Frederik van Eeden
The Quest
"First, you complained, and longed to be here; and after I have brought you where you wished to be, you still are not content. See! I will let you go. Stroll through the high grass – lie in the cool shade – let the flies buzz about you – inhale the fragrance of the fresh young herbs. I release you. Go, now! Find Windekind again!
"You will not? Then do you now believe in me alone? Is what I have told you true? Do I lie, or does Windekind?
"Listen to the moans! – so short and weak! They will soon cease.
"Do not look so agonized, Johannes. The sooner it is over the better. There could be no more long walks now; you will never again look for violets with him. With whom do you think he has taken his walks, during the past two years – while you were away? You cannot ask him now. You never will know. After this you will have to content yourself with me. If you had made my acquaintance a little earlier, you would not look so pitiful now. You are a long way yet from being what you ought to be. Do you think Doctor Cijfer in your place would look as you do? It would make him about as sad as that cat is – purring there in the sunshine. And it is well. What is the use of being so wretched? Did the flowers teach you that? They do not grieve when one of them is plucked. Is not that lucky? They know nothing, therefore they are happy. You have only begun to know things; and now you must know everything, in order to be happy. I alone can teach you. All or nothing.
"Listen to me. What is the difference whether that is your father or not? He is a man who is dying; that is a common occurrence.
"Do you hear the moaning still? Very feeble, is it not? He is near his end."
Johannes looked toward the bed in fearful distress.
Simon, the cat, dropped from the window-seat, stretched himself, and curled up purring on the bed close beside the dying man.
The poor, tired head moved no more. It lay still, pressed into the pillow; yet from the half-open mouth there still came, at intervals, short, exhausted sounds.
They grew softer – softer – scarcely audible.
Then Death turned his dark eyes from the clock to rest them upon the down-sunken head. He raised his hand – and all was still.
An ashen shadow crept over the stiffening face.
Silence – dreary, lonely silence!
Johannes waited – waited.
But the recurring groans had ceased. All was still – utterly, awfully still.
The strain of the long hours of listening was suspended, and it seemed to Johannes as if his soul were released, and falling into black and bottomless depths.
He fell deeper and deeper. It grew stiller and darker around him.
Then he heard Pluizer's voice, as if from far away. "Hey, ho! Another story told."
"That is good," said Doctor Cijfer. "Now you can find out what the trouble was. I leave that to you. I must away."
While still half in a dream, Johannes saw the gleam of burnished knives.
The cat ruffed up his back. It was cold next the body, and he sought the sunshine again.
Johannes saw Pluizer take a knife, examine it carefully, and approach the bed with it.
Then Johannes shook off his stupor. Before Pluizer could reach the bed he was standing in front of him.
"What are you going to do?" he asked. His eyes were wide open with horror.
"We are going to find out what it was," said Pluizer.
"No!" said Johannes; and his voice was as deep as a man's.
"What does that mean?" asked Pluizer, with a grim glare. "Can you prevent me? Do you not know how strong I am?"
"You shall not!" said Johannes. He set his teeth and drew in a deep breath, looked steadily at Pluizer, and tried to stay his hand.
But Pluizer persisted. Then Johannes seized his wrists, and wrestled with him.
Pluizer was strong, he knew. He never yet had opposed him; but he struggled on with a fixed purpose.
The knife gleamed before his eyes. He saw sparks and red flames; yet he did not give in, but wrestled on.
He knew what would happen if he succumbed. He knew, for he had seen before. But it was his father that lay behind him, and he would not let it happen now.
And while they wrestled, panting, the dead body behind them lay rigid and motionless – just as it was the instant when silence fell – the whites of the eyes visible in a narrow strip, the corners of the mouth drawn up in a stiffened grin. The head, only, shook gently back and forth, as they both pushed against the bed in their struggle.
Still Johannes held firm, though his breath failed and he could see nothing. A veil of blood-red mist was before his eyes; yet he stood firm.
Then, gradually, the resistance of the two wrists in his grasp grew weaker. His muscles relaxed, his arms dropped limp beside his body, and his closed hands were empty.
When he looked up Pluizer had vanished. Death sat, alone, by the bed and nodded to him.
"You have done well, Johannes," said he.
"Will he come back?" whispered Johannes. Death shook his head.
"Never. He who once dares him will see him no more."
"And Windekind? Shall I not see Windekind again?"
The solemn man looked long and earnestly at Johannes. His regard was not now alarming, but gentle and serious, and attracted Johannes like a profound depth.
"I alone can take you to Windekind. Through me alone can you find the book."
"Then take me with you. There is no one left – take me, too! I want nothing more."
Again Death shook his head.
"You love men, Johannes. You do not know it, but you have always loved them. You must become a good man. It is a fine thing to be a good man."
"I do not want that – take me with you!"
"You mistake – you do want it: you cannot help it."
Then the tall, dark figure grew vague before Johannes' eyes – it faded into a filmy, grey mist adrift in, the room – and passed away along the sunbeams.
Johannes bowed his head upon the side of the bed, and sobbed for the dead man.
XIV
A long time afterward, he lifted up his head. The sunbeams shone obliquely in, bringing a rosy glow. They resembled straight bars of gold.
"Father, father!" whispered Johannes.
Outside, the sun was pouring over everything a flood of shining, golden, glowing splendor. Every leaf hung motionless, and all was hushed in solemn worship of the sun.
Along with the light there fell into the room a gentle soughing – as if the sunbeams were singing.
"Sun-son! Sun-son!"
Johannes lifted up his head, and listened. It tingled in his ears.
"Sun-son! Sun-son!"
It was like Windekind's voice. He alone had named him that; should he call him now?
But he looked at the face beside him. He would listen no more.
"Poor, dear father!" he said.
But suddenly it rang again around him from all sides, so loud, so penetrating, that he trembled with his marvelous emotion.
"Sun-son! Sun-son!"
Johannes stood up and gazed outside. What light! What splendid light! It streamed over the high tree tops, it glistened amid the grass-blades, and sparkled in the shadow-patches. The whole air was filled with it up to the very sky where the first exquisite sunset clouds were flecking the blue.
Beyond the meadow, between the green trees and shrubs, he saw the dunes. Red gold lay along their slopes, and in their shadows hung the blue of the heavens.
They lay stretched out reposefully in their robe of tender tints. The delicate undulations of their expanse brought a benediction – as does prayer. Johannes felt again as he had felt when Windekind taught him how to pray.
Was not that he, there, in the blue garment? Look! there in the heart of the light – shimmering in a maze of blue and gold. Was not that Windekind, beckoning him?
Johannes flew out of doors into the sunlight. For an instant he stood still. He felt the holy solemnity of the light, and scarcely dared to move where the foliage was so still.
Yet, there, in front of him, was the light figure again. It was Windekind! It surely was! His radiant face was turned toward him, and the lips were parted as if calling him. With his right hand he was beckoning. In his left he held aloft some object. In the tips of his slender fingers he held it, and it glittered and sparkled.
With a glad cry of joy and yearning, Johannes sped toward the beloved apparition. But with laughing face and waving hand, it floated before him, still beckoning him on. Sometimes it would drift low, and lingeringly skim the ground, to ascend again lightly and swiftly, and float farther off, like a feathery seed borne on by the wind.
Johannes himself longed to rise and fly as he had done long ago, in his dreams. But the earth held his feet, and his steps were heavy on the grassy ground. He was obliged to pick his way painfully through the bushes – their foliage rustling and scratching along his clothes – their branches brushing across his face. Panting with weariness he had to climb the mossy slopes of the dunes. Yet he followed untiringly – his eye never turned from Windekind's radiant apparition – from what was gleaming in the upraised hand.
There he was, in the middle of the dunes. The wild-roses, with their thousands of pale yellow cups, were blossoming in the glowing valleys, and gazing at the sunlight. And many other flowers were blooming there – bright blue, yellow, and purple. A sultry heat filled the little hollows, cherishing the fragrant herbs. Strong, resinous odors hung in the air. Johannes smelled them as he went – he smelled the wild thyme, and the dry reindeer-moss which crackled under his feet. It was intoxicatingly delightful.
And he saw mottled field-moths fluttering in front of the lovely image he was following; also little black and red butterflies, and the sand-eye – the merry little moth with satiny wings of the most delicate blue.
Golden beetles that live on the wild-rose whirred around his head, and big bumblebees danced and hummed all about in the dry, scorched grass. How delightful it was! How happy he would be if only he were with Windekind.
But Windekind swept farther and farther away. He followed breathlessly. The big, pale-leaved thorn-bushes held him back, and hurt him with their briars. The fuzzy, silvery torch-plants shook their tall heads as he pushed them aside from his course. He scrambled up the sandy barriers, and wounded his hands with the prickly broom.
He pushed on through the low birch-wood where the grass was knee-high, and the water-birds flew up from the little pools which glistened among the shrubs. Dense, white-flowered hawthorns mingled their fragrance with that of the birch-leaves and the mint, which grew in great profusion in the swampy soil.
But there came an end to woods, and verdure, and fragrant flowers. Only the singular, pale blue sea-holly, growing amid the sear, colorless heath-grass.
On the top of the last high swell of the dunes Johannes saw Windekind's form. There was a blinding glitter from his upraised hand. Borne over from the other side by a cool breeze, a great, unceasing roar sounded mysteriously alluring. It was the sea. Johannes felt that he was nearing it, and he slowly climbed the last ascent. At the top, he fell on his knees and gazed upon the ocean.
As he got above the ridge, a rosy glow illumined him. The sunset clouds had drawn apart from the central light. Like a wide ring of welded blocks of stone, with glowing red edges, they surrounded the sinking sun. Upon the sea was a broad path of living, crimson fire – a flaming, sparkling path leading to the distant gates of heaven.
Behind the sun, which could not yet be looked upon – in the depths of the light-grotto – were exquisite tints of intermingled blue and rose. Outside, the whole wide sky was lighted up with blood-red streaks, and dashes and fleckings of streaming fire.
Johannes watched – until the sun's disk touched the farthest end of that glowing path which led up to him.
Then he looked down, and very near was the bright form that he had followed. A boat, clear and glistening as crystal, drifted near the shore upon the broad, fiery way. At one end of the boat stood Windekind, alert and slender, with that golden object in his hand. At the other end, Johannes recognized the dark figure of Death.
"Windekind! Windekind!" cried Johannes. But as he approached the marvelous boat, he also looked toward the horizon. In the middle of the glowing space, surrounded by great fiery clouds, he saw a small, black figure. It grew larger and larger, and a man slowly drew near, calmly walking on the tossing fiery waters.
The glowing red waves rose and fell beneath his feet, but he walked tranquilly onward.
The man's face was pale, and his eyes were dark and deep – deep as the eyes of Windekind; but there was an infinitely gentle melancholy in their look 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.
"Art Thou Jesus – Art Thou God?" asked Johannes.
"Speak not those names!" said the figure. "They were holy and pure as sacerdotal robes, and precious as nourishing corn; yet they have become as husks before swine, and a jester's garb for fools. Name them not, for their meaning has become perverted, their worship a mockery. Let him who would know me cast aside those names and listen to himself."
"I know Thee! I know Thee!" said Johannes.
"It was I who made you weep for men, while yet you did not understand your tears. It was I who caused you to love before you knew the meaning of your love. I was with you and you saw me not – I stirred your soul and you knew me not.
"Why do I first see Thee now?"
"The eyes which behold Me must be brightened by many tears. And not for yourself alone, but for Me, must you weep. Then I will appear to you and you shall recognize in Me an old friend."
"I know Thee! I recognized Thee! I want to be with Thee!"
Johannes stretched out his hands. But the man pointed to the glittering boat that was slowly drifting out upon the fiery path.
"Look!" said he; "that is the way to all you have longed for. There is no other. Without those two shall you not find it. Take your choice. There is the Great Light; there you would yourself be what you long to know. There!" – and he pointed to the dark East – "where human nature and its sorrows arc, there lies my way. Not that errant light which has misled you, but I, will be your guide. You know now. Take your choice."
Then Johannes slowly turned away his eyes from Windekind's beckoning figure, and reached out his hands to the serious man. And with his guide, he turned to meet the chill night wind, and to tread the dreary road to the great, dark town where humanity was, with all its misery.
Sometime I may tell you more about Little Johannes; but it will not be like a fairy tale.
PART II
I
I have said that I might perhaps have something more to tell about Little Johannes. Surely you have not thought I would not keep my word! People are not so very trustful in these days, nor so patient, either.
But now I am going to put you to confusion, by telling you what else happened to Little Johannes. Listen! It is worth your while. And the best thing of all is that it will be rather like a fairy story – even more so than what I have already told you.
And yet it is all true. Yes, it all really truly happened. Perhaps you will again be inclined to doubt; but when you are older – much, much older – you will perceive how true it is. It will be so much more pleasant for you to have faith in it, that I wish from my heart you may be able to. If you cannot, I am sorry for you; but at least be truthful. Therefore skip nothing, but read it all.
And should you happen to meet Johannes, I give you leave to speak with him about these matters, and to give him my regards. He might not answer, but he will not be offended. He is still rather small, but he has grown a bit.
The fine weather did not continue far into the evening. The splendid clouds which Johannes had seen above the sea, and out of which strode that dark figure, now betokened a thunder-storm. Before he reached the middle of the dunes again, the sunset sky and the starry heavens were obscured, and a wild, exhausting wind, filled with fine, misty rain, swept him on. Behind him the lightning played above the sea, and the thunder rolled as if the heavens were being torn asunder, and the planks of its floor tossed one by one into a great garret.
Johannes was not alarmed, but very happy. He felt the close clasp of a warm, firm hand. It seemed as if he never yet had clung to a hand so perfect and so life-giving. Even the hand of Windekind seemed flimsy and feeble compared with this.
He thought that he now had reached the end of all his puzzles and difficulties. This may also have occurred to you. But how could that be possible when he was still such a mere stripling, and did not yet comprehend one half of all the marvelous things that had befallen him!
It may be that all has been plain to you. But it was not to him, although he may have thought so. He was yet only a little fellow without beard or moustache, and his voice was still that of a boy.
"My friend," said he to his Guide, "I know now that I have been bad – very bad. But now that you have come and I can cling to your hand, can I not redeem my faults? Is there still time?"
The dark figure kept silently and steadily on beside him in the storm and darkness. Johannes could see neither his eyes nor his features; he only heard the swishing and flapping of his garments – heavy with the rain. Then he asked again, somewhat anxiously, because the consolation he was yearning for was longer delayed than he expected:
"May I not sometime call myself a friend of yours? Am I not yet worthy of that? I have always so wanted to have a friend! That was the best thing in life, I thought – really the only thing I cared about. And now I have lost all my friends – my dog, Windekind, and my father. Am I too bad to deserve a true friend?"
Then there came an answer:
"When you can be a true friend, Johannes, then indeed you will find one."
There was consolation in the soft, low tones, and there was love and forgiveness; but the words were torturing.
"Bad, bad!" muttered Johannes, setting his teeth together. He wanted to cry, but he could not do that. That would have been to pity himself, and that was not in accordance with his Guide's reply. He had not been a good friend to his dog, nor to Windekind, nor to his father. He wished now that he could at once make amends for everything, but that could not be. It had been made clear.
It was desolate on the dunes, and dark as pitch. The wind was whistling through the reeds and the dwarf poplars, but there was nothing to be seen. How far away seemed the quiet sunlight now, the playful animals, and the flowers! Silently and swiftly the two strode on along a winding cart-track through the deep, wet sand, now and then stumbling over the ruts. It was the road that led to the town.
"I shall – " began Johannes again, resolutely lifting his head. But there he halted.
"Who says 'I shall'? Who knows what he will do? Can Johannes say, I am?"
"I am sorry and I am ashamed, and I wish to be better," said Johannes.
"That is well," said the soft low voice. And the tears started in Johannes' eyes. He clung close to his Guide, trembling slightly as they went.
"Teach me, my Father. I want to know how to be better."
"Not 'Father,' Johannes. We both have the same Father. You must call me Brother."
At that word Johannes looked timidly up at his Guide with startled face and wide-open eyes. In a flash of the steel-blue lightning, Johannes saw the pale brow, with the dark eyes turned kindly toward him. The hair of his Guide was matted and dripping with water, as were also his beard and his moustache. The locks clung to his white gleaming forehead, and his eyes glowed with an inner light. Johannes felt a boundless love and adoration, and at the same time an inexpressible compassion. "My brother!" thought he. "Oh, good, good man!"
And he said: "How wet you are! Put my jacket over your head. I do not need it."
But in the darkness his hand was gently restrained, and they hurried on while the sweat and the rain were commingled upon their faces.
After a while his Guide said to him:
"Johannes, pay attention to me, for I am going to say something to you that you must bear in mind. Your true life is only now beginning, and it is difficult to live a good life. If only you could remember what I am now telling you, you would never again be unhappy. Neither life nor people would be able to make you unhappy. And yet it will not prove thus – because you will forget."
There was silence for a while, broken only by the whistling of the wind, the flapping of their garments, and their rapid breathing – for they were walking very fast.
"Train your memory, therefore; for without an exact and retentive memory nothing good is attained. And mark this well; not the small and transient must you be mindful of, but the great and the eternal."
Then there was a flash of lightning, and it seemed as if the heavens were being consumed in the white fire, while a terrific peal of thunder immediately followed, directly over their heads.
But Johannes' thoughts were dwelling attentively upon the words he had heard, and he was neither frightened nor disquieted. He raised his head, proud and glad that he was not afraid, and looked, with wide-open eyes, into the high, dark dome of the heavens.
"This is the great and the eternal, is it not?" he asked. "This I will bear in mind."
But his Guide said:
"It is not the thunder and the lightning which you must bear in mind, for they are temporal and will often recur; but that you were unafraid, and bravely held up your countenance —that you must remember, and the reason why you did so. For it will thunder and lighten at other times, and you will be afraid. But even now – at this instant – it could strike you dead. Why do you not fear now?"
"Because you are with me," said Johannes.
"Well, then, Johannes, remember this; you always have me with you."
They were silent for a long while, and Johannes was thinking over these noble words. But he did not understand their import. If he were always to have his Leader with him, how could he forget? Then he asked, although he well knew what the reply would be:
"Are you, then, going to stay with me always?"
"Even as I always have been with you," was the unexpected answer.
"But I did not see you, then."
"And very soon again you will not see me; yet I shall be with you, just the same. Therefore, you must cultivate your memory, so that it will remind you when your eyes see not. Who that is forgetful can be relied on? You have never been faithful, Johannes, and you will forget me also. But I shall remain faithful, and you will bring me to mind. Then, when you have learned to bethink yourself, and are yourself a faithful friend, you shall have a brother and a friend."
The road was firmer now, and in the distance they saw the lights of the town. Close by, the orange-yellow window-squares were glimmering through the rain and darkness – the dwellings themselves being still invisible in the night. They saw the pools glisten, and they met a man. There was a hurried, heavy footstep – a glowing red cigar-tip. Johannes breathed the well-known, offensive, human atmosphere of wet garments and tobacco smoke. By the flashes of lightning he could see all around him little white and grey cottages. He saw the gleaming street, far out in front of him – haystacks and barns – a fence along the way; everything suddenly sharp and livid.
Then a change came over him. At once, he was conscious of everything, as one, being awakened, is aware of a voice already heard in his dream.
He clearly felt himself to be an ordinary human being, like every one else. And his exalted companion was also an ordinary man. He saw both, just as the passers-by would see them; a man and a boy, wet with the rain, walking hand in hand. Windekind did not get wet in the rain.
As they neared the suburbs, it became lighter and more noisy. It was not the great city where Johannes had lived with Pluizer, but the small one where he was born and where he had gone to school.
And as the two approached, they heard, through the rushing of the rain and the rolling of the thunder, a lighter, indistinct sound which reminded Johannes so well of former times. It was a confused intermingling of voices, singing, a continual din of organ-grinding, sharp little sounds of trumpets and flutes, the reports of fire-crackers and rifle-shots, and now and then a shrill, discordant whistle, or the sound of a bell. It was the Fair!
"Be careful now, Johannes. Here are people," said his companion.
Johannes gave a start. His task was to begin. He could no longer rail at human beings, nor disclaim his own human origin. He knew now that he had been erring, and he resolved to mend his ways. Had not good Death told him it was well worth while to be a good man? So now he would live with men, and try to become a good man himself; to relieve pain, to lighten grief, and to bring beauty and happiness into the lives of others. Was not that what He was teaching – He at whose blessed side he should henceforth go?
But he was greatly distressed. He already knew so well what men were. He shivered in his wet clothing.
"Are you afraid already? Think how brave you were just now. You must mind, not only the words, but the meaning of them."
"I will be strong and brave. I will be a man among men, a good man – doing good to men."
So saying, Johannes nerved himself, and with steadfast step entered the town.
Here things looked truly dismal. Water was spouting out of the gutters into the streets. Everything was glistening in the wet, and big streams of water were flowing down the tent canvases.
But the people were out on pleasure bent, and pleasure they would have. As the shop doors were opened one could see the red faces within, close to one another in the blue tobacco smoke, and could hear the uproar of loud singing and the stamping of feet.
Under the projecting canvas of the booths the crowds flocked together, slowly pushing one past the other into the bright light of the lamps. Johannes and his Guide pressed in among them to get out of the rain.
Johannes was fond of fairs. Always he was glad when the boats arrived in the canal with the timber for the various booths and play-tents; and he looked on eagerly while the flimsy structures – for that one week only – were being put together. This onlooking was an earnest of the strange and fantastic pleasures in store for him.
He liked the gay and merry pageantry, the foolish inscriptions on the merry-go-rounds, the mysterious places behind and between the tents, where the performers lodged; and above all, the tiny, out-of-the-way tents with their natural curiosities, and the strange animals, which seemed so sadly out of place in this Dutch world, in their tedious, unvarying captivity, with the reveling crowd around them.
And every summer he found it just as hard to see the breaking up of this variegated medley.
Not that he ever had longed for the Fair when with Windekind, but, of all that he had experienced while among human beings, the Fair seemed to him the most delightful.
And now he was rejoiced at the familiar scene of the booths with their toys; the cakes, layered with rose-colored sugar and inscribed with white lettering; all the shining brass-work of the toy-pistol bazaars; the small tents in lonely places, where brown, smoked eels lay between brass-headed iron bars; the shooting-galleries; the noisy and showy merry-go-rounds.
Nor did he, for old remembrance' sake, mind the various odors and mal-odors; the smell of cake, of frying fat, and of smoking lamps; nor the strange, mysterious, stable and wild-beast scents that came out of the large exhibition tents.
The children were running about, as usual, with their red balloons – tooting upon trumpets, and twirling their rattles. The mothers had their skirts over their heads to keep off the rain. Now and then a train of young men and maidens – their caps and hoods askew, or back side before – danced their way through the crowds, with shining, rollicking faces, shouting as they went: "hi! ha! hi! ha!" Then they would calm down, and step one side to look again at the cakes and the knick-knacks.
As Johannes dearly loved a laugh, he stopped again and again where there was anything funny; at the Punch-and-Judy show, or the antics in front of the circus, of which the peasants are foolishly fond.
Thus, beside his companion, he stood looking, in the midst of a group of people holding open umbrellas. On all sides he saw staring faces, reddened by the light of the sputtering oil-torch in front of the tent. The people looked stupid, he thought, standing there staring, now and then all bursting out together in a laugh when a clown cracked a joke. Painted on the canvas, in front of the tent, he saw ugly pictures of horrible battles between men and tigers – and everywhere, blood! From the balustrade, a monkey was watching the people very seriously. Ever and anon he darted a glance at a boy standing close by, to discover if he meant well or ill by his outstretched hand.
Behind the little table at the curtained entrance sat a buxom woman dressed in a black silk gown. Her face was round and broad, and her dark, glossy hair was smoothly plastered to her forehead. She was not ugly, but reminded Johannes of the wax dolls in front of the hair-dressers'.
Suddenly, Johannes heard the ring-master speaking to him; and the people turned their heads round and grinned at him.
"Come on, young gentleman," said the ring-master, "you must see the show, too! Ask your papa to let you see the show. There are pretty girls here, too – very nice for young gentlemen. Just look here, what pretty girls!"
Then he pointed to the buxom woman behind the table, who, laughing not a bit, but showing off her rings with their mock jewels, held up the curtain as an invitation to Johannes to enter. And then the ring-master pointed to a pale, slim girl, whose lank hair, light and silky, was combed straight down, and fell below her waist. She stood in front of the tent, dressed in a soiled white suit, spangled with silver. Her skirt was short, and her white tights did not fit well over her long, thin legs.
