The Quest

In the small hours, he had just fallen asleep – probably for only a few minutes – when he awoke again with the feeling that his room was full, but with what kind of company – human beings or other creatures – he could not tell. He did not see them; for just in the place where he was looking there was no one, and where he wanted to look, he could not. He seemed to be prevented from doing so by a strange power.

He heard a laugh, and the sound was very familiar to him. It was a dismal, old-time memory. It was Pluizer's laugh.

Could Pluizer be in the room?

Johannes tried his best to look at the spot whence the sound came. Exerting himself, he saw something at last – not an entire figure, but hands only – two, four, six little hands, busily doing something. Higher up, to what was above the hands, he could not look – but that they were the hands of Pluizer he was quite positive.

There was something in those hands – a white band – and the little hands were very busy tying all kinds of knots in it. And all the while there was continuous laughing and snickering, as if it was great fun.

What could that mean? Johannes felt that something menaced. The play of those little hands portended danger. Most plainly of all he saw the white band – a common, white tape.

Then the hands went out of the room, and Johannes was forced to follow them. In another room – that of Heléne's nurse – there they were, as busy as ever, this time with a pair of scissors. The scissors had fallen upon the floor close to a toilet-table. One point having stuck through the carpet into the floor, there they stood – erect. The invisible one was laughing again – giggling and snickering – and all six little hands were pointing at the scissors.

A light was burning in Heléne's room, but the poor, sick girl was not now complaining. All was quiet there. The door opened, and the nurse came out, leaving it open behind her. The nurse went to her own room to look for something. She was a long time searching, but could not find it. Surely it was the scissors.

All this time they were sticking by one point, in the carpet behind the toilet-table, and the six little hands were pointing at them. But the seeker apparently neither saw the hands nor heard the laughter.

Johannes could not help her. He had to follow the hands. He still heard giggling and snickering, and saw the little hands go away – downstairs, through the hall, outside.

Save for the shining of the stars – sharp and clear in the black sky – it was still very dark out-of-doors.

On the terrace, there was visible to Johannes, a tall, dark figure. He could look at it better than at the sneering ones. He recognized it, instantly. It was He with whom he had traveled by sea.

The dark figure now took the lead with slow, firm strides. Pluizer went next, but in between these two there was a third.

It was quite impossible for Johannes to look at that third one. When he tried to look, he felt an indescribable agony.

That third one! Yes, he certainly knew it well. It wasit! Do you understand? The It which lies in wait around the corner, outside the door, while you dream of being alone in a dark room, vainly trying to call for help.

It, the most frightful object! – so frightful that no one can either look at or describe it.

These three now passed down the dark avenue of the park until they came to the black pool lying deathly still and calmly expectant – shining beneath the starlight.

There the three sat down and waited.

It was still as still could be. Not a leaf rustled.

The star-tips on the water were as sharply defined as points of light upon fathomless darkness.

"Prettily planned; don't you think so?" said Pluizer.

It grumbled, sneeringly.

Thereupon good Death, in a soft, restful voice, said: "Yet all is for the best!"

Then again they sat very still. Johannes waited with them for he could not do otherwise.

The sound of a door was heard in the still night air, and a white figure drew near, with light, swift steps. By the faint starlight Johannes saw the slender girl in a white night-dress, her black hair flowing loose.

For an instant she stood still at the edge of the pool. Johannes could see her eyes shining with both terror and joy, like those of one pursued who sees escape. He tried to call or to move, but could do neither.

Then the girl waded into the water with her arms extended as if to embrace it. She went cautiously, so that the water neither plashed nor spattered; only, the star-points were broken up and became long stripes, and serpentine lines of light. These, after the white garment could be seen no more, still continued – dancing up and down with the ripples.

"We have her!" sneered Pluizer.

"That remains to be seen," said good Death.

At once, Johannes found himself awake, in his own bed. He had been wakened by noises, cries of anguished voices, hasty runnings hither and thither through the hallways of the house, and by the opening and shutting of doors.

"Heléne! Heléne!" rang through the halls, in the garden, in the park. "Heléne! Heléne!"

Johannes dressed himself, not overhastily, for he knew it was too late.

The members of the household were already gathered in the large vestibule. The poor nurse, with a startled face of deathly pallor, came in from the garden.

"I cannot find her anywhere," she cried. "It is my fault – my fault!"

She sat down and began to sob.

"Come, dear," said the countess, in her tranquil voice, "do not reproach yourself. She may be back again in no time; or perhaps the servants will find her in the town."

"No, no," shrieked the poor nurse. "She has long wanted to do it, and I knew it. I never left her door unfastened. But this time I only thought to be gone two seconds. She had knotted a tape into a tangle, and I wanted to get my scissors. But I could not find them … and then… O God! How could I be so stupid! I can never forgive myself. Oh, my God, my God!"

Could not Johannes have run quickly to the pool, and told what he knew? No, for he also knew, quite as surely, that it was too late. And before he could have done it, the men came to say she had been found. He saw her borne into the house, wrapped in a checked bed-cover.

And when he saw them making vain endeavors to resuscitate her he remarked that he feared it would do no good. And he added, "Indeed, I don't fear – but I hope so."

"For her sake," said the countess.

"Surely for her sake," repeated Johannes, in some surprise.

Van Lieverlee had not appeared. But when the corpse of the beautiful girl had been placed upon her death-bed, her slender hands crossed upon her breast, her hair – still moist – laid in heavy braids about the delicate, sallow little face, the dark lashes nearly closed over the sightless eyes, white lilies and snowdrops all around, then Van Lieverlee came to see.

"Look," said he to Johannes, "this is very pretty. I would not have cared to see her taken from the water. A drowned person is nearly always an ugly spectacle. Even the most beautiful girl becomes repulsive and clownlike when being dragged out of the water by leg or arm, with face and hair all duck-weed and mud. But this is worth while. Mind, Johannes, genuine artists are always lucky. They come across the beautiful, everywhere. Such an event as this is, for a poet, a rare bit of good luck."

The next day he was deep in the making of poetry. But Johannes was in a restless, introverted mood, and could find no words for what distressed him.

VIII

A few days later, the two guests were sitting with their hostess at the afternoon-tea table.

"Is it not a frightful thought," said Countess Dolores, "that the poor girl cannot yet have rest, but must do penance for her sinful deed?"

"I cannot believe it," said Johannes.

"But yet it was a sin."

"I would certainly forgive her."

"By which we perceive, Dolores," broke in Van Lieverlee, "that Johannes is much more kind-hearted than his beloved Lord."

"But why, Johannes, can you not assure us about that of which I have so often asked?" said the countess again. "Can you not put yourself into communication with her?"

"No, Mevrouw," replied Johannes.

"But your Mahatma, Johannes!" said Van Lieverlee. "He can do it all right. It is child's play for him."

"Of whom are you speaking?" asked the hostess, looking with quickened interest at Van Lieverlee.

"Of his Mahatma. Has he never told you about his Mahatma?"

"Not a word," said the countess, a little pettishly, while Johannes maintained a mortified silence.

"Well, Johannes knows a sage – a Yogi – a great Magician. He saw him come ashore from over the North Sea – which phenomenon might be termed levitation – and this Magician traveled with him in disguise."

"But, Johannes, why have you never told me that? It was not kind of you. You knew how much I have longed for the advice of such a person."

Johannes knew very little to tell. That question exactly concerned what was most perplexing and distressing to him in this situation.

Something there was that always restrained him from speaking of Markus – yes, even the thought of him was baffling. And yet how much he longed for him! But he felt that that longing was opposed to the other longings which held him where he was.

"I believe," he said at last, timidly, "that he does not like it when I talk about him."

"Of course," said Van Lieverlee, "but only in the case of the uninitiated – the common herd."

"Do you count me in with them?" asked his hostess in her most engaging manner.

"No, oo!" protested Johannes, with great earnestness. "But neither do I know where he is."

"He well knows, however, where we are," said Van Lieverlee, "and if we desire to see him, he will come to us."

"He surely will not come here," said Johannes.

"Why not?"

Johannes could not explain why, but the countess said:

"Then we will go to Holland and have him come to our club."

That gave Johannes a thrill of joy. But ah! he realized at the same time how cold and unresponsive he had become to the beautiful which had brought him thither. The two children were indeed just as captivating, but they did not give him the same happiness as before. And he began gradually to dislike Van Lieverlee.

In Holland, Countess Dolores dwelt in a villa between a large town and the ocean. And when Johannes was there again, and, though knowing better, was expecting to re-see his beloved dunes, then, for the first time, he felt convinced that Pan was indeed dead, and Windekind's kingdom at an end.

Civilization had conquered the dunes. Long, straight, barren streets led out to them, and house after house, all exactly alike – as tedious as they were ugly – lined the comfortless way. Sand drifted through the dreary, brick-paved streets, and shavings, bits of tin, and great pieces of tattered wall-paper were strewn about the intervening spaces. Buildings were being put up everywhere. Of the beauty and mystery of the dunes there was nothing left – only dismal, dust-littered heaps of sand.

The ocean also was spoiled for Johannes, for here there were great crowds of people, come for the sake of society, or else for the music. And even when they were gone there still remained the ugly buildings they had erected.

Countess Dolores seemed indeed to share Johannes' aversion and disappointment. Not so Van Lieverlee. Here he was in his element – dressing himself most gorgeously, making visits, and attending the principal clubs, restaurants, and concerts.

"Romance is dead, my friend," said he. "You must have life– Life with a capital letter. Life is Passion. Art is Passion. Life is Art – rude, real life – one day gloriously luxurious, the next day coarse and loathsome. You must not dream of the past, Johannes, but live in the present. And you must experience everything, take a part in and enjoy everything, and despise everything. You must lead life by the nose – seize it by the throat and force it to do your bidding. Get tipsy with life – spew it out of your mouth – strike it flat to earth – sling it at the clouds – play upon it as upon a violin – stick it in your buttonhole, like a gardenia – roll with it in the gutter, and consort with it in orgies of supremest passion. Study it in its hideous nakedness and vileness, and subjugate it to your dearest dreams of blood and gold."

This oration was delivered in the evening after Van Lieverlee had dined with his friends. Later, Johannes observed that Van Lieverlee liked best to study the hideous phases of life from a safe distance, and to choose for himself the easy and pleasant ones.

Visitors from very respectable circles came to Dolores' villa; and already, at the receptions preceding the seances of the Pleiades, Johannes had met the members of that "ideal community of ideals in common."

There were, of course, besides the countess and Van Lieverlee, only five others; and when Johannes hesitated to add to this number of seven, he was assured that the Constellation was composed of eight visible stars, besides a great many others not visible to the naked eye.

The leader was a General with a gold-embroidered collar and a grey, closely-cut beard. He had a powerful, commanding voice, and spoke with great respect of the present dynasty. Johannes wondered that he could think of anything other than cannon and battles; but it appeared that he had a very gentle heart, and was extraordinarily curious concerning the immaterial and the life on the other side of the grave.

He even seemed to be conscious that his blood-thirsty trade did not tally with his philosophical researches, and therefore preferred that no one should know he belonged to this ideal community – a weakness common to all the members of the Pleiades.

Then there were a senator and his wife – both of them very courtly and fashionable persons. The husband had exquisitely cut grey hair, and a handsome white beard, small hands, and thin legs. The wife, who was an invalid, had a languishing voice, a discontented face, and a manner that became earnest and excited as soon as things were mentioned of highest import to the society.

Then there was Professor Bommeldoos – an impressive man, who certainly would have been chosen as leader had it not been known that at heart he scorned and condemned such researches. He took part only at the urgent request of the countess, to whose beauty he was not insensible, for as a representative of pure science she desired him to be present. Professor Bommeldoos was awfully learned – his Greek was as fluent as water, and he had, so to speak, every conceivable system of philosophy under his thumb. He was so much taken up with himself that he paid no attention to any reply he might have received to his discourse. He thought only of his own words, and if he did not receive instant assent, or if some one, with a bow, wished to differ from him, he turned himself about, and declared the hearer to be an ignoramus.

These bad manners, however, were the exception among the well-bred Pleiades; but they were endured as being a necessary attribute of his great erudition.

The seventh, and last, was an Honorable Lady, no longer young. She was of noble birth, fat, unattractive, and as ignorant as Professor Bommeldoos was learned. Every one of her observations was crushed by him, with cold disdain, under some obscure quotation or other. Whereupon the Honorable Lady, smiling insipidly, became silent, but with a face which seemed to say that she was by no means convinced.

Johannes waited in great suspense for the first seance, above all because of the possibility that Markus would perceive his longings, and, as Van Lieverlee surmised, suddenly appear.

The members of the society gathered just as if they had no other thought than to make a casual evening visit. The Privy Counselor, who bore a threefold name, and whom therefore I shall call simply the Privy Counselor, chatted with the fat Honorable Lady about the climate on the Riviera, along which he had been traveling with his wife, for her health's sake, and whence he had brought her back home more ill than when she left. The General chatted on about the early shell-peas, while Van Lieverlee talked softly in French to the countess, to the silent distraction of Johannes. No one appeared to care to know the object of their meeting.

But this dissimulation was rudely shaken by Professor Bommeldoos, who, having scarcely entered, burst out in his frightful voice:

"Come, followers of Allan Kardec! Where is the keeper of the door – he who shall unlock for us that portal through which we may step from the kingdom of the three dimensions into that of the fourth dimension?"

Thereupon he looked searchingly into the faces of those present. They smiled in a rather embarrassed way, and glanced at the General. After a good, thorough clearing of his throat, the General said:

"If you refer to our medium, Professor, there is none yet; but we should – ah … can – ah … begin to form the circle, in order to prepare ourselves, in some degree, for…"

During oppressive silence, a round, marble-topped table was drawn by the gentlemen into the middle of the room. The assistance of the servants was not desired.

"Look! See what a crack was made in it the other time," whispered the Honorable Lady, "when it rose completely up into the air, you know. We could not possibly hold it down."

"Ought not the light to be put out?" asked the Professor, who had not yet attended a seance.

"No, no," said the General. "A little lower – just a little lower."

"Very well! H'm – h'm!" muttered Bommeldoos.

"The Professor must not counteract with his irony," said the countess, pleasantly.

"Mevrouw," declaimed the Professor, solemnly, "in the researches of a philosopher nothing is trifling, nothing is ridiculous. He stands for all phenomena like an unbroken mirror. Darwin had the contrabass played to an audience of sprouting garden-beans, in order to observe the effect of music on vegetation. And if you have read my book about Plotinus…"

"Pardon, Professor, I have not."

"What! Then the one about the material basis of ideas?" "Nor that."

"Then you certainly must read my book upon Magic. Do not forget it, or I will not come the next time. Plotinus says…"

Here followed a quotation in Greek that I will spare you, but which was listened to with respect. Then the Honorable Lady chimed in with:

"Shall we not sing something? It puts one in such a good frame of mind."

They all agreed with her, but no one wanted to begin. The General seated himself mettlesomely at the table, and spread out his hands on the top of it.

With simulated unconcern, one after another followed him. At last, Johannes also was invited to take part.

"Is the young gentleman a novice in psychical fields?" asked the Privy Counselor, condescendingly.

"My friend Johannes ought to have strong mediumistic powers. I hope that those present will not object…" said the countess.

"Not at all, not at all," said the General. "In this research we are all as ignorant as children."

"I do not in the least agree with you, there, General," blustered Bommeldoos. "Have you read all the writings of Phillipus Aureolus Paracelsus Theophrastus Bombastus ab Hohenheim, born in 1493, died in 1541?"

"I have not, Professor," replied the warrior, meekly.

"Well, I have, and it was not child's work. Magic is a subdivision – and only a small subdivision – of philosophy. In my library I have a hundred and seventy-five volumes, all that subdivision – all of them on magical subjects, from Apollonius Tyannæus to Swedenborg, Hellenbach, and Du Prell. Do you call that childish ignorance?"

"'Suffer the little children to come unto me,'" said the fat Honorable Lady, improving the opportunity to make a quotation, also.

"I am not going to drive them away," said Bommeldoos, "if only they do not imagine they know as much as I do."

Johannes did not at all imagine that, and, hands upon the marble top of the table, he waited very patiently for the manifestations. They sat a considerable time, however, without anything unusual having happened. Van Lieverlee said to the countess, softly yet quite distinctly: "Neither are those magical powers of Johannes very unusual."

Then came the medium – a demure young woman of the middle class, who made deep courtesies to right and left, and appeared not to feel quite at home in this dignified society.

She had scarcely seated herself at the table, before the wife of the Privy Counselor cried out in a shrill voice: "I feel it already. There it goes!"

"Yes, a genuine shock," declared the Honorable Lady, in an excited tone.

"Be calm," commanded the General.

The table began turning and tilting, and now the questions were plied. The first spirit to put in an appearance gave general advice about reading the Bible, and about faithful attendance at church. This advice seemed to make a deep impression on the circle. Asked his name, the spirit replied, "Moses." This gave Professor Bommeldoos the opportunity to inquire if Moses himself had written the Pentateuch. "Yes": was the reply. But when the Professor queried him in Hebrew, Moses said that the medium needed a brief rest; and after that rest he left it to some one else to make reply. In succession followed Homer and Cicero, who both lamented that they had not known the true faith; and after them Napoleon, who evinced great sorrow for the amount of blood he had caused to be shed. One could see that this gave the General food for reflection.

But, save that all these people urged, in the main, the practice of purity and piety, it was unanimously demonstrated that Johannes and the countess were the ones from whose co-operation the greatest results were to be expected. They would have to study up these matters, and apply themselves to automatic writing.

Then Johannes had to sit beside the countess and hold her hand, and thus, together, write down the communications of the spirits. This was a bitter-sweet experience for Johannes. Would Markus come now?

But Markus did not come, nor any news of poor Heléne, nor of her father.

Yet a spirit disclosed itself who treated this ideal society in a very impolite, bearish manner. He called himself Thomas, and would not reply when Bommeldoos asked him if he was Thomas the Apostle, or Thomas Aquinas, or Thomas à Kempis, or Thomas Morus.

"Do you know us?" asked the Privy Counselor.

"Yes, you are heathen and malefactors."

"Will you help us?"

"Confess, pray, and do penance," said Thomas.

"Will you tell us something of the hereafter?" asked Countess Dolores, paling somewhat.

"Hell, if you go on this way," said Thomas.

"Then what must I do?" asked Dolores, almost trembling.

"Be converted," was the reply.

"That is all well and good," said Bommeldoos, "but I know at least twelve religions, and twice as many systems of philosophy. To which of them must we be converted?"

"Be still, you heretic," was the parting shot.

Such treatment as that was a bit too much for the learned Professor, and he declared he had had enough of it, and could better employ his time.

The society was of one mind – that the manifestations this evening had not been propitious. The medium ascribed this to her own indisposition. She had suffered the entire day with a headache, and, moreover, there were – she was certain of it – unfavorable influences present. Saying this, she cast a reproachful glance at the Professor.

"Oh, it was much more lively the last time," said the Honorable Lady. "Was it not truly extraordinary, General?"

"Phenomena cannot be forced," replied the General. "One has to practise patience. We would better stop, for the present."

So the session ended, and after the medium, with many obsequious airs, had taken her leave, they partook of a delicious supper.

Johannes retained his place beside the hostess, and the remembrance of the soft, warm hand that he had been able to hold in his own for so long a time made him very happy. He was not disappointed. Oh, no, he was elated – his excellent friend was so nice, so good, and so kind to him.

A new Dutch waitress in black and wearing a snow-white cap with long strings was in attendance. Johannes paid no attention to her, but noticed that Van Lieverlee looked at her repeatedly.