XVII
You will be sure to think matters went hard that night, in the rank little room, and that there was a scene between Marjon and Johannes, involving many tears. If so, this time you have made a mistake.
Even before he reached the house, the task had become too difficult for him. When he saw Marjon, with her stolid face, sitting as she probably had been sitting the entire evening – listless and lonely, his own joyful excitement vanished, and with it went the inclination to be outspoken and communicative. He well knew in advance that he should meet with no response nor interest. And what chance would there be of inducing Marjon to give up Keesje for the Pleiades, so long as he could not convey to her even the slightest spark of that ardent admiration for the beautiful and worthy of which he himself had become conscious.
Therefore, he said nothing, and, as Marjon asked no questions, they went calmly and peacefully to sleep. Johannes, however, first lay awake a long time, musing over the splendid worldly conquest he had made, and the distressing difficulties into which it had led him. Marjon would not go with him, that was certain; and ought he to desert her again? Or must he renounce all that beauty – the most beautiful of all things he had found in the world?
You must not suppose, however, that he had such great expectations from what Van Lieverlee had pictured to him. Although looking up with intelligent respect to one so much older than himself, so elegant and superior in appearance, and who professed to be so traveled, well read, and eloquent, Johannes in this instance was clever enough to see that not all was gold that glittered.
But the two dear little girls and their beautiful mother drew him with an irresistible force. If there was anything good and fine in this world, it was here. Should he turn away so long as he could cling to it? Had the supremely good Father ever permitted him to see more beautiful creatures? and should he esteem any faith more holy than faith in the Father of whom Markus had taught him, and who only made himself known through the beauty of his creation?
The following day he found himself no nearer a solution of his difficulties. Marjon still asked no questions, and gave him no opportunity to tell anything.
Keesje sipped his sweetened coffee out of Marjon's saucer with much noisy enjoyment, carefully wiping out what remained with his flat hand, and licking it off, while he kept sending swift glances after more, as calmly and peacefully as if the Pleiades and the higher knowledge had no existence.
How, then, could Johannes now accompany her to their daily work? He did not feel himself in a condition to do so; and, since they had received six marks extra, the day before, he said he was going out to take a walk, alone, in order to think. "Perhaps I may come home with a new poem," said he. But he had slight hope of doing so. He would be so glad if he could find a way out of his difficulties. He went to seek help in the mountains. Was there not there an undefined bit of nature, the same as on the dunes of his native land – beside the sea?
Marjon's pale face wore a really sorrowful look, because he wanted to go without her. Her obstinacy gave way, and she would have liked to question him, but she held herself loftily and said: "Have your fling, but don't get lost."
Johannes went up the mountain path where he had first seen the two little girls. It was a still, beautiful September day – a little misty. Here and there, beneath the underwood, the ferns had become all brown; and the blackberries, wet with dew, were glistening along his way amid their red-bordered leaves. How many spider-webs there were amidst the foliage! There was a solemn stillness over all; but, as Johannes climbed farther up the mountain dell, he heard the constant rushing of water, and in the small mountain meadows – the open places in the woods – he saw many little rivulets glistening in the grass, gurgling and murmuring as they flowed.
Still farther, where the woods were denser and the mountains more lonely, he heard now and then the sound of a fleeing deer; and he saw too a fine roe, with fear-filled eyes and large ears directed toward himself from the forest's edge.
At last he came to a narrow path bordering a small brook. To right and left were dark rocks glistening with moisture and beautifully overgrown with fantastic lichens; and there were little rosette-like clumps of ferns, and exquisite, graceful maiden-hair, gently quivering in the spray of the waterfall. Higher up began the overhanging underwood, and thorny bramble-bushes, while only now and then were there glimpses of the steep mountain sides, with the knotty roots of dense firs and beeches.
There seemed no end to that path. It wound all through the bottom of the ravine, following the brook – sometimes crossing it by a couple of stepping-stones, and thence again continuing to the other bank. And it grew stiller in the mountains. The blue sky above could seldom be seen, and the sunlight sifted only dimly through the leaves of the mountain ash and the hazel tree. Tall digitalis, with its rows of red and yellow bells, looked down upon Johannes out of the shadowy depths of the thicket with venomous regard, as if threatening him.
Where was he? An agitation, half anxious, half delightful, took possession of him. It was like Windekind's wonderland here!
He went on and on, wondering how much farther he could go without there being a change. He grew very tired, and then quite distressed.
Out of the general stillness a vague, indefinable sound now proceeded. At first it seemed to be the throbbing and rushing of his blood, and the heart-beats in his ears; but it was stronger and more distinct – a roaring, with an undertone of melancholy moaning like continuous thunder or ocean surf, constant and regular, and, also, a higher note sounding by fits and starts, like the ringing of bells borne by a high wind.
And listen! A sound loud as the report of a cannon, making the ground tremble!
Johannes ran about in his agitation, looking on all sides. But there was no wind – every leaflet, every blade of grass, was still as death. The sound of water, alone – the rush of water – grew louder!
Then he saw, in front of him, the small cascade which caused the sound. The brook was flowing over the face of a rock, down amid the ferns. The path seemed to come to an end, and lose itself in the darkness.
Behind the waterfall, hidden by the foaming flow as by a veil, was a grotto, and the path entered it.
And now Johannes heard the sounds clearly – as if they were coming out of the earth: the deep resounding, the short intermittent thunderclaps, and the ringing of bells – incessant and regular.
He sat down beside the path much agitated, and panting from his rapid movement, and gazed through the veil of water into the cool, dark grotto. He sat there a long time, listening, hesitating, not knowing whether to venture farther or to turn back.
And slowly – slowly – a great mysterious sadness began to steal over him. He saw, too, that the mists were still rising from the valley, and that a mass of dark grey clouds was silently taking the place of the glad sunlight.
Then he heard near him a slight sound – a soft, sad sighing – a slight, gentle wailing – a helpless sobbing.
And, sitting on the rock next to him he saw his little friend Wistik. He was looking straight at Wistik's little bald head, with its thin grey hair. The poor fellow had taken off his little red cap, and was holding it, with both hands, up to his face. He was sobbing and sniveling into it as if his heart would break, and the tears were trickling down his long, pointed beard to the ground.
"Wistik!" cried Johannes, filled with pity and distress. "What is it, little friend – my good mannikin? What is the matter?"
But Wistik shook his head. He was crying so hard he could not speak.
At last he controlled himself, took his cap wet with tears away from his face, and put it on his head. Then, sobbing and hiccoughing, he slid from his seat, and stepped upon the stone in the brook. With both hands he grasped the sparkling veil of falling water, tore a broad rent in it, turned round his whimpering little face, and silently beckoned Johannes to follow him.
The latter went through the dark fissure while Wistik held the water aside, and reached the interior quite dry. Not a drop fell upon his head. Then they went farther into the cavern, Wistik taking the lead, for he was used to the darkness and knew the way. Johannes followed, holding him by the coat.
It was totally dark, and continued so a long time while they walked on, perceptibly downward, over the smooth, hard way.
The sombre sounds grew louder and louder about them. The echoing, the peals of thunder, the ringing of bells – all these overwhelmed now the babbling of the water.
In the distance the light was shining – a grey twilight, pale as the misty morning. The day shone in, making the wet stones glimmer with a feeble sheen. A tumultuous noise now penetrated the rocky passage, and the screaming and bellowing of the wind-storm greeted the ear.
Soon they were standing outside, in sombre daylight. There was nothing to be seen save a desolate heap of mighty rocks, grizzly and water-stained. No plant – not a blade of grass – was growing in its midst.
Just before them an angry sea was roaring and raving, casting great breakers upon the strand. Once in a while Johannes saw the white foam tossing high. Great, quivering flakes were torn away by the storm, and driven from rock to rock.
Iron-grey clouds, in ragged patches, were chasing along the heavens, transforming themselves as they sped. They scudded close to the boiling sea, and the white foam torn from the mighty breakers seemed almost to touch them. The earth trembled as the waves broke on the rocks, and the wind howled and shrieked and whistled amid the uproar, like the baying of a dog at the moon, or the yell of a man in desperation.
Wherever the dark clouds were torn apart an alarmingly livid night sky was exposed.
Oppressed by the high wind, blinded by the spray, Johannes sought shelter with Wistik in the lee of a rock, and looked away, over the open country.
It appeared to be evening. Over the sea, but at the extreme left, where Johannes had never seen it, the sunlight was visible. For one instant the face of the sun itself could be seen – sad, and red as blood – not far from the horizon. Beneath it, like pillars of glowing brass, the rays of light streamed down to rest upon the sea.
And now and then, on the other side, high up in the ashen sky, appeared the pale face of the moon – deathly pale, hopelessly sad, motionless and resigned – in the midst of the furious troop of clouds.
Johannes looked at his friend in indescribable anguish.
"Wistik, what is this? Where are we? What is happening? —Wistik!"
But Wistik shook his head, lifted up his swollen eyes toward the sky, and, in mute anguish, clenched his fists.
Above the roar of wind and sea could still be heard the deep-toned sound, like the report of cannon or the booming of bells. Johannes looked around. Behind him rose the mountains – black and menacing – their proud, heaven-high heads confronting the rushing swirl of clouds that were piled up, miles high, into a rounded black mass. At times it lightened vividly and then followed a frightful peal of thunder. And when one of the highest peaks was freed from its mantle of mists, Johannes saw that it was afire with a steady, orange-colored glow which grew ever fiercer and whiter.
The tolling of bells came from every direction, as if thousands on thousands of cathedral bells were ringing in unison.
Then Wistik and Johannes took their way inland, clambering over the jagged rocks, clinging to each other in the wild wind. The sea thundered still louder, and the wind whistled as if in utter frenzy – like an imprisoned maniac tugging at his bars.
"It is no use," wailed Wistik. "It is no use. He is dead, dead, dead!"
Then Johannes heard the winds speaking as he had formerly heard the flowers and animals talk.
"He shall live!" shrieked the Wind; "I will not let him die!"
And the Sea spoke: "Them that menace him shall I destroy – his enemies devour. The hills shall I grind to powder, and all animals o'erwhelm."
Then spoke the Mountain: "It is too late. The time is fulfilled. He is dead."
Now Johannes knew what it was the bells were sounding. They cried through all the earth, and the darkened heavens:
"Pan is dead! Pan is dead!"
And the pale Moon spoke softly and plaintively:
"Alas! poor earth! Where now is thy beauty? Now shall we weep – weep – weep!"
Finally, the Sun also spoke: "The Eternal changes not. A new day has come. Be resigned."
And all at once it grew still – perfectly still. The wind went suddenly down. The air was so motionless that the iridescent foam-bubbles floated hither and thither as if uncertain where to alight.
A silence, full of dread, oppressed the whole dreary land.
The waste of waters only, could not so suddenly subside, and still pounded in heavy rollers upon the shore.
But it also grew still and calm – so calm that the sun and the moon were reflected in it, as perfectly as in a mirror.
The thunder was silenced about the volcano, and everything was waiting. But the bells pealed on, loud and clear:
"Pan is dead! Pan is dead!"
And now the clouds formed a dark, fleecy layer above the mountains – soft and black, like mourning crepe. From it there fell perpendicularly a fine rain, as if the heavens were shedding silent tears.
The air was clearer above the sea, and moon and evening star stood bright against a pale, greenish sky. Glowing in a cloudless space, the red sun was nearing the horizon. When Johannes turned away and looked toward the mountains, now veiled in leaden mists, a marvelous double rainbow, with its brilliant colors, was spanning the ashen land.
Out of a deep valley that cleft the mountains like the gash of a sword, and upon whose sides Johannes thought to have seen dark forests, approached a long, slow-moving procession.
Strange, shadowy figures like large night-moths hovered and floated before it, and flew silently like phantoms beside it.
Then came gigantic animals with heavy, cautious tread – elephants with swaying trunks and shuffling hide, their bony heads rolling up and down; rhinoceri, with heads held low, and glittering, ill-natured eyes; snuffling, snorting hippopotami, with their watery, cruel glances; indolent, sullen monsters with flabby-fleshed bodies supported by slim little legs; serpents, large and small, gliding and zig-zagging over the ground like an oncoming flood; herds of deer and antelopes and gazelles – all of them distressed and frightened, and jostling one another; troops of buffaloes and cattle, pushing and thrusting; lions and tigers, now creeping stealthily, then bounding lightly up over the turbulent throng, as fishes, chased from below, spring out of the undulating water; and round about the procession, thousands of birds – some of them with slow, heavy wing-strokes – alighting at times upon the rocks by the wayside; others, incessantly on the wing, circling and swaying, back and forth and up and down; finally, myriads of insects – bees and beetles, flies and moths – like great clouds, grey and white and varicolored, all in ceaseless motion.
And every creature in the throng which could make a sound made lamentation after its own fashion. The loudest was the worried, smothered lowing of the cattle, the howling and barking of the wolves and hyenas, and the shrill, quivering "oolooloo" of the owls.
The whole was one volume of voiced sorrow – an overwhelming cry of woe and lamentation, rising above a continual, sombre humming; and buzzing.
"This is only the vanguard," said Wistik, whose despair had calmed a little at the sight of this lively spectacle. "These are only the animals yet. Now the animal-spirits are coming."
Then, in a great open space respectfully avoided by all the animals, came a group of wonderful figures. All had the shapes of animals, only they were larger and more perfectly formed. They seemed also to be much more proud and sagacious, and they moved not by means of feet and wings, but floated like shadows, while their eyes and heads seemed to emit rays of light, like the sea on a dark night.
"Come up nearer," said Wistik. "They know us."
And it really seemed to Johannes as if the ghosts of the animals greeted them, sadly and solemnly; but only those of the animals known to him in his native land. And what most impressed him was that the largest and most beautiful were not those esteemed most highly by human beings.
"Oh, look! Wistik, are those the butterfly-spirits? How big and handsome they are!"
They were splendid creatures – large as a house – with radiant eyes, and their bodies and wings were clearly marked in brilliant colors. But the wings of all of them were drooping as though with weariness, and they looked at Johannes seriously, silently.
"Are there plant-spirits, too, Wistik?"
"Oh, yes, Johannes, but they are very large and vague and elusive. Look! There they come – floating along."
And Wistik pointed out to him the hurrying, hazy figures that Johannes had first seen in front of the procession.
"Now he is coming! Now he is coming! Oh! Oh! Oh!" wailed Wistik, taking off his cap and beginning to cry again.
Surrounded by throngs of weeping nymphs who were singing a soft and sorrowful dirge – their arms intertwined about one anothers' shoulders – their faded wreaths and long hair dripping with the rain – came the great bier of rude boughs whereon lay Father Pan, hidden beneath ivy and poppies and violets. He was borne by young, brawny-muscled fauns, whose ruddy faces, bowed at their task, were distorted with suppressed sobs. In the rear was a throng of grave centaurs, shuffling mutely along, their heads upon their chests, now and then striking their trunks and flanks with their rough fists, making them sound like drums.
Curled up, as if he intended to stay there, a little squirrel was lying on the hairy breast of Pan. A robin redbreast sat beside his ear, mournfully and patiently coaxing, coaxing incessantly, in the vague hope that he might still hear. But the broad, good-natured face with its kindly smile never stirred.
When Johannes saw that, and recognized his good Father Pan, he burst into tears which he made no effort to restrain.
"Now the monsters are coming," whispered Wistik. "The monsters of the primal world."
Ugh! That was a spectacle to turn one into ice! Dragons, and horrid shapes bigger than ten elephants, with frightful horns and teeth, and armor of spikes; long, powerful necks, having upon them small heads with large, dull eyes and sharp teeth; and pale, grey-green and black, sometimes dark-red or emerald-green, spots on the deeply wrinkled, knotty or shiny skin. All these now went past with awkward jump or trailing body; most of the time mute, but sometimes making a gruff, quickly uttered, far-sounding howl. And then odd creatures like reddish bats, having hooked beaks and curved claws, flashed through the air with their black and yellow wings, chattering and clumsily floundering in their flight.
At last, when the entire multitude had come to the broad, rocky strand, thousands upon thousands of little and big rings were circling over the mirror-like surface of the water, as far as eye could see; swift dolphins sprang in and out of the water, in graceful curves; pointed, dorsal fins of sharks and brown-fish cut the smooth surface swiftly, in straight lines, leaving behind them widely diverging furrows. The mighty heads of shining black whales pushed the water from in front of them, spouting out white streams of vapor with a sound like that of escaping steam.
The sun neared the horizon, the rain ceased falling, and the mists melted away, disclosing other stars. Above the crater of the mountain stretched a dark plume of smoke, and beneath it the fire now glowed calmly, at white heat.
Then all that din of turbulent life grew fainter and fainter, until nothing was audible save a faint sighing and wailing. At last – utter silence.
The bier of Pan was resting upon the seashore, encircled by all the living.
The red rays of the sun lighted up the great corpse, the tree-trunks upon which it rested, and the dark heaps of withered leaves and flowers. But also they shot up the mountain heights, sparkling and flaming in glory there – over the rigid, basaltic rocks.
Wistik stared at the red-reflecting mountain-top, with great, wide-open eyes, and a pale, startled little face, and then cried in a smothered voice:
"Kneel, Johannes, Kneel! She comes! Our holy Mother comes!"
Trembling with awe, Johannes waited expectantly.
He could not begin to comprehend that which he saw. Was it a cloud? a blue-white cloud? But why was it not red, in the glow of that sunset? Was it a glacier? But look! The blue-and-white came falling down like an avalanche of snow. Steel-blue lightning flashed in sharp lines upon the red mountain-side.
Then it seemed to him that the descending vapor was divided. The larger part, and darker – that at the left – was blue, and blue-green; that at the right, a brilliant white.
He saw distinctly now. Two figures were there, in shining, luminous garments; and the light of them was not dimmed by the splendor of that setting sun. Rays of green shone from the garment of the larger, but around the head was an aureole of heavenly blue. The other was clothed in lustrous white.
They were so great – so awful! And they swept from the mountain in an instant of time, as a dove drops from out a tree-top down upon the field!
When they stood beside the bier, Johannes looked into the face of the larger figure, and he felt that it was as near and dear to him as a mother. It was indeed his mother – Mother Earth.
She looked upon the dead, and blessed him. She looked at all the living ones, and mused upon them. Then she looked into the face of the sun ere it disappeared, and smiled.
Turning toward the volcano, she beckoned. The side of the crater burst open with a report like thunder, and a seething stream of lava shot down like lightning.
After that everything was night, and gloom, and darkness to Johannes. He saw the bier on fire – consumed to a pile of burning coals – and the thick, black smoke enveloped him.
But also he saw, last of all, the shining white figure moving beside Mother Earth, irradiating the night and the smoke. He saw Him coming – bending down to him His radiant face until it embraced the entire heavens.
Then he recognized his Guide.