"Do you understand anything about it, Birdling?"

The bird gave a knowing glance, and then went on with its hunting and

pecking.

"Tell me something more, Johannes, of what you have seen."

Johannes gladly did so, and Robinetta listened attentively, believing

all he said.

"But what is to prevent all that, _now_? Why can you not go again with

me to all those places? I should love to go."

Johannes tried his best to remember, but a sunny haze obscured the dim

distance over which he had passed. He could not exactly tell how he had

lost his former happiness.

"I do not quite know--you must not ask about it. A silly little creature

spoiled it all. But now it is all right again; still better than

before."

The perfume of the lilacs settled gently down upon them; and the humming

of the insects over the water, and the peaceful sunshine, filled them

with a sweet drowsiness; until a shrill bell at the house began to ring,

and Robinetta sped away.

That evening, when Johannes was in his little room, looking at the

moon-shadows cast by the ivy leaves which covered the

window-panes--there seemed to be a tapping on the glass. Johannes

thought it was an ivy leaf fluttering in the night wind. Yet it tapped

so plainly--always three taps at a time--that Johannes very gently

opened the window and cautiously looked about. The ivy against the house

gleamed in the blue light. Below, lay a dim world full of mystery. There

were caverns and openings into which the moonlight cast little blue

flecks--making the darkness still deeper.

After Johannes had been gazing a long time into this wonderful world of

shadows, he saw the form of a mannikin close by the window, half hidden

by a large ivy leaf. He recognized Wistik instantly, by his great,

wonder-struck eyes under the uplifted brows. A tiny moonbeam just

touched the tip of Wistik's long nose.

"Have you forgotten me, Johannes? Why are you not thinking about it

now? It is the right time. Did you ask Robin Redbreast the way?"

"Ah, Wistik, why should I ask? I have everything I could wish for. I

have Robinetta."

"But that will not last long. And you can be still happier--Robinetta,

too. Must the little key stay where it is, then? Only think how grand it

would be if you both should find the book! Ask Robin Redbreast about it.

I will help you whenever I can."

"At least, I can ask about it," said Johannes.

Wistik nodded, and scrambled nimbly down the vines.

Before he went to bed, Johannes stayed a long time--looking at the dark

shadows and the shining ivy leaves.

The next day he asked the redbreast if he knew the way to the golden

chest. Robinetta listened, in astonishment. Johannes saw the robin nod,

and peep askance at Robinetta.

"Not here, not here!" chirped the little bird.

"What do you mean, Johannes?" asked Robinetta.

"Do you not know about it, Robinetta, and where to find it? Are you not

waiting for the little gold key?"

"No! no! Tell me--what is that?"

Johannes told her what he knew about the book.

"And I have the little key. I thought you had the golden chest. Is it

not so, Birdie?"

But the bird feigned not to hear, and fluttered about among the fresh,

bright beech leaves.

They were resting against a slope on which small beech and spruce trees

were growing. A narrow green path ran slantingly by, and they sat at the

border of it, on thick, dark-green moss. They could look over the tops

of the lowest saplings upon a sea of green foliage billowing in sun and

shade.

"I do believe, Johannes," said Robinetta, after a little, "that I can

find what you are looking for. But what do you mean about the little

key? How did you come by it?"

"Why! How did I? How was it?" murmured Johannes, gazing far away over

the green expanse.

Suddenly, as though fledged in the sunny sky, two white butterflies met

his sight. They whirled about with uncertain capricious

flight--fluttering and twinkling in the sunlight. Yet they came closer.

"Windekind! Windekind!" whispered Johannes, suddenly remembering.

"Who is that? Who is Windekind?" asked Robinetta.

The redbreast flew up, chattering, and the daisies in the grass before

him seemed suddenly to be staring at Johannes in great alarm with their

white, wide-open eyes.

"Did he give you the little key?" continued the girl. Johannes nodded,

in silence; but she wanted to know more.

"Who was it? Did he teach you all those things? Where is he?"

"He is not any more. It is Robinetta now--no one but Robinetta.

Robinetta alone!" He clasped her arm, and pressed his little head

against it.

"Silly boy!" she said, laughing. "I will find the book for you--I know

where it is."

"But then I must go and get the key, and it is far away."

"No, no, you need not. I will find it without a key--to-morrow--I

promise you."

On their way home, the little butterflies flitted back and forth in

front of them.

Johannes dreamed of his father that night--of Robinetta, and of many

others. They were all good friends, and they stood near looking at him

cordially, and trustfully. Yet later, their faces changed. They grew

cold and ironical. He looked anxiously around; on all sides were fierce,

hostile faces. He felt a nameless distress, and waked up weeping.

IX

Johannes had already sat a long while, waiting. The air was chilly, and

great clouds were drifting close above the earth in endless, majestic

succession. They spread out sombre, wide-waving mantles, and reared

their haughty heads toward the clear light that shone above them.

Sunlight and shadow chased each other swiftly over the trees, like

flickering flames. Johannes was in an anxious state of mind, thinking

about the book; not believing that he should really find it that day.

Between the clouds--much higher--awfully high, he saw an expanse of

clear blue sky; and upon it, stretched out in motionless calm, were

delicate, white, plume-like clouds.

"It ought be like that," he thought. "So high, so bright, so still!"

Then came Robinetta. The robin was not with her.

"It is all right, Johannes," she cried out. "You may come and see the

book."

"Where is Robin Redbreast?" said Johannes, mistrustfully.

"He did not come. But we are not going for a walk."

Then he went with her, thinking all the time to himself:

"It cannot be! Not _this_ way!--it must be entirely different!"

Yet he followed the sunny, blonde hair that lighted his way.

Alas! things went sadly now with little Johannes. I could wish that his

story ended here. Did you ever have a splendid dream of a magical garden

where the flowers and animals all loved you and talked to you? And did

the idea come to you then, that you might wake up soon, and all that

happiness be lost? Then you vainly try to hold the dream--and not to

wake to the cold light of day. That was the way Johannes felt when he

went with Robinetta.

He went into the house--and down a passage that echoed with his

footsteps. He breathed the air of clothes and food; he thought of the

long days when he had had to stay indoors, of his school-tasks, and of

all that had been sombre and cold in his life.

He entered a room with people in it--how many he did not see. They were

talking together, yet when he came they ceased to speak. He noticed the

carpet; it had big, impossible flowers in glaring colors. They were as

strange and deformed as those of the hangings in his bedroom at home.

"Well, is this the gardener's little boy?" said a voice right in front

of him. "Come here, my young friend; you need not be afraid."

And another voice sounded suddenly, close beside him: "Well, Robbi, a

pretty little playmate you have there!"

What did all this mean? The deep wrinkles came again above the child's

dark eyes, and Johannes looked around in perplexity.

A man in black clothes sat near--looking at him with cold, grey eyes.

"And so you wish to make acquaintance with the Book of Books! It amazes

me that your father, whom I know to be a devout man, has not already

given it to you."

"You do not know my father--he is far away."

"Is that so? Well, it is all the same. Look here, my young friend! Read

a great deal in this. Upon your path in life it will...."

But Johannes had already recognized the book. It could not possibly come

to him in _this_ way! No! he could not have it so. He shook his head.

"No, no! This is not what I mean. This I know. This is not it."

He heard sounds of surprise, and felt the looks which were fastened on

him from all sides. "What! What do you mean, child?"

"I know this book; it is the Book of Human Beings. But there is not

enough in it; if there were there would be rest among men--and peace.

And there is none. I mean something else about which no one can doubt

who sees it--wherein is told why everything is as it is--precisely and

plainly."

"How is that possible? Where did the boy get that notion?"

"Who taught you that, my young friend?"

"I believe you have been reading depraved books, boy, and are repeating

the words!"

Thus rang the various voices. Johannes felt his cheeks burning, and he

began to feel dizzy. The room spun round, and the huge flowers on the

carpet floated up and down. Where was the little mouse which had warned

him so faithfully that day at school? He needed him now.

"I am not repeating it out of books, and he who taught me is worth more

than all of you together. I know the language of flowers, and of

animals--I am their intimate friend. I know, too, what human beings are,

and how they live. I know all the secrets of fairies and of goblins, for

they love me more than human beings do."

Oh, Mousie! Mousie!

Johannes heard coughing and laughing, around and behind him. It all rang

and rasped in his ears.

"He seems to have been reading Andersen."

"He is not quite right in his head."

The man in front of him said:

"If you know Andersen, little man, you ought to have more respect for

God and His Word." "God!" He knew that word, and he thought about

Windekind's lesson.

"I have no respect for God. God is a big oil-lamp, which draws thousands

to wreck and ruin."

No laughing now, but a serious silence in which the horror and

consternation were palpable. Johannes felt even in his back the piercing

looks. It was like his dream of the night before.

The man in black stood up and took him by the arm. That hurt, and almost

broke his heart.

"Listen, boy! I do not know whether you are foolish or deeply depraved,

but I will not suffer such godlessness here. Go away and never come into

my sight again, wretched boy! I shall ask about you, but never again set

foot in this house. Do you understand?"

Everybody looked at him coldly and unkindly--as in his dream the night

before. Johannes looked around him in distress.

"Robinetta! Where is Robinetta?"

"Well, indeed! Corrupt my child? If you ever speak to her again, look

out!"

"No, let me go to her! I will not leave her. Robinetta!" cried Johannes.

But she sat in a corner, frightened, and did not look up.

"Out, you rascal! Do you hear? Take care, if you have the boldness to

come back again."

The painful grip led him through the sounding corridor--the glass door

rattled, and Johannes stood outside, under the dark, lowering clouds.

He did not cry now, but gazed quietly out in front of him as he slowly

walked on. The sorrowful wrinkles were deeper above his eyes, and they

stayed there.

The little redbreast sat in a linden hedge and peered at him. He stood

still and silently returned the look. But there was no trust now in the

timid, peeping little eyes; and when he took a step nearer, the quick

little creature whirred away from him.

"Away, away! A human being!" chirped the sparrows, sitting together in

the garden path. And they darted away in all directions.

The open flowers did not smile, but looked serious and indifferent; as

they do with every stranger.

Johannes did not heed these signs, but was thinking of what the cruel

men had done to him. He felt as if his inmost being had been violated by

a hard, cold touch. "They _shall_ believe me!" thought he. "I will get

my little key and show it to them."

"Johannes! Johannes!" called a light, little voice. There was a bird's

nest in a holly tree, and Wistik's big eyes peeped over the brim of it.

"Where are you bound for?"

"It is all your fault, Wistik," said Johannes. "Let me alone."

"How did you come to talk about it to human beings? They do not

understand. Why do you tell them these things? It is very stupid of

you."

"They laughed at me, and hurt me. They are miserable creatures. I hate

them!"

"No, Johannes, you love them."

"No! No!"

"If you did not, you would not mind it so much that they are not like

yourself; and it would not matter what they said. You must concern

yourself less about human beings."

"I want my key. I want to show it to them."

"You must not do that; they would not believe you even if you did. What

would be the use of it?"

"I want my little key--under the rose-bush. Do you know how to find it?"

"Yes, indeed! Near the pond, is it not? Yes, I know."

"Then take me to it, Wistik."

Wistik climbed up to Johannes' shoulder, and pointed out the way. They

walked the whole day long. The wind blew, and now and then showers fell;

but at evening the clouds ceased driving, and lengthened themselves out

into long bands of gray and gold.

When they came to Johannes' own dunes, he felt deeply moved, and he

whispered again and again: "Windekind! Windekind!"

There was the rabbit-hole, and the slope against which he had once

slept. The grey reindeer-moss was tender and moist, and did not crackle

beneath his feet. The roses were withered, and the yellow primroses with

their faint, languid fragrance held up their cups by hundreds. Higher

still rose the tall, proud torch-plants, with their thick, velvety

leaves.

Johannes tried to trace the delicate, brownish leaves of the wild-rose.

"Where is it, Wistik? I do not see it."

"I know nothing about it," said Wistik. "You hid the key--I didn't."

The field where the rose had blossomed was full of primroses, staring

vacantly. Johannes questioned them, and also the torch-plants. They were

much too proud, however, for their tall flower-clusters reached far up

above him; so he asked the small, tri-colored violets on the sandy

ground.

But no one knew anything of the wild-rose. They all were newly-come

flowers--even the arrogant torch-plant, tall though it was.

"Oh! where is it? Where is it?"

"Have you, too, served me a trick?" cried Wistik. "I expected it--that

is always the way with human beings!"

He slipped down from Johannes' shoulder, and ran away into the tall

grass.

Johannes looked hopelessly around. There stood a small rose-bush.

"Where is the big rose?" asked Johannes, "the big one that used to stand

here?"

"We do not speak to human beings," said the little bush.

That was the last sound he heard. Every living thing kept silence. Only,

the reeds rustled in the soft, evening wind.

"Am I a human being?" thought Johannes. "No, that cannot--cannot be. I

will not be a human being. I hate human beings."

He was tired and faint-hearted, and went to the border of the little

field to lie down upon the soft, grey moss with its humid, heavy

fragrance.

"I cannot turn back now, nor ever see Robinetta again. Shall I not die

without her? Shall I keep on living, and be a man--a man like those who

laughed at me?"

Then, all at once, he saw again the two white butterflies that flew up

to him from the way of the setting sun. In suspense, he followed their

flight. Would they show him the way? They hovered above his head--then

floated apart to return again--whirling about in fickle play. Little by

little they left the sun, and finally fluttered beyond the border of the

dunes--away to the woods. There, only the highest tips were still

touched by the evening glow that shone out red and vivid from under the

long files of sombre clouds.

Johannes followed the butterflies. But when they had flown above the

nearest trees, he saw a dark shadow swoop toward them in noiseless

flight, and then hover over them. It pursued and overtook them. The next

moment they had vanished. The black shadow darted swiftly up to him, and

he covered his face with his hands, in terror.

"Well, little friend, why do you sit here, crying?" rang a sharp,

taunting voice close beside him.

Johannes had seen a huge bat coming toward him, but when he looked up, a

swarthy mannikin, not much taller than himself, was standing on the

dunes. It had a great head, with big ears, that stood out--dark--against

the bright evening sky, and a lean little body with slim legs. Of his

face Johannes could see only the small, glittering eyes.

"Have you lost anything, little fellow? If so, I will help you seek it,"

said he. But Johannes silently shook his head.

"Look! Would you like these?" he began again, opening his hand. Johannes

saw there something white, that from time to time barely stirred. It was

the two white butterflies--dead--with the torn and broken little wings

still quivering. Johannes shivered, as though some one had blown on the

back of his neck, and he looked up in alarm at the strange being.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Would you like to know my name, Chappie? Well, just call me

Pluizer[1]--simply Pluizer. I have still prettier names, but that you do

not yet understand."

"Are you a human being?"

"Better yet! Still, I have arms and legs and a head--just see what a

head! And yet the boy asks if I'm a human being! Well, Johannes,

Johannes!" And the mannikin laughed with a shrill, piercing sound.

"How do you know who I am?" asked Johannes.

"Oh, that is a trifle for me! I know a great deal more. I know where you

came from, and what you came here to do. I know an astonishing

lot--almost everything."

"Ah! Mr. Pluizer...."

"Pluizer--Pluizer. No ceremony!"

"Do you know then?..." But Johannes suddenly stopped. "He is a human

being," thought he.

"About your little key, do you mean?" asked the mannikin.

"Yes, indeed I do."

"But I did not think human beings could know anything about that."

"Silly boy! And Wistik has babbled to so many about it!"

"Do you know Wistik, too?"

"Oh, yes--one of my best friends, and I have a great many of them. But I

know about the little key, without the help of Wistik. I know a great

deal more than Wistik. Wistik is a good enough fellow, but

stupid--uncommonly stupid. Not I--far from it!" And Pluizer tapped his

big head with his lean little hand in a very pert way.

"Do you know, Johannes," he continued, "a great defect in Wistik? But

you never must tell him, for he would be very angry."

"Well, what is it?" asked Johannes.

"He does not exist. That is a great shortcoming, but he will not admit

it. And he says of me that I do not exist--but that is a lie. _I_ not

exist? The _mischief_--I do!"

And Pluizer, thrusting the little butterflies into his pocket, suddenly

threw himself over, and stood on his head in front of Johannes. Then he

made a very ugly grimace, and stuck out his long tongue. Johannes, who

did not yet feel quite at his ease alone with this remarkable creature,

at the close of the day, in the lonely dunes, was quaking now, with

fear.

"This is a most charming way of seeing the world," said Pluizer, still

standing on his head. "If you like, I will teach you to do it.

Everything looks much clearer and more life-like."

And he sprawled his spindle legs out in the air, and whirled around on

his hands. As the red afterglow fell upon his inverted face, Johannes

thought it frightful; the small eyes blinked in the light, and showed

the whites on the wrong side.

"You see, this way the clouds look like the floor, and the ground the

cover, of the world. You can maintain that as well as the contrary.

There is no above nor below, however. Those clouds would make a fine

promenade."

Johannes looked at the long clouds. He thought they appeared like a

plowed field, with blood welling up from the red furrows. And over the

sea the splendor was streaming from the gates of that grotto in the

clouds.

"Could one get there, and go in?" he asked.

"Nonsense!" said Pluizer, landing suddenly on his feet again, to the

great relief of Johannes. "Nonsense! If you were there, it would be

precisely as it is here--and the beauty of it would then appear still a

little farther off. In those beautiful clouds there, it is misty,

grizzly, and cold."

"I do not believe you," said Johannes. "Now I can very well see that you

are a human being."

"Oh, come! Not believe me, dear boy, because I am a human being! And

what particular thing do you take yourself for?"

"Oh, Pluizer! Am I too a human being?"

"What did you suppose? An elf? Elves do not fall in love." And Pluizer

suddenly dropped down exactly in front of Johannes--his legs crossed

under him--grinning straight into his face. Johannes felt indescribably

distressed and perplexed under this scrutiny, and would have liked to

hide, or make himself invisible. Still he could not even turn his eyes

away.

"Only human beings fall in love, Johannes. Do you hear? And that is

good; otherwise before long there would be no more of them. And you are

in love as well as the best of them, although you are still so young.

Who are you thinking about, this instant?"

"Robinetta!" whispered Johannes, barely loud enough to be heard.

"Whom do you long for most?"

"Robinetta!"

"Who is the one without whom you think you cannot live?"

Johannes' lips moved silently: "Robinetta!"

"Now, then, you silly fellow," sneered Pluizer, "how can you fancy

yourself to be an elf? Elves do not fall in love with the children of

men."

"But it was Windekind," stammered Johannes, in his embarrassment. At

that, Pluizer looked terribly angry, and he seized Johannes by the ears

with his bony little hands.

"What stuff is this? Would you frighten me with that dunce? He is

sillier than Wistik--far more silly. He does not know it, though. And

what is more, he does not exist at all, and never has existed. I alone

exist, do you understand? If you do not believe me, I will make you feel

that I _do_ exist."

And he shook poor Johannes by the ears--hard. The latter cried out: "But

I have known him so long, and I have traveled so far with him!"

"You have dreamed it, I say. Where, then, are the rose-bush and the

little key? Hey!--But you are not dreaming now! Do you feel that?"

"Auch!" cried Johannes; for Pluizer was tweaking his ears.

It had grown dark, and the bats were flying with shrill squeakings close

to their heads. The air was black and heavy--not a leaf stirred in the

woods.

"May I go home?" begged Johannes. "To my father?"

"Your father? What do you want of him?" asked Pluizer. "That person

would give you a warm reception after your long absence!"

"I want to go home," said Johannes; and he thought of the living-room

with the bright lamp-light, where he had so often sat beside his father,

listening to the scratching of his pen. It was cozy there, and peaceful.

"Yes, but you ought not to have gone away, and _stayed_ away--all for

the sake of that madcap who has no existence. It is too late now. And if

nothing turns up to prevent it, I will take care of you. Whether I do

it, or your father does it, is precisely the same thing. Such a father!

That is only imagination, however. Did you make your own selection? Do

you think no one else so good--so clever? I am just as good, and much

more clever."

Johannes had no heart for an answer; he closed his eyes, and nodded

slightly.

"And," continued the mannikin, "you must not look for anything further

from that Robinetta."

He laid his hands upon Johannes' shoulders, and chattered close to his

ear. "That child thought you just as much a fool as the others did. Did

you not see that she stayed in the corner, and said not a word when they

all laughed at you? She is no better than the others. She thought you a

nice little boy, and she played with you--just as she would have played

with a May-bug. She cannot have cared about your going away. And she

knows nothing about that book. But I do--I know where it is, and I will

help you find it. I know nearly everything."

And Johannes began to believe him.

"Are you going with me? Will you search for it with me?"

"I am so tired," said Johannes. "Let me go to sleep somewhere."

"I care nothing for sleep," said Pluizer. "I am too lively for that. A

person ought always to be looking and thinking. But I will leave you in

peace for a little while--till morning comes."

Then he put on the friendliest face he could. Johannes looked straight

into the glittering little eyes until he could see nothing else. His

head grew heavy--he leaned against the mossy slope. The little eyes

seemed to get farther and farther away until they were shining stars in

the darkening sky. He thought he heard the sound of distant voices, as

if the earth were moving away from him--and then he ceased to think at

all.

[1] Pluizer = Shredder.

X

Even before he was fully awake he had a vague idea that something

unusual had occurred while he slept. Still, he was not curious to know

what it was, nor to look about him. He would he were lapped again in the

dream which, like a reluctant mist, was slowly drifting away. Robinetta

had come to him again in the dream, and stroked his hair in the old way;

and he had seen his father once more, and Presto, in the garden with the

pond.

"Auch! That hurt. Who did that?" Johannes opened his eyes, and saw, in

the grey dawn, close beside him, a small being who had been pulling his

hair. He was lying in a bed, and the light was dim and wavering--as in a

room.

But the face that bent over him brought back, at once, all the misery

and gloom of the day before. It was Pluizer's face--less like a

hobgoblin, and more human--but just as ugly and frightful as ever.

"Oh, let me dream!" he murmured.

But Pluizer shook him. "Are you mad, you lazy boy? Dreams are foolish,

and keep one from getting on. A human being must work and think and

seek. That is what you are human for."

"I do not want to be a human being. I want to dream."

"Whether you wish to or not--you must. You are in my charge now, and you

are going to act, and seek, in my company. With me alone can you find

what you desire, and I shall not leave you until we have found it."

Johannes felt a vague terror. Yet a superior power seemed to press and

coerce him. Unresistingly, he resigned himself.

Gone were fields and flowers and trees. He was in a small, dimly-lighted

room. Outside, as far as he could see, were houses and houses--dark and

dingy--in long, monotonous rows.

Smoke in thick folds was rising everywhere, and it swept, like a murky

fog, through the streets below. And along those streets the people

hurried in confusion, like great black busy ants. A dull, confused,

continuous roar ascended from this throng.

"Look, Johannes!" said Pluizer. "Now is not that a pretty sight? Those

are human beings, and all those houses, as far as you can see--still

farther than that belfry in the blue distance--are full of people, from

top to bottom. Is not that remarkable? That is rather different from an

ant-hill!"

Johannes listened with shrinking curiosity, as if some huge, horrible

monster were being shown him. He seemed to be standing on the back of

that monster, and to see the black blood streaming through the swollen

arteries, and the dark breath ascending from a hundred nostrils. And the

ominous growling of that awful voice filled him with fears.

"Look! How fast these people go, Johannes!" continued Pluizer. "You can

see, can you not, that they are all in a hurry, and hunting for

something? But it is droll that no one knows precisely what it is. After

they have been seeking a little while, they come face to face with some

one. His name is Hein."

"Who is that?" asked Johannes.

"Oh, a good friend of mine. I will introduce you to him, without fail.

Now this Hein asks: 'Are you looking for me?' At that, most of them

usually say: 'Oh, no! Not you.' Then Hein remarks: 'But there is nothing

to be found save me.' So they have to content themselves with Hein."

Johannes perceived that he spoke of death.

"Is that always the way--always?"

"To be sure it is--always. But yet, day after day, a new crowd gathers,

and they begin their search not knowing for what--seeking, seeking,

until at last they find Hein. So it has been for a pretty long while,

and so it will continue to be."

"Shall I, too, find nothing else, Pluizer? Nothing but...."

"Yes, Hein you will surely find, some day. But that does not matter.

Only seek--always be seeking."

"But the little book, Pluizer? You might let me find the book."

"Well, who knows! I have not forbidden it. We must seek--seek. We know,

at least, what we are looking for. Wistik taught us that. Others there

are who try all their lives to find out what they are really seeking.

They are the philosophers, Johannes. But when Hein comes, it is all up

with their search as well."

"That is frightful, Pluizer!"

"Oh, no! Indeed it is not. Hein is very good-hearted, but he is

misunderstood."

Some one toiled up the stairs outside the chamber door--Clump! clump! on

the wooden stairs.

Clump! clump! Nearer and nearer. Then some one rapped at the door, and

it sounded like ice tapping on wood.

A tall man entered. He had deep-set eyes, and long, lean hands. A cold

draft swept through the little room.

"Well, well!" said Pluizer. "We were just speaking of you. Take a seat.

How goes it with you?"

"Busy, busy!" said the tall man, wiping the cold moisture from his

white, bony forehead.

Stiff with fright, Johannes gazed into the deep-set eyes which were

fixed upon him. They were very deep and dark, but not cruel--not

threatening. After a few moments he breathed more freely, and his heart

beat less rapidly.

"This is Johannes," said Pluizer. "He has heard of a certain book which

tells why everything is as it is; and we are going together to find that

book, are we not?" Then Pluizer laughed, significantly.

"Is that so? Well, that is good," said Death kindly, nodding to

Johannes.

"He is afraid he will not find it, but I tell him to seek first,

diligently."

"Certainly," said Death. "It is best to seek diligently."

"He thought that you were so horrible! You see, do you not, Johannes,

that you made a mistake?"

"Ah, yes," said Death, most kindly. "They speak very ill of me. My

outward appearance is not prepossessing, but I mean well."

He smiled faintly, like one whose mind was full of more serious matters

than those of which he spoke. Then he turned his sombre eyes away from

Johannes, and they wandered pensively toward the great town.

It was a long time before Johannes ventured to speak. At last, he said

softly:

"Are you going to take me with you, _now?_"

"What do you mean, my child?" said Death, roused from his meditations.

"No, not now. You must grow up and become a good man."

"I will not be a man--like the others."

"Come, come!" said Death. "There is no help for it."

It was clear that this was an every-day phrase with him. He continued:

"My friend, Pluizer, can teach you how to become a good man. It can be

learned in various ways, but Pluizer teaches it excellently. It is

something very fine and admirable to be a good man. You must not scorn

it, my little lad."

"Seeking, thinking, looking!" said Pluizer.

"To be sure! To be sure!" said Death; and then, to Pluizer, "To whom are

you going to take him?"

"To Doctor Cijfer, my old pupil."

"Ah, yes. He is a good pupil. He is a very fine example of a man--almost

perfect in his way."

"Shall I see Robinetta again?" asked Johannes, trembling.

"What does the boy mean?" asked Death.

"Oh, he was love-struck, and yet fancied himself to be an elf! He, he,

he!" laughed Pluizer, maliciously.

"No, my dear child, that will never do," said Death. "You will forget

such things with Doctor Cijfer. He who seeks what you are seeking must

forget all other things. All or nothing."

"I shall make a doughty man of him. I shall just let him sec what love

really is, and then he will have nothing at all to do with it."

And Pluizer laughed gaily. Death again fixed his black eyes upon poor

Johannes, who found it hard to keep from sobbing; for he felt ashamed in

the presence of Death.

Suddenly Death stood up, "I must away," said he. "I am wasting my time.

There is much to be done. Good-by, Johannes. We are sure to see each

other again. You must not be afraid of me."

"I am not afraid of you--I wish you would take me with you. Oh, take

me!" But Death gently motioned him back. He was used to such appeals.

"No, Johannes. Go now to your task. Seek and see! Ask me no more. Some

day I will ask, and that will be soon enough."

When he had disappeared, Pluizer behaved in a very extraordinary manner.

He sprang over chairs, tumbled about the floor, climbed up the wardrobe

and the mantlepiece, and performed neck-breaking tricks in the open

windows.

"Well, that was Hein--my good friend Hein!" said he. "Do you not think

him nice? A bit plain and morose in appearance; but he can be quite

cheerful when he finds pleasure in his Work. Sometimes, however, it

bores him; for it is rather monotonous."

"Who tells him, Pluizer, where he is to go?"

Pluizer leered at Johannes in a teasing, cunning way.

"Why do you ask that? He goes his own gait--he takes whom he can catch."

Later, Johannes saw that it was otherwise. But he could not yet know

whether or not Pluizer always spoke the truth.

They went out to the street, and moved with the swarming throng. The

grimy men passed on, pell-mell--laughing and chatting so gaily that

Johannes could not help wondering. He noticed that Pluizer nodded to

many of them; but no one returned the greeting--all were looking

straight forward as if they had seen nothing.

"They are going like fun now," said Pluizer, "as though not a single one

of them knew me. But that is only a pretext. They cannot cut me when I

am alone with them; and then they are not so jolly." Johannes became

conscious that some one was following them. On looking round, he saw the

tall, pale figure moving among the people with great, inaudible strides.

Hein nodded to Johannes.

"Do the people also see him?" asked Johannes of Pluizer.

"Yes, certainly! all of them; but they do not wish to know him. Well,

for the present I overlook this defiance."

The din and stir brought to Johannes a kind of stupor in which he forgot

his troubles. The narrow streets and the high houses dividing the blue

sky into straight strips--the people passing to and fro beside him--the

shuffling of footsteps, and the rattling of wagons, effaced the old

visions and the dream of that former night, as a storm disturbs the

reflections in mirror-like water. It seemed to him that nothing else

existed save walls and windows and people; as if he too must do the

same, and run and rush in the restless, breathless tumult.

Then they came to a quiet neighborhood, where stood a large house with

grey, gloomy windows. It looked severe and uninviting. It was very quiet

within, and there came to Johannes a mingling of strange, pungent

odors--a damp, cellar-like smell being the most perceptible. In a room,

full of odd-looking instruments, sat a solitary man. He was surrounded

with books, and glass and copper articles--all of them unfamiliar to

Johannes. A stray sunbeam entered the room, passed on over his head, and

sparkled on the flasks filled with pretty, tinted particles. The man was

looking intently through a copper tube, and did not look up.

As Johannes came nearer, he heard him murmur, "Wistik! Wistik!"

Beside the man, on a long, black bench, lay something white and downy.

What it was Johannes could not clearly see.

"Good morning, doctor!" said Pluizer. But still the doctor did not look

up.

Then Johannes was terrified, for the white object at which he was

looking so intently, began all at once to struggle convulsively. What he

had seen was the downy, white breast of a little rabbit. Its head, with

the twitching nostrils, was held backward by pinching clamps of iron,

and the four little feet were tightly bound along its body. The hopeless

effort to free himself was soon over, and the little creature lay still

again; the only sign of life being the rapid movement of the

blood-stained throat.

Johannes looked at the round, gentle eyes--so wide open with helpless

anguish, and it seemed to him that he recognized them. Was not this the

soft little body against which he had rested that first, blissful,

elf-land night? Old remembrances came thronging over him. He flew to the

little creature.

"Wait, wait! Poor Bunnie, I will help you!" And he hurried to untie the

cords which were cutting into the tender little feet.

But his hands were seized in a tight grip, and a shrill laugh rang in

his ears.

"What does this mean, Johannes? Are you still so childish? What must the

doctor think of you?"

"What does the boy want? Why is he here?" asked the doctor, amazed.

"He wants to be a man, and so I brought him to you; but he is still

rather young and childish. This is not the way to find what you are

seeking, Johannes!"

"No, this is not the way," said the doctor.

"Doctor, let that rabbit loose!"

But Pluizer clutched both his hands, and squeezed them painfully.

"What was our agreement, Jackanapes?" he hissed in his ear. "We were to

seek, were we not? We are not in the dunes here, with Windekind, and

with stupid animals. We should be men--men, do you understand? If you

wish to remain a child--if you are not strong enough to help me--I will

send you out of the way. Then you may seek--all by yourself!"

Johannes believed him and said no more. He determined to be strong. So

he shut his eyes, that he might not see the rabbit.

"Good boy!" said the doctor. "You appear somewhat tender-hearted for

making a beginning. It truly is rather a sad sight the first time. I

never behold it willingly myself, and avoid it as much as possible. Yet

it is indispensable; and you must understand that we are men, and not

animals--that the welfare of mankind and of science is of more

importance than the life of a few rabbits."

"Hear!" said Pluizer. "Science and mankind."

"The man of science," continued the doctor, "stands higher than all

other men, and so he should overcome the little tendernesses which the

normal man feels, for that great interest--Science. Would you like to be

such a man? Was that your vocation, my boy?"

Johannes hesitated. He did not exactly know what a vocation was--no more

than did the May-bug.

Said he, "I want to find the book that Wistik spoke of."

The doctor looked surprised and asked, "Wistik?"

Pluizer said quickly, "Indeed he wants to be such a man, Doctor! I know

he does. He seeks the highest wisdom. He wishes to grasp the very

essence of things."

Johannes nodded a "Yes!" So far as he understood, that was his aim.

"You must be strong, then, Johannes--not weak and softhearted. Then I

will help you. But remember; all or nothing."

And with trembling fingers Johannes helped to retie the loosened cords

around the little feet of the rabbit.

XI

"Now, we shall see," said Pluizer, "if I cannot show you just as fine

sights as Windekind can."

And when they had bidden the doctor good-by--promising to return soon,

he guided Johannes into every nook and corner of the great town. He

showed him how the great monster lived, breathed, and fed itself; how it

consumed, and again renewed itself.

But he was partial to the slums and alleys, where the people were packed

together--where everything was gloomy and grimy, and the air black and

close.

He took him into one of the large buildings from which Johannes had seen

the smoke ascending that first day.

A deafening roar pervaded the place--everywhere a rattling, clanking,

pounding, and resounding. Great wheels revolved, and long belts whizzed

in rapid undulations. The walls and floors were black, the windows

broken or covered with dust. The mighty chimneys rose high above the

blackened building, belching great columns of curling smoke. In that

turmoil of wheels and machinery Johannes saw numbers of pale-faced men

with blackened hands and clothing, silently and ceaselessly working.

"Who are they?" asked Johannes.

"Wheels--more wheels," laughed Pluizer, "or human beings--as you choose.

What they are doing there they do, day in--day out. And one can be human

in that way, also--after a fashion."

They went on into dirty, narrow streets, where the little strip of blue

sky looked only a finger's width; and even then was clouded by the

clothes hung out to dry. It swarmed with people there. They jostled one

another, shouted, laughed, and sometimes sang. In the houses the rooms

were so small, so dark and damp, that Johannes hardly dared to breathe.

He saw ragged children creeping over the bare floors; and young girls,

with disheveled hair, humming melodies to thin, pale nurslings. He heard

quarreling and scolding, and all the faces around him were tired, dull,

or indifferent.

Johannes' heart was wrung with pain. It was not akin to his earlier

grief--he was ashamed of that.

"Pluizer," he asked, "have these people always lived here--so dreary

and so wretched? While I...." He dared not go on.

"Certainly; and that is fortunate. Indeed, their life is not so very

dreary and wretched. They are inured to this, and know nothing better.

They are dull, careless cattle. Do you see those two women

there--sitting in front of their door? They look as contentedly over the

foul street as you used to look upon your dunes. There is no need for

you to cry over these people. You might as well cry about the moles that

never see the daylight."

Johannes did not know what to reply, nor did he know why he felt so sad.

In the midst of the clamorous pushing and rushing he still saw the pale,

hollow-eyed man, striding with noiseless steps.

"He is a good man after all. Do you not think so?" said Pluizer, "to

take the people away from this? But even here they are afraid of him."

When night fell, and hundreds of lamps flickered in the wind--casting

long, wavering lights over the black water, they passed through the

silent streets. The tall old houses looked tired--as if leaning against

one another in sleep. Most of them had closed their eyes; but here and

there a window still sent out a faint, yellow glimmer.

Pluizer told Johannes long stories about those who dwelt behind them--of

the pains that were there endured, and of the struggles that took place

there between misery and love of life. He did not spare him, but

selected the gloomiest, the lowest, and most trying; and grinned with

enjoyment when Johannes grew pale and silent at his shocking tales.

"Pluizer," asked Johannes, suddenly, "do you know anything about the

Great Light?"

He thought that that question might save him from the darkness which was

pressing closer and heavier upon him.

"Chatter! Windekind's chatter!" said Pluizer. "Phantoms--illusions!

There are only people--and myself. Do you fancy that any kind of god

could take pleasure in anything on this earth--such a medley as there is

here to be ruled over? Moreover, such a Great Light would not leave so

many here--in the darkness."

"But those stars! Those stars!" cried Johannes; as if expecting that

visible splendor to protest for him against this statement.

"The stars! Do you know, little fellow, what you are chattering about?

Those lights up there are not like the lanterns you see about you here.

They are all worlds--every one of them much larger than this world with

its thousands of cities--and in the midst of them we swing like a speck

of dust. There is no above nor below. There are worlds on all sides of

us--nothing but worlds, and there is no _end_ to them."

"No, no!" cried Johannes in terror, "do not say so! I see little lights

on a great, dark plain above me."

"Yes, you can see nothing but little lights. If you gazed up all your

life, you would see nothing else than little lights upon a dark plain

above you. But you can, you _must_ know that the universe--in the midst

of which this little clod with its pitiful swarm of dotards is as

nothing--shall vanish into nothingness. So speak no more of 'the stars'

as if they were but a few dozens. It is foolishness."

Johannes was silenced.

"Come on," said Pluizer. "Now we will go to see something cheerful."

At intervals they were greeted by strains of music in lovely, lingering

waves of sound. On a dark canal stood a large house, out of whose many

tall windows the light was streaming brightly. A long line of carriages

stood in front of it. The stamping of the horses rang with a hollow

sound in the stillness of the night, and they were throwing "yeses" with

their heads. The light sparkled on the silver trappings of the harness,

and on the varnish of the vehicles.

Indoors, it was dazzlingly bright. Johannes stood gazing, half-blinded,

in the glare of hundreds of varicolored lights, of mirrors and flowers.

Graceful figures glided past the windows, bowing to one another,

laughing, and gesturing. Far back in the room moved richly dressed

people, with lingering step or with rapid, swaying turns. A confused

sound of laughter and of cheerful voices, sliding steps and rustling

garments reached the street, borne upon the waves of that soft,

entrancing music which Johannes had already heard from afar. In the

street, close by the windows, stood a few dark figures, whose faces

only--strange and dissimilar--were lighted by the splendor at which they

were gazing so intently.

"That is fine! That is splendid!" cried Johannes. He greatly enjoyed the

sight of the color and light and the many flowers. "What is going on

there? May we go in?"

"Really, do you think this beautiful, too? Or perhaps you would prefer a

rabbit-hole! Just look at the people--laughing, bowing, and glittering!

See how dignified and spruce the men are, and how gay and smart the

ladies. And how devoted they are to the dancing, as though it were the

most important matter in the world."

Johannes thought again of the ball in the rabbit-hole, and he saw a

great deal that reminded him of it. But here everything was grander and

more brilliant. The young ladies in their rich array seemed to him, when

they lifted their long white arms, and turned their heads half aside in

dancing, as beautiful as the elves. The servants moved around

majestically, offering delicious drinks--with respectful bows.

"How splendid! How splendid!" cried Johannes.

"Very pretty, is it not?" said Pluizer. "But you must look a little

farther than just to the end of your nose. You see nothing now, do you,

but lovely, laughing faces? Well, almost all those smiles are false and

affected. Those kindly old ladies at the side there sit like anglers

around a pond; their young girls are the bait, the gentlemen are the

fishes. However well they like to chat together, they enviously begrudge

one another every catch. If one of those young ladies is pleased, it is

because she is dressed more beautifully, or attracts more attention than

the others. And the pleasure of the men chiefly consists in those bare

arms and necks. Behind all those laughing eyes and friendly lips lurks

something quite different. Even those apparently obsequious servants are

far from being respectful. If it suddenly became clear what each one

really thought, the party would soon break up."

And as Pluizer pointed it out to him, Johannes plainly saw the

affectation in faces and gestures; and the vanity, envy, and weariness

which peeped from behind the smiling masks, or suddenly appeared as soon

as they were laid aside.

"Well," said Pluizer, "they must do as they think best. Such people must

amuse themselves, and this is the only way they know."

Johannes felt that some one was standing behind him, and he looked

round. It was the well-known, tall figure. The pale face was whimsically

lighted by the glare, so that the eyes formed large, dark depressions.

He murmured softly to himself, and pointed with a finger into the

lighted palace.

"Look!" said Pluizer. "He is making another selection."

Johannes looked where the finger pointed. He saw the old lady, even as

she was speaking, shut her eyes and put her hand to her head, and the

beautiful young girl stay her slow step, and stare before her with a

slight shiver.

"When?" asked Pluizer of Death.

"That is my affair," said the latter.

"I should like to show Johannes this same company still another time,"

said Pluizer, with a wink and a grin. "May I?"

"To-night?" asked Death.

"Why not?" said Pluizer. "In that place is neither hour nor time. What

now is has always been, and what is to be, already is."

"I cannot go with you," said Death. "I have too much to do; but speak

the name that we both know, and you can find the way without me."

They went on--some distance--through the lonely streets, where the

gas-lights flickered in the night wind, and the dark, cold water rippled

along the sides of the canal. The soft music grew fainter and fainter,

and then died away in the great calm that rested upon the city.

Suddenly there rang out from on high, with full metallic reverberation,

a loud and festive melody.

It dropped straight down from the tall tower upon the sleeping

town--into the sad, overshadowed spirit of Little Johannes. Surprised,

he looked up. The melody of the clock continued, in calm clear tones

which jubilantly rose, and sharply broke the deathly stillness. Those

blithe notes--that festal song--seemed strange to him in the midst of

still sleep and dark sorrow.

"That is the clock," said Pluizer. "It is always just as jolly--year in,

year out. Every hour, it sings the selfsame song, with the same vim and

gusto. In the night time, it sounds jollier than it does in the daytime;

as if the clock were glad it has no need of sleep--that it can always

sing just as happily when thousands are weeping and suffering. But it

sings most merrily whenever any one is dead."

Still again the joyful sound rang out.

"One day, Johannes," continued Pluizer, "in a quiet room behind such a

window as that, a feeble light will be burning--a dim and flickering

light--making the shadows waver on the wall. There will be no sound in

the room save now and then a soft, suppressed sob. A bed will be

standing there, with white curtains, and long shadows in the folds. In

that bed something will be lying--white and still. That will have been

Little Johannes. Then joyously will that selfsame song break out and

loudly and lustily enter the room to celebrate the hour of his decease."

Separated by long intervals, twelve heavy strokes resounded through the

air. Johannes felt at once as if he were in a dream; he no longer

walked, but floated a little way above the street, his hand in

Pluizer's. The houses and lamp-posts sped by in rapid flight. The houses

stood less close together now. They formed broken rows, with dark

mysterious gaps between, where the gas-lamps lighted pits and pools,

rubbish and rafters, in a capricious way. At last came a large gateway

with heavy columns and a high railing. As quick as a wink they were over

it, and down upon some damp grass, near a big heap of sand. Johannes

fancied he was in a garden, for he heard around them the rustling of

trees.

"Now pay attention, Johannes, and then insist, if you can, that I am not

able to do more than Windekind."

Then Pluizer called aloud a short and doleful name which made Johannes

shudder. From all sides, the sound re-echoed in the darkness, and the

wind bore it up whistling and whirling until it died away in the upper

air.

Then Johannes noticed that the grass-blades reached above his head, and

that the small pebble which until now lay at his feet was in front of

his face.

Near him, Pluizer--just as small as himself--grasped the stone with both

hands, and, exerting all his strength, turned it over. Confused cries of

shrill, high-pitched little voices rose up from the cleared ground.

"Hey! Who is doing that? What does that mean? Blockhead!" shouted the

voices.

Johannes saw black objects running hurriedly past one another. He

recognized the brisk black tumble-bug, the shining brown earwig with his

fine pinchers, big humpbacked ants, and snake-like millipedes.

In the middle of them a long earth-worm pulled himself, quick as

lightning, back into his hole.

Pluizer tore impatiently through the raving, scolding crowd up to the

worm-hole.

"Hey, there! you long, naked lout! Come to daylight with your pointed

red nose," he cried.

"What do you want?" asked the worm, out of the depths.

"You must come out because I want to go in. Do you hear? You bald

dirt-eater!"

The worm stretched his pointed head cautiously out of the opening, felt

all around with it a number of times, and then slowly dragged his bare,

ringed body farther toward the surface.

Pluizer looked round at the other creatures that were crowding about him

in their curiosity.

"One of you go before us to light the way. No, Black-beetle, you are too

big; and you, with the thousand feet--you would make me dizzy. Hey,

there, Earwig, I fancy your looks! Come along, and carry the light in

your pincers. Bundle away, Black-beetle, and look around for a

will-o'-the-wisp, or bring a torch of rottenwood."

The creatures, awed by his commanding voice, obeyed him.

Then they went down into the worm-hole--the earwig in front with the

shining wood, then Pluizer, then Johannes. It was a very dark and narrow

passage. Johannes saw the grains of sand dimly lighted by the faint

bluish flicker of the torch. They looked as large as stones--half

polished, and rubbed to a smooth, firm wall by the body of the worm, who

now followed, full of curiosity. Johannes saw behind him its pointed

head--now thrust quickly out in front, and then waiting for the long

part behind to pull up to it.

They went in silence a long way down. When the path became too steep for

Johannes, Pluizer helped him. It seemed as if there never would be an

end; ever new sand-grains, and still the earwig crept on, turning and

bending with the winding of the passage. At last the way widened and the

walls fell apart. The sand-grains were black and wet, forming a vault

above, where the water trickled in glistening streaks, and through which

the roots of trees were stretched like stiffened serpents.

Suddenly, a perpendicular wall--high and black--rose up before Johannes'

sight, cutting off everything in front of him. The earwig turned round.

"Hey, ho! Now it is a question of getting behind that. The worm knows

all about it; he is at home here."

"Come, show us the way!" said Pluizer.

The worm slowly pulled its articulate body up to the black wall, and

touched and tested it. Johannes saw that it was of wood. Here and there

it was decayed into brownish powder. In one of these places the worm

bored through, and with three push-and-pulls the long, supple body

slipped within.

"Now you!" said Pluizer, and he shoved Johannes into the little round

opening. For an instant, the latter thought he should be stifled in the

soft, moist mold; then he felt his head free, and with some trouble he

worked his way completely through. A large space appeared to lie beyond.

The floor was hard and damp--the air thick, and intolerably close.

Johannes dared scarcely to breathe, and waited in mute terror.

He heard Pluizer's voice. It had a hollow ring, as if in a great cellar.

"Here, Johannes, follow me."

He felt the ground rise up before him to a mountain. With the aid of

Pluizer's hand he climbed this, in deepest darkness. He seemed to be

walking over a garment that gave way under his tread. He stumbled over

hollows and hillocks, following Pluizer, who led him to a level spot

where he clung in place by some long stems that bent in his hands like

reeds.

"Here is a good place to stop. A light!" cried Pluizer.

The dim light showed in the distance, rising and falling with its

bearer. The nearer it came and the more its faint glow filled the space,

the more terrible was Johannes' distress.

The mountain he had traveled over was long and white. The reeds to

which he was clinging were brown, and fell below in lustrous rings and

waves.

He recognized the straight form of a human being; and the cold level on

which he stood was the forehead.

Before him, like two deep dark caverns, lay the insunken eyes, and the

blue light shone over the thin nose, and the ashen lips opened in a

rigid, dismal death-grin.

Pluizer gave a shrill laugh, that was immediately stifled by the damp,

wooden walls.

"Is not this a surprise, Johannes?"

The long worm came creeping on between the folds of the shroud; it

pushed itself cautiously up over the chin, and slipped through the rigid

lips into the black mouth-hole.

"This was the beauty of the ball--the one you thought more lovely than

an elf. Then, sweet perfume streamed from her clothes and hair; then her

eyes sparkled, and her lips laughed. Look _now_ at her!"

With all his terror, there was doubt in Johannes' eyes. So soon? Just

now so glorious--and already...?

"Do you not believe me?" sneered Pluizer. "A half-century lies between

then and now. There is neither hour nor time. What once was shall always

be, and what is to be has already been. You cannot conceive of it, but

you must believe it. Here all is truth--all that I show you is

true--true! Windekind could not say that."

And with a grin Pluizer skipped around on the dead face, performing the

most odious antics. He sat on an eyebrow, and lifted up an eyelid by the

long lashes. The eye which Johannes had seen sparkle with joy was

staring in the dim light--a dull and wrinkled white.

"Now--forward!" cried Pluizer. "There happens to be more to see."

The worm appeared, slowly crawling out of the right corner of the mouth;

and the frightful journey was resumed. Not back again, but over new ways

equally long and dreary.

"Now we come to an old one," said the earth-worm, as a black wall again

shut off the way. "This has been here a long time."

It was less horrible than the former one. Johannes only saw a confused

heap, with discolored bones protruding. Hundreds of worms and insects

were silently busy with it. The light alarmed them.

"Where do you come from? Who brings a light here? We have no use for

it!"

And they sped away into the folds and hollows. Yet they recognized a

fellow-being.

"Have you been next door?" the worms inquired. "The wood is hard yet."

The first worm answered, "No!"

"He wants to keep that morsel for himself," said Pluizer softly to

Johannes.

They went farther. Pluizer explained things and pointed out to Johannes

those whom he had known. They came to a misformed face, with staring,

protruding eyes, and thick black lips and cheeks.

"This was a stately gentleman," said he gaily. "You ought to have seen

him--so rich, so purse-proud and conceited. He retains his puffed-up

appearance."

And so it went on. Besides these there were meagre, emaciated forms with

white hair that reflected blue in the feeble light; and little children

with large heads and aged, wizened faces.

"Look! These have grown old since they died," said Pluizer.

They came to a man with a full beard, whose white teeth gleamed between

the drawn lips. In the middle of his forehead was a little round black

hole.

"This one lent Hein a helping hand. Why not a bit more patient? He would

have come here just the same."

And there were still more passages--recent ones--and other straight

forms with rigid, grinning faces, and motionless, folded hands.

"I am going no farther now," said the earwig. "I do not know the way

beyond this."

"Let us turn back," said the worm.

"One more, one more!" cried Pluizer.

So on they marched.

"Everything you see exists," said Pluizer as they proceeded. "It is all

real. One thing only is not real. That is yourself, Johannes. You are

not here, and you _cannot_ be here."

And he burst out laughing as he saw the frightened and vacant look on

Johannes' face at this sally.

"This is the last--actually the last."

"The way stops short here. I will go no farther," said the earwig,

peevishly.

"Well, _I_ mean to go farther," said Pluizer; and where the way ended he

began digging with both hands.

"Help me, Johannes!" Without resistance Johannes sadly obeyed, and began

scooping up the moist, loose earth.

They drudged on in silence until they came to the black wood.

The worm had drawn in its ringed head, and backed out of sight. The

earwig dropped the light and turned away.

"They cannot get in--the wood is too new," said he, retreating.

"I shall!" said Pluizer, and with his crooked fingers he tore long white

cracking splinters out of the wood.

A fearful pressure lay on poor Johannes. Yet he had to do it--he could

not resist.

At last, the dark space was open. Pluizer snatched the light and

scrambled inside.

"Here, here!" he called, and ran toward the other end.

But when Johannes had come as far as the hands, that lay folded upon the

breast, he was forced to stop. He stared at the thin, white fingers,

dimly lighted on the upper side. He recognized them at once. He knew the

form of the fingers and the creases in them, as well as the shape of the

long nails now dark and discolored. He recognized a brown spot on the

forefinger.

They were his own hands.

"Here, here!" called Pluizer from the head. "Look! do you know him?"

Poor Johannes tried to stand up, and go to the light that beckoned him,

but his strength gave way. The little light died into utter darkness,

and he fell senseless.

XII

He had sunk into a deep sleep--to depths where no dreams come.

In slowly rising from those shades to the cool grey morning light, he

passed through dreams, varied and gentle, of former times. He awoke, and

they glided from his spirit like dew-drops from a flower. The expression

of his eyes was calm and mild while they still rested upon the throngs

of lovely images.

Yet, as if shunning the glare of day, he closed his eyes to the light.

He saw again what he had seen the morning before. It seemed to him far

away, and long ago; yet hour by hour there came back the remembrance of

everything--from the dreary dawn to the awful night. He could not

believe that all those horrible things had occurred in a single day; the

beginning of his misery seemed so remote--lost in grey mists.

The sweet dreams faded away, leaving no trace behind. Pluizer shook him,

and the gloomy day began--dull and colorless--the forerunner of many,

many others.

Yet what he had seen the night before on that fearful journey stayed in

his mind. Had it been only a frightful vision?

When he asked Pluizer about it, shyly, the latter looked at him queerly

and scoffingly.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Johannes did not see the leer in his eye, and asked if it had really

happened--he still saw it all so sharp and clear.

"How silly you are, Johannes! Indeed, such things as that can never

happen."

Johannes did not know what to think.

"We will soon put you to work; and then you will ask no more such

foolish questions."

So they went to Doctor Cijfer, who was to help Johannes find what he was

seeking.

While in the crowded street, Pluizer suddenly stood still, and pointed

out to Johannes a man in the throng.

"Do you remember him?" asked Pluizer, bursting into a laugh when

Johannes grew pale and stared at the man in horror.

He had seen him the night before--deep under the ground.

The doctor received them kindly, and imparted his wisdom to Johannes who

listened for hours that day, and for many days thereafter.

The doctor had not yet found what Johannes was seeking; but was very

near it, he said. He would take Johannes as far as he himself had gone,

and then together they would surely find it.

Johannes listened and learned, diligently and patiently, day after day

and month after month. He felt little hope, yet he comprehended that he

must go on, now, as far as possible. He thought it strange that, seeking

the light, the farther he went the darker it grew. Of all he learned,

the beginning was the best; but the deeper he penetrated the duller and

darker it became. He began with plants and animals--with everything

about him--and if he looked a long while at them, they turned to

figures. Everything resolved itself into figures--pages full of them.

Doctor Cijfer thought that fine, and he said the figures brought light

to him;--but it was darkness to Johannes.

Pluizer never left him, and pressed and urged him on, if he grew

disheartened and weary. He spoiled for him every moment of enjoyment or

admiration.

Johannes was amazed and delighted as he studied and saw how exquisitely

the flowers were constructed; how they formed the fruit, and how the

insects unwittingly aided the work.

"That is wonderful," said he. "How exactly everything is calculated, and

deftly, delicately formed!"

"Yes, amazingly formed," said Pluizer. "It is a pity that the greater

part of that deftness and fineness comes to naught. How many flowers

bring forth fruit, and how many seeds grow to be trees?"

"But yet everything seems to be made according to a great plan," said

Johannes. "Look! the bees seek honey for their own use, and do not know

that they are aiding the flowers; and the flowers allure the bees by

their color. It is a plan, and they both unfold it, without knowing it."

"That is fine in sound, but it fails in fact. When the bees get a chance

they bite a hole deep down in the flower, and upset the whole intricate

arrangement. A cunning craftsman that, to let a bee make sport of him!"

And when he came to the study of men and animals--their wonderful

construction--matters went still worse.

In all that looked beautiful to Johannes, or ingenious, Pluizer pointed

out the incompleteness and defects. He showed him the great army of ills

and sorrows that can assail mankind and animals, with preference for the

most loathe-some and most hideous.

"That designer, Johannes, was very cunning, but in everything he made he

forgot something, and man has a busy time trying as far as possible to

patch up those defects. Just look about you! An umbrella, a pair of

spectacles--even clothing and houses--everything is human patchwork. The

design is by no means adhered to. But the designer never considered that

people could have colds, and read books, and do a thousand other things

for which his plan was worthless. He has given his children

swaddling-clothes without reflecting that they would outgrow them. By

this time nearly all men have outgrown their natural outfits. Now they

do everything for themselves, and have absolutely no further concern

with the designer and his scheme. Whatever he has not given them they

saucily and selfishly take; and when it is obviously his will that they

should die, they sometimes, by various devices, evade the end."

"But it is their own fault!" cried Johannes. "Why do they wilfully

withdraw from nature?"

"Oh, stupid Johannes! If a nursemaid lets an innocent child play with

fire, and the child is burned, who is to blame? The ignorant child, or

the maid who knew that the child would burn itself? And who is at fault

if men go astray from nature, in pain and misery? Themselves, or the

All-wise Designer, to whom they are as ignorant children?"

"But they are not ignorant. They know...."

"Johannes, if you say to a child, 'Do not touch that fire; it will

hurt,' and then the child does touch it, because it knows not what pain

is, can you claim freedom from blame, and say, 'The child was not

ignorant?' You knew when you spoke, that it would not heed your warning.

Men are as foolish and stupid as children. Glass is fragile and clay is

soft; yet He who made man, and considered not his folly, is like him who

makes weapons of glass, careless lest they break--or bolts of clay, not

expecting them to bend."

These words fell upon Johannes' soul like drops of liquid fire, and his

heart swelled with a great grief that supplanted the former sorrow, and

often caused him to weep in the still, sleepless hours of the night.

Ah, sleep! sleep! There came a time after long days when sleep was to

him the dearest thing of all. In sleep there was no thinking--no sorrow;

and his dreams always carried him back to the old life. It seemed

delightful to him, as he dreamed of it; yet, by day he could not

remember how things had been. He only knew that the sadness and longing

of earlier times were better than the dull, listless feeling of the

present. Once he had grievously longed for Windekind--once he had

waited, hour after hour, on Robinetta. How delightful that had been!

Robinetta! Was he still longing? The more he learned, the less he

longed--because that feeling, also, was dissected, and Pluizer explained

to him what love really was. Then he was ashamed, and Doctor Cijfer said

that he could not yet reduce it to figures, but that very soon he would

be able to. And thus it grew darker and darker about Little Johannes.

He had a faint feeling of gratitude that he had not recognized Robinetta

on his awful journey with Pluizer.

When he spoke of it, Pluizer said nothing, but laughed slyly; and

Johannes knew that he had not been spared this out of pity.

When Johannes was neither learning nor working, Pluizer made use of the

hours in showing him the people. He took him everywhere; into the

hospitals where lay the sick--long rows of pale, wasted faces, with dull

or suffering expressions. In those great wards a frightful silence

reigned, broken only by coughs and groans. And Pluizer pointed out to

him those who never again would leave those halls. And when, at a fixed

hour, streams of people poured into the place to visit their sick

relations, Pluizer said: "Look! These all know that they too will

sometime enter this gloomy house, to be borne away from it in a black

box."

"How can they ever be cheerful?" thought Johannes.

And Pluizer took him to a tiny upper room, pervaded with a melancholy

twilight, where the distant tones of a piano in a neighboring house

came, dreamily and ceaselessly. There, among the other patients, Pluizer

showed him one who was staring in a stupid way at a narrow sunbeam that

slowly crept along the wall.

"Already he has lain there seven long years," said Pluizer. "He was a

sailor, and has seen the palms of India, the blue seas of Japan, and the

forests of Brazil. During all the long days of those seven long years he

has amused himself with that little sunbeam and the piano-playing. He

cannot ever go away, and may still be here for seven more years."

After this, Johannes' most dreadful dream was of waking in that little

room--in the melancholy twilight--with those far-away sounds, and

nothing ever more to see than the waning and waxing light.

Pluizer took him also into the great cathedrals, and let him listen to

what was being said there. He took him to festivals, to great

ceremonies, and into the heart of many homes. Johannes learned to know

men, and sometimes it happened that he was led to think of his former

life; of the fairy-tales that Windekind had told him, and of his own

adventures. There were men who reminded him of the glow-worm who fancied

he saw his deceased companions in the stars--or of the May-bug who was

one day older than the other, and who had said so much about a calling.

And he heard tales which made him think of Kribblegauw, the hero of the

spiders; or of the eel who did nothing, and yet was fed because a fat

king was most desired. He likened himself to the young May-bug who did

not know what a calling was, and who flew into the light. He felt as if

he also were creeping over the carpet, helpless and maimed, with a

string around his body--a cutting string that Pluizer was pulling and

twitching.

Ah! he would never again find the garden! When would the heavy foot come

and crush him?

Pluizer ridiculed him whenever he spoke of Windekind, and, gradually, he

began to believe that Windekind had never existed.

"But, Pluizer, is there then no little key? Is there nothing at all?"

"Nothing, nothing. Men and figures. _They_ are all real--they exist--no

end of figures!"

"Then you have deceived me, Pluizer! Let me leave off--do not make me

seek any more--let me alone!"

"Have you forgotten what Death said? You were to become a man--a

complete man."

"I will not--it is dreadful!"

"You must--you have made your choice. Just look at Doctor Cijfer. Does

he find it dreadful? Grow to be like him."

It was quite true. Doctor Cijfer always seemed calm and happy. Untiring

and imperturbable, he went his way--studying and instructing, contented

and even-tempered.

"Look at him," said Pluizer. "He sees all, and yet sees nothing. He

looks at men as if he himself were another kind of being who had no

concern about them. He goes amid disease and misery like one

invulnerable, and consorts with Death like one immortal. He longs only

to understand what he sees, and he thinks everything equally good that

comes to him in the way of knowledge. He is satisfied with everything,

as soon as he understands it. You ought to become so, too."

"But I never can."

"That is true, but it is not my fault."

In this hopeless way their discussions always ended. Johannes grew dull

and indifferent, seeking and seeking--what for or why, he no longer

knew. He had become like the many to whom Wistik had spoken.

The winter came, but he scarcely observed it.

One chilly, misty morning, when the snow lay wet and dirty in the

streets, and dripped from trees and roofs, he went with Pluizer to take

his daily walk.

In a city square he met a group of young girls carrying school-books.

They stopped to throw snow at one another--and they laughed and romped.

Their voices rang clearly over the snowy square. Not a footstep was to

be heard, nor the sound of a vehicle--only the tinkling bells of the

horses, or the rattling of a shop door; and the joyful laughing rang

loudly through the stillness.

Johannes saw that one of the girls glanced at him, and then kept looking

back. She had on a black hat, and wore a gay little cloak. He knew her

face very well, but could not think who she was. She nodded to him--and

then again.

"Who is that? I know her."

"That is possible. Her name is Maria. Some call her Robinetta."

"No, that cannot be. She is not like Windekind. She is like any other

girl."

"Ha, ha, ha! She cannot be like _nobody_. But she is what she is. You

have been longing to see her, and now I will take you to her."

"No! I do not want to go. I would rather have seen her dead, like the

others."

And Johannes did not look round again, but hurried on, muttering:

"This is the last! There is nothing--nothing!"

XIII

The clear warm sunlight of an early spring morning streamed over the

great city. Bright rays entered the little room where Johannes lived,

and on the low ceiling there quivered and wavered a great splash of

light, reflected from the water rippling in the moat.

Johannes sat before the window in the sunshine, gazing out over the

town. Its aspect was entirely altered. The grey fog had floated away,

and a lustrous blue vapor enfolded the end of the long street and the

distant towers. The slopes of the slate roofs glistened--silver-white.

All the houses showed clear lines and bright surfaces in the sunlight,

and there was a warm pulsing in the pale blue air. The water seemed

alive. The brown buds of the elm trees were big and glossy, and

clamorous sparrows were fluttering among the branches.

As he gazed at all this, Johannes fell into a strange mood. The sunshine

brought to him a sweet stupor--a blending of real luxury and oblivion.

Dreamily he gazed at the glittering ripples--the swelling elm-tree buds,

and he listened to the chirping of the sparrows. There was gladness in

their notes.

Not in a long time had he felt so susceptible to subtle impressions

--nor so really happy.

This was the old sunshine that he remembered. This was the sun that used

to call him out-of-doors to the garden, where he would lie down on the

warm ground, looking at the grasses and green things in front of him.

There, nestled in the lee of an old wall, he could enjoy at his ease the

light and heat.

It was just right in that light! It gave that safe-at-home feeling--such

as he remembered long ago, in his mother's arms. His mind was full of

memories of former times, but he neither wept for nor desired them. He

sat still and dreamed--wishing only that the sun would continue to

shine.

"What are you moping about there, Johannes?" cried Pluizer. "You know I

do not approve of dreaming."

Johannes raised his pensive eyes, imploringly.

"Let me stay a little longer," said he. "The sun is so good."

"What do you find in the sun?" asked Pluizer. "It is nothing but a big

candle; it does not make a bit of difference whether you are in

candle-light or sunlight. Look! see those shadows and dashes of light on

the street. They are nothing but the varied effect of one little light

that burns steadily--without a flicker. And that light is really a tiny

flame, which shines upon a mere speck of the earth. There, beyond that

blue--above and beneath us--it is dark--cold and dark! It is night

there--now and ever."

But his words had no effect on Johannes. The still warm sunshine

penetrated him, and filled his whole being with light and peace.

Pluizer led him away to the chilly house of Doctor Cijfer. For a little

while the image of the sun hovered before his vision, then slowly faded

away; and by the middle of the day all was dark again.

When the evening came and he passed through the town once more, the air

was sultry and full of the stuffy smells of spring. Everything was

reeking, and he felt oppressed in the narrow streets. But in the open

squares he smelled the grass and the buds of the country beyond; and he

saw the spring in the tranquil little clouds above it all--in the tender

flush of the western sky.

The twilight spread a soft grey mist, full of delicate tints, over the

town. It was quiet everywhere--only a street-organ in the distance was

playing a mournful tune. The buildings seemed black spectres against the

crimson sky--their fantastic pinnacles and chimneys reaching up like

countless arms.

When the sun threw its last rays out over the great town, it seemed to

Johannes that it gave him a kind smile--kind as the smile that forgives

a folly. And the sweet warmth stroked his cheeks, caressingly.

Then a great sadness came into Johannes' heart--so great that he could

go no farther. He took a deep breath, and lifted up his face to the wide

heavens. The spring was calling him, and he heard it. He would

answer--he would go. He was all contrition and love and forgiveness.

He looked up longingly, and tears fell from his sorrowful eyes.

"Come, Johannes! Do not act so oddly--people are looking at you," said

Pluizer.

Long, monotonous rows of houses stretched out on both sides--dark and

gloomy--offensive in the soft spring air, discordant in the springtime

melody.

People sat at their doors and on the stoops to enjoy the season. To

Johannes it was a mockery. The dirty doors stood open, and the musty

rooms within awaited their occupants. In the distance the organ still

prolonged its melancholy tones.

"Oh, if I could only fly away--far away to the dunes and to the sea!"

But he had to return to the high-up little room; and that night he lay

awake.

He could not help thinking of his father and the long walks he had taken

with him, when he followed a dozen steps behind, and his father wrote

letters for him in the sand. He thought of the places under the bushes

where the violets grew, and of the days when he and his father had

searched for them. All night he saw the face of his father--as it was

when he sat beside him evenings by the still lamp-light--watching him,

and listening to the scratching of his pen.

Every morning after this he asked Pluizer to be allowed to go once more

to his home and to his father--to see once again his garden and the

dunes. He noticed now that he had had more love for his father than for

Presto and for his little room, since it was of him that he asked.

"Only tell me how he is, and if he is still angry with me for staying

away so long."

Pluizer shrugged his shoulders. "Even if you knew, how would it help

you?"

Still the spring kept calling him--louder and louder. Every night he

dreamed of the dark green moss on the hillslopes, and of sunbeams

shining through the young and tender, verdure.

"It cannot long stay this way," thought Johannes. "I cannot bear it."

And often when he could not sleep he rose up softly, went to the window,

and looked out at the night. He saw the sleepy, feathery little clouds

drifting slowly over the disk of the moon to float peacefully in a sea

of soft, lustrous light. He thought of the distant dunes--asleep, now,

in the sultry night--how wonderful it must be in the low woods where not

a leaf would be stirring, and where it was full of the fragrance of

moist moss and young birch-sprouts. He fancied he could hear, in the

distance the swelling chorus of the frogs, which hovered so mystically

over the plains; and the song of the only bird which can accompany the

solemn stillness--whose lay begins so soft and plaintive and breaks off

so suddenly, making the silence seem yet deeper. And it all was

calling--calling him. He dropped his head upon his arms on the

window-sill, and sobbed.

"I cannot bear it. I shall die soon if I cannot go."

When Pluizer roused him the following morning, he was still sitting by

the window, where he had fallen asleep with his head on his arm.

The days passed by--grew long and warm--and there came no change. Yet

Johannes did not die, and had to bear his sorrow.

One morning Doctor Cijfer said to him:

"Come with me, Johannes. I have to visit a patient."

Doctor Cijfer was known to be a learned man, and many appealed to him to

ward off sickness and death. Johannes had already accompanied him many

times.

Pluizer was unusually frolicsome this morning. Again and again he stood

on his head, danced and tumbled, and perpetrated all kinds of reckless

tricks. His face wore a constant, mysterious grin, as if he had a

surprise all ready for the springing. Johannes was very much afraid of

him in this humor.

But Doctor Cijfer was as serious as ever.

They went a long way this morning--in a railway train and afoot. They

went farther than at other times, for Johannes had never yet been taken

outside the town.

It was a warm, sunny day. Looking out of the train, Johannes saw the

great green meadows go by, with their long-plumed grass, and grazing

cows. He saw white butterflies fluttering above the flower-decked

ground, where the air was quivering with the heat of the sun.

And, suddenly, he felt a thrill. There lay, outspread, the long and

undulating dunes!

"Now, Johannes!" said Pluizer, with a grin, "now you have your wish, you

see."

Only half believing, Johannes continued to gaze at the dunes. They came

nearer and nearer. The long ditches on both sides seemed to be whirling

around their centre, and the lonely dwellings along the road sped

swiftly past.

Then came some trees--thick-foliaged chestnut trees, bearing great

clusters of red or white flowers--dark, blue-green pines--tall, stately

linden trees.

It was true, then; he was going to see his dunes once more.

The train stopped and then the three went afoot, under the shady

foliage.

Here was the dark-green moss--here were the round spots of sunshine on

the ground--this was the odor of birch-sprouts and pine-needles.

"Is it true? Is it really true?" thought Johannes. "Am I going to be

happy?"

His eyes sparkled, and his heart bounded. He began to believe in his

happiness. He knew these trees, this ground; he had often walked over

this wood-path.

They were alone on the way, yet Johannes felt forced to look round, as

though some one were following them; and he thought he saw between the

oak leaves the dark figure of a man who again and again remained hidden

by the last turn in the path.

Pluizer gave him a cunning, uncanny look. Doctor Cijfer walked with long

strides, looking down at the ground.

The way grew more and more familiar to him--he knew every bush, every

stone. Then suddenly he felt a sharp pang, for he stood before his own

house.

The chestnut tree in front of it spread out its large, hand-shaped

leaves. Up to the very top the glorious white flowers stood out from the

full round masses of foliage.

He heard the sound he knew so well of the opening of the door, and he

breathed the air of his own home. He recognized the hall, the doors,

everything--bit by bit--with a painful feeling of lost familiarity. It

was all a part of his life--his lonely, musing child-life.

He had talked with all these things--with them he had lived in his own

world of thought that he suffered no one to enter. But now he felt

himself cut off from the old house, and dead to it all--its chambers,

halls, and doorways. He felt that this separation was past recall, and

as if he were visiting a churchyard--it was so sad and melancholy.

If only Presto had sprung to meet him it would have been less

dismal--but Presto was certainly away or dead.

Yet where was his father?

He looked back to the open door and the sunny garden outside, and saw

the man who had seemed to be following him, now striding up to the

house. He came nearer and nearer, and seemed to grow larger as he

approached. When he reached the door, a great chill shadow filled the

entrance. Then Johannes recognized the man.

It was deathly still in the house, and they went up the stairs without

speaking. There was one stair that always creaked when stepped

upon--Johannes knew it. And now he heard it creak three times. It

sounded like painful groanings, but under the fourth footstep it was

like a faint sob.

Upstairs Johannes heard a moaning--low and regular as the ticking of a

clock. It was a dismal, torturing sound.

The door of Johannes' room stood open. He threw a frightened glance into

it. The marvelous flower-forms of the hangings looked at him in stupid

surprise. The clock had run down.

They went to the room from which the sounds came. It was his father's

bedroom. The sun shone gaily in upon the closed, green curtains of the

bed. Simon, the cat, sat on the window-sill in the sunshine. An

oppressive smell of wine and camphor pervaded the place, and the low

moaning sounded close at hand.

Johannes heard whispering voices, and carefully guarded footfalls. Then

the green curtains were drawn aside.

He saw his father's face that had so often been in his mind of late. But

it was very different now. The grave, kindly expression was gone and it

looked strained and distressed. It was ashy pale, with deep brown

shadows. The teeth were visible between the parted lips, and the whites

of the eyes under the half-closed eyelids. His head lay sunken in the

pillow, and was lifted a little with the regularity of the moans,

falling each time wearily back again.

Johannes stood by the bed, motionless, and looked with wide, fixed eyes

upon the well-known face. He did not know what he thought--he dared not

move a finger; he dared not clasp those worn old hands lying limp on the

white linen.

Everything around him grew black--the sun and the bright room, the

verdure outdoors, and the blue sky as well--everything that lay behind

him--it grew black, black, dense and impenetrable. And in that night he

could see only the pale face before him, and could think only of the

poor tired head--wearily lifted again and again, with the groan of

anguish.

Directly, there came a change in this regular movement. The moaning

ceased, the eyelids opened feebly, the eyes looked inquiringly around,

and the lips tried to say something.

"Father!" whispered Johannes, trembling, while he looked anxiously into

the seeking eyes. The weary glance rested upon him, and a faint, faint

smile furrowed the hollow cheeks. The thin closed hand was lifted from

the sheet, and made an uncertain movement toward Johannes--then fell

again, powerless.

"Come, come!" said Pluizer. "No scenes here!"

"Step aside, Johannes," said Doctor Cijfer, "we must see what can be

done."

The doctor began his examination, and Johannes left the bed and went to

stand by the window. He looked at the sunny grass and the clear sky, and

at the broad chestnut leaves where the big flies sat--shining blue in

the sunlight. The moaning began again with the same regularity.

A blackbird hopped through the tall grass in the garden--great red and

black butterflies were hovering over the flower-beds, and there reached

Johannes from out the foliage of the tallest trees the soft, coaxing coo

of the wood-doves.

In the room the moaning continued--never ceasing. He had to listen to

it--and it came regularly--as unpreventable as the falling drop that

causes madness. In suspense he waited through each interval, and it

always came again--frightful as the footstep of approaching death.

All out-of-doors was wrapped in warm, mellow sunlight. Everything was

happy and basking in it. The grass-blades thrilled and the leaves sighed

in the sweet warmth. Above the highest tree tops, deep in the abounding

blue, a heron was soaring in peaceful flight.

Johannes could not understand--it was an enigma to him. All was so

confused and dark in his soul. "How can all this be in me at the same

time?" he thought.

"Is this really I? Is that my father--my own father? Mine--Johannes'?"

It was as if he spoke of a stranger. It was all a tale that he had

heard. Some one had told him of Johannes, and of the house where he

lived, and of the father whom he had forsaken, and who was now dying. He

himself was not that one--he had heard about him. It was a sad, sad

story. But it did not concern himself.

But yes--yes--he was that same Johannes!

"I do not understand the case," said Doctor Cijfer, standing up. "It is

a very obscure malady."

Pluizer stepped up to Johannes.

"Are you not going to give it a look, Johannes? It is an interesting

case. The doctor does not know it."

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

think."

But Pluizer went behind him and whispered sharply in his ear, according

to his wont:

"Cannot think! Did you fancy you could not think? There you are wrong.

You must think. You need not be gazing into the green trees nor the blue

sky. That will not help. Windekind is not coming. And the sick man there

is going to die. You must have seen that as well as we. But what do you

think his trouble is?"

"I do not know--I will not know!"

Johannes said nothing more, but listened to the moaning that had a

plaintive and reproachful sound. Doctor Cijfer was writing notes in a

little book. At the head of the bed sat the dark figure that had

followed them. His head was bowed, his long hand extended toward the

sufferer, and his deep-set eyes were fixed upon the clock.

The sharp whispering in his ear began again.

"What makes you look so sad, Johannes? You have your heart's desire now.

There are the dunes, there the sunbeams through the verdure, there the

flitting butterflies and the singing birds. What more do you want? Are

you waiting for Windekind? If he be anywhere, he must be there. Why does

he not come? Would he be afraid of this dark friend at the bedside? Yet

always he was there!"

"Do you not see, Johannes, that it has all been imagination?

"Do you hear that moaning? It sounds lighter than it did a while ago.

You can know that it will soon cease altogether. But what of that? There

must have been a great many such groans while you were running around

outside in the garden among the wild-roses. Why do you stay here crying,

instead of going to the dunes as you used to? Look outside! Flowers and

fragrance and singing everywhere just as if nothing had happened. Why do

you not take part in all that life and gladness?

"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.