved to make a remark.
"Aunt Seréna," said he, conscious of a rising color, and feeling rather giddy on account of his boldness, "is it only because the Lord is your Shepherd that you do not lack for anything?"
But he had made a bad break.
Aunt Seréna's face took on a severe expression, and adjusting her spectacles somewhat nervously, she said: "I willingly admit, dear Johannes, that in many respects I have been blessed beyond my deserts; but ought not you to know – you who had such a good and well-informed father – that it is very unbecoming in young people to pass judgment, thoughtlessly, upon the lives of older ones, when they know nothing either of their trials or of their blessings?"
Johannes sat there, deeply abashed, suddenly finding himself to be a silly, saucy boy.
But Daatje stood up, and in a manner peculiarly her own – bending a little, arms akimbo – said, with great emphasis: "I'll tell you what, mistress! you're too good. He ought to have a spanking – on the bare spanking place, too!" And forthwith she went to the kitchen.
VI
There were regularly recurring changes in Aunt Seréna's life. In the first place, the going to church. That was the great event of the week; and the weekly list of services and of the officiating clergymen was devoutly discussed. Then the lace cap, with its silk strings, was exchanged for a bonnet with a gauze veil; and Daatje was careful to have the church books, mantle, and gloves ready, in good reason. Nearly always Daatje went also; if not, then the sermon was repeated to her in detail.
Johannes accompanied his aunt with docility, and tried, not without a measure of success, to appreciate the discourse.
The visits of Minister Kraalboom were not less important. Johannes saw, with amazement, that his aunt, at other times so stately and estimable, now almost humbled herself in reverent and submissive admiration. She treated this man, in whom Johannes could see no more than a common, kindly gentleman, with a head of curling grey hair, and with round, smoothly shaven cheeks, as if he belonged to a higher order of beings; and the adored one accepted her homage with candid readiness. The most delicious things the aunt had, in fine wines, cakes, and liqueurs, were set before him; and, as the minister was a great smoker, Daatje had a severe struggle with herself after every visit, between her respect for the servant of the Lord and her detestation of scattered ashes, stumps of cigars, and tobacco-smelling curtains.
Once a week there was a "Krans," or sewing circle, and then came Aunt Seréna's lady friends. They were more or less advanced in years, but all of them very unprepossessing women, among whom Aunt Seréna, with her erect figure and fine, pale face, made a very good appearance; and she was clearly regarded as a leader. Puff-cakes were offered, and warm wine or "milk-tea" was poured. The aim of the gatherings was charitable. Talking busily, the friends made a great many utterly useless, and, for the most part, tasteless, articles: patchwork quilts, anti-macassars, pin-cushions, flower-pot covers, picture frames of dried grasses, and all that sort of thing. Then a lottery, or "tombola,"9 as it was called, was planned for. Every one had to dispose of tickets, and the proceeds were given, sometimes to a poor widow, sometimes to a hospital, but more often, however, to the cause of missions.
On such evenings Johannes sat, silent, in his corner, with one of the illustrated periodicals of which his aunt had a large chestful. He listened to the conversation, endeavoring to think it noble and amiable; and he looked, also, at the trifling fingers. No one interfered with him, and he drank his warm wine and ate his cake, content to be left in peace; for he felt attracted toward none of the flowers composing this human wreath.
But Aunt Seréna did not consider her duty accomplished in these ways alone. She went out from them to busy herself in parish calls on various households – rich as well as poor – wherever she thought she could do any good. It was a great satisfaction to Johannes when, at his request that he be allowed to go with her, she replied: "Certainly, dear boy; why not?"
Johannes accompanied her this first time under great excitement. Now he was going to be initiated into ways of doing and being good. This was a fine chance.
So they set out together, Johannes carrying a large satchel containing bags of rice, barley, sugar, and split peas. For the sick there were jars of smoked beef and a flask of wine.
They first went to see Vrouw Stok, who lived not far away, in French Lane. Vrouw Stok evidently counted upon such a visit, and she was extremely voluble. According to her statements, one would say that no nobler being dwelt upon earth than Aunt Seréna, and no nicer, more grateful, and contented creature than Vrouw Stok. And Dominie Kraalboom also was lavishly praised.
After that, they went to visit the sick, in reeking little rooms in dreary back streets. And everywhere they met with reiterations of gratitude and pleasure from the recipients, together with unanimous praising of Aunt Seréna, until Johannes several times felt the tears gather in his eyes. The barley and the split peas were left where they would be of use, as were also the wine and the jars of smoked beef.
Johannes and his aunt returned home very well pleased. Aunt Seréna was rejoiced over her willing and appreciative votary, and Johannes over this well-conducted experiment in philanthropy. If this were to be the way, all would be well. In a high state of enthusiasm he sped to the garden to dream away the quiet afternoon amid the richly laden raspberry-bushes.
"Aunt Seréna," said Johannes, at table that noon, "that poor boy in the back street, with the inflamed eyes and that ulcerated leg – is he a religious boy?"
"Yes, Johannes, so far as I know."
"Then is the Lord his Shepherd, too?"
"Yes, Johannes," said his aunt, more seriously now, having in mind his former remark. But Johannes spoke quite innocently, as if deep in his own thoughts.
"Why is it, then, that he lacks so much? He has never seen the dunes nor the ocean. He goes from his bed to his chair, and from his chair to his bed, and knows only that dirty room."
"The Lord knows what is good for us, Johannes. If he is pious, and remains so, sometime he will lack for nothing."
"You mean when he is dead?.. But, Aunt Seréna, if I am pious I shall go to heaven, too, shall I not?"
"Certainly, Johannes."
"But, Aunt Seréna, I have had a fine time in your home, with raspberries and roses, and delicious things to eat, and he has had nothing but pain and plain living. Yet the end is the same. That does not seem fair, does it, Aunt Seréna?"
"The Lord knows what is good for us, Johannes. The most severely tried are to Him the best beloved."
"Then, if it is not a blessing to have good things, we ought to long for trials and privations?"
"We should be resigned to what is given us," said Aunt Seréna, not quite at her ease.
"And yet be thankful only for all those delicious things? Although we know that trials are better?"
Johannes spoke seriously, without a thought of irony, and Aunt Seréna, glad to be able to close the conversation, replied:
"Yes, Johannes, always be thankful. Ask the dominie about it."
Dominie Kraalboom came in the evening, and, as Aunt Seréna repeated to him Johannes' questions, his face took on the very same scowl it always wore when he stood up in the pulpit; his wry mouth rolled the r's, and, with the emphasis of delightful certainty, he uttered the following:
"My dear boy, that which you, in your childlike simplicity, have asked, is – ah, indeed – ah, the great problem over which the pious in all ages have pondered and meditated – pondered and meditated. It behooves us to enjoy gratefully, and without questioning, what the good Lord, in His eternal mercy, is pleased to pour out upon us. We should, as much as lies in our power, relieve the afflictions that He allots to others, and at the same time teach the sufferers to be resigned to the inevitable. For He knows what we all have need of, and tempers the wind to the shorn lamb."
Then said Johannes: "So you, and Aunt Seréna, and I, have a good time now, because we have no need of all that misery? And that sick boy does need it? Is that it, Dominie?"
"Yes, my dear boy, that is it."
"And has Daatje, too, need of privations? Daatje said that she was converted as completely as you and Aunt Seréna were."
"Daatje is a good, pious soul, entirely satisfied with what the Lord has apportioned her."
"Yes, Dominie; but," said Johannes, his voice trembling with his feeling, "I am not converted yet, not the least bit. I am not at all good. Why, then, have I so much more given me than Daatje has? Daatje has only a small pen, up in the garret, while I have the big guest-room; she must do the scrubbing and eat in the kitchen, while I eat in the house and get many more dainties. And it is not the Lord who does that, but Aunt Seréna."
Dominie Kraalboom threw a sharp glance at Johannes, and drank in silence, from his goblet of green glass, the fragrant Rhine wine. Aunt Seréna looked, with a kind of suspense, at the dominie's mouth, expecting the forthcoming oracle to dissipate all uncertainty.
When the dominie spoke again, his voice was far less kindly. He said: "I believe, my young friend, that it was high time your aunt took you home here. Apparently, you have been exposed to very bad influences. Accustom yourself to the thought that older and wiser people know, better than yourself, what is good for you; and be thankful for the good things, without picking them to pieces. God has placed each one in his station, where he must be active for his own and his fellow-creatures' salvation."
With a sigh of contentment, Aunt Seréna took up her embroidery again. Johannes was frightened at the word "picking," which brought to mind an old enemy – Pluizer. Dominie Kraalboom hastened to light a fresh cigar, and to begin about the "tombola."
That night, in the great bed, Johannes lay awake a long while, uneasy and restless. His mind was clear and on the alert, and he was in a state of expectancy. Things were not going right, though. Something was the matter, but he knew not what. The furniture, in the still night-time, wore a hostile, almost threatening air. The call of the cuckoo spelled mischief.
About three or four o'clock, when the night-light had sputtered and gone out, he lay still wider awake. He was looking at the bed-cord, which, bigger and thicker than ordinary, was growing ominously visible in the first dim light.
Suddenly – as true as you live – he saw it move! A slight quiver – a spasmodic, serpentine undulation, like the tail of a nervous cat.
Then, very swiftly and without a rustle, he saw a small shadow drop down the bed-cord. Was it a mouse?
After that he heard a thin little voice:
"Johannes! Johannes!"
He knew that voice. He lifted up his head and took a good look.
Seated upon the bed-tassel, astride the handle, was his old friend Wistik.
He was the same old Wistik, looking as important as ever; yes, his puckered little face wore a peculiar, almost frightened expression of suspense. He was not wearing his little acorn-cup, but a smart cap that appeared black in the twilight.
"I have news for you," cried Wistik. "A great piece of news. Come with me, quick!"
"How do you do, Wistik?" whispered Johannes. He lay cozily between the sheets, and was glad to see his friend again. Let the chest of drawers and the cuckoo be as disagreeable as they wanted to, now; here was his friend again. "Must I go with you? How can I? Where to?"
"This way – up here with me," whispered Wistik. "I have found something. It will make you open your eyes. Just give me your hand. That's the best way. You can leave your body lying here while you are away."
"That will be a fine sight," said Johannes.
But it happened without any trouble. He put out his hand, and in a twinkling he was sitting beside Wistik, on the bed-tassel. And truly, as he looked down below, there he saw his body lying peacefully fast asleep. A ray of light streamed into the room, through the clover-leaf opening in the blinds, and lighted up the sleeping head. Johannes thought it an extremely pretty sight, and himself still a really nice boy as he lay there among the pillows, with his dark curly hair about the slightly contracted brows.
"Do you believe that I am very bad, Wistik?" said he, looking down upon himself.
"No," said Wistik, "we must never fib to each other. Neither am I bad; not a bit. I have found that out now, positively. Oh, I have discovered so much since we last met! But we must not admire ourselves on that account. That would be stupid. Come, now, for we have not much time."
Together they climbed up the bed-cord. It was easy work, for Johannes was light and small, and he climbed nimbly up the shaggy rope. But it felt warm, and hairy, and alive in his hands!
Up they worked themselves, through the folds of the canopy. But the bed-cord did not end there. Oh, no! It went on farther and grew bigger and bigger, and then… What they came to, I will tell you in the following chapter.
