The Quest

"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.