PART III
I
The warm tears for Father Pan were still flowing down his cheeks, when Johannes lifted up his eyes with the consciousness of being awake. That which met his gaze was exactly what he had last seen – the comforting face of his exalted Brother enveloped by a dun swirl of smoke. But now it looked different, or else it was perceived through another sense – like the same story told in another tongue – like the same music played upon an instrument of different timbre: neither finer nor more effective, but simpler and more sober.
He found himself sitting on the slope of a mountain, and saw Markus bending over him. The sun had set, and the valley lay in twilight, yet in the dusk one could see the glow of fiery furnaces – could see tall factory-chimneys out of whose huge throats there rolled great billows of murky smoke, like dirty wool. The whole valley and everything that grew on the mountain-side was smirched with black. A constant humming and buzzing, pounding and resounding, rose up from that city of bare, blackened buildings. At intervals there flared up from the furnace bluish yellow and violet flames, like glowing, streaming pennants. The land looked gloomy and desolate, as if laid waste by lava; yet now and then, as a rotary oven belched out a flood of brilliant sparks, the grey air was lighted up for miles beyond.
"Markus," said Johannes, his heart still heavy with sorrow, "Pan is dead!"
"Pan is dead!" said Markus in return. "But your Brother lives."
"Thank God for that. What brought you here?"
"I am among the miners, Johannes, and the factory operatives. They need me."
"Oh, my Brother! I too need you. I do not know where in the world to go … and Pan is dead!"
Johannes embraced the right arm of Markus, and rested his head against his Brother's shoulder. Thus sitting, he was a long time silent.
He gazed at the clouded valley with its colossal mine-wheel, the black chimneys and ovens, the black, yellow, and blue-white wreaths of vapor, the great iron sheds, and the many-windowed buildings devoid of ornament and color.
All about him he could see the sides of the mountains severed as by great, gaping wounds; the trees prostrate; all nature, with its beautiful verdure, burned to cinders; and the rocks cleft and crushed. Upon the top of the mountain, at the very edge of the chasm – an excavation resembling the hole made by fruit-devouring wasps – several pine-trees were still standing. But these last children of the forest were also soon to fall. And in the distance the echo of explosions reverberated through the mountains, followed by the loud sounds of falling stones, as the rocks were shattered with dynamite.
"Pan is dead!" His beautiful wonderland was being destroyed; and in the new life which was to be founded upon the ruins of the old one, Johannes knew not where to go. He was frightened and bewildered.
But had he not found his Brother again, and for the second time beheld him in a glorified form, clothed in shining raiment? And was he not, even now, in his warm, comforting presence?
The thought of this composed and strengthened Johannes.
"My Brother," he asked, "who killed Pan?"
"No one. His time had come."
"But why, then, was he so sad when I asked him about you?"
"The flower must perish if the fruit is to ripen. A child cries when night comes and it is time to sleep, because he wants to play longer and does not know that rest is better for him. All people who continue to be like children cry about death, which is only a birth and full of joyful anticipations."
"Have Pan and Windekind known you, Brother?"
"No, but they have feared me, as the lesser fears the greater."
"Will your kingdom, then, be more beautiful than theirs?"
"As much more beautiful as the sun is brighter than the moon. But the weak, the frail and timid ones who live in the night-time, will not perceive this, and will fear the glorious sun."
For a long time Johannes thought this over. In the far, smoky valley with its mines and factories, a clock struck – farther away another – in the distance still another. Thereupon followed the shrill screaming of steam-whistles, and the loud clanging of bells, and people could be seen pouring out of the workshops.
"How gloomy!" exclaimed Johannes.
Markus smiled. "The black seed also, in the dark ground, is gloomy, yet it grows to be a glad sunflower."
"Brother," said Johannes, imploringly, "advise me what to do now. The beautiful is of the Father, is it not?"
"Yes, Johannes."
"Then must I not follow after that which is the most beautiful of all I have found in this human world? Do tell me!"
"I only tell you to follow the Father's voice where it seems to call you most clearly."
"And what if I am in doubt?"
"Then you must question, fervently, and, still as a flower, listen with all your heart."
"But if I must act?"
"Then do not for an instant hesitate, but venture in the name of the Father, trusting in your own and His love, which is one and the same."
"Then suppose I make a mistake?"
"You might do that; but if the error is for His sake, He will open your understanding. Only when you fear for your own sake, and forget Him, can you be lost."
"Show me then, Brother, what your way is!"
"Very well, Johannes. Come with me."
Together they descended to the valley. The ground was everywhere black – black with coal and slag and ashes, and the puddles of water were like ink.
From all sides came the sound of heavy footfalls. It seemed as if the black town would empty itself of all its people. Hundreds of men ran hither and thither, all of them with heavy, weary, yet hurried steps. Apparently, they were all running over one another – each one in the others' way – but yet there was no disorder, for each seemed to know where he wished to go.
Most of them looked black – completely begrimed with coal and smoke. Their hats and blouses were shiny with blackish water. Usually they were silent; but now and then they called to one another roughly and to the point, as men do who have spent all their strength, and have none left for talking or jesting.
Several were already leaving the wash-houses, cleansed and in their customary sober garments. Their freshly washed faces looked conspicuously pale in the twilight, amid those of their unwashed comrades; but their eyes bore dark rims that could not be cleaned.
Johannes and Markus went past the mines, the coal pits, and the smelting works, until they came to long rows of little houses where the families of the laborers lived. Thitherward also the people were now streaming. Behind the small windows where wives were waiting with supper, little lights began to twinkle everywhere.
Markus and Johannes entered a large, dreary hall having a low wooden ceiling. In the front part of it two lighted gas-jets were flickering. The rest of the place was in semi-darkness. There were a good many benches, but no one had yet arrived. The walls were bare and besmirched, and upon them were several mottoes and placards.
For a half-hour the two sat there without speaking. A dismal impression of the gloom and ugliness of this abode took possession of Johannes. It was worse than the tedium of the schoolhouse. It seemed more frightful to have to live here than in the wildest and most desolate spot in Pan's dominion. There it was always beautiful and grandiose, though often also terrible. Here all was cramped, uninteresting, bare, and ugly – the horrors of a nightmare, the most frightful Johannes had ever known.
This lasted an hour, and then the great hall gradually filled with laborers. They came sauntering in, somewhat embarrassed, pipes in their mouths, hat or cap on head. At first they remained in the dark background; then, seating themselves here and there upon the benches, they glanced to right and left and backward, occasionally expectorating upon the floor. Their faces looked dull and tired, and the hands of most of them – rough and broad, with black-rimmed nails – hung down open. They talked in an undertone, at times laughing a little. Women also came in with children in their arms. Some were still fresh and young, with a bit of color about their apparel; some, delicate little mothers in a decline, with deformed bodies, sharp noses, pale cheeks, and hollow eyes. Others were coarse vixens, with hard, selfish looks and ways.
The hall filled, and the rows of faces peered through the tobacco smoke, watching and waiting for what was to take place.
A laborer – a large, robust red-bearded man – came forward under the gaslight, and began to speak. He stammered at first, and pushed his right arm through the air as if he were pumping out the words. But gradually he grew more fluent; and the hundreds of faces in the hall followed his attitudes and gestures with breathless interest, until one could see his anger and his laughter reflected as if in a mirror. And when he broke off a sentence with a sharp, explosive inquiry, then the feet began to shuffle and stamp with a noise which sometimes swelled to thunder, in the midst of which could be heard cries of "Yes! Yes!" while laughing faces, and looks full of meaning, were turned hither and thither as if searching for, and evincing, approval.
Johannes did not very well understand what was said. He had, indeed, learned German; but that did not avail him much here, on account of the volubility of the speaker and his use of popular idioms. His attention, too, was given as much to the listeners as to the speaker.
Nevertheless, the great cause which was being agitated grew more and more clear to him.
The speaker's enthusiasm was communicated to his audience, becoming intensified a hundred-fold, until a great wave of emotion swept over all present, Johannes included.
He saw faces grow paler, and observed signs of heightened interest. Eyes began to glisten more and more brightly, and lips were moving involuntarily. Now and then a child began to whimper. But it disturbed no one. On the contrary, the orator appeared to utilize the occurrence for his own purposes. Two tears rolling down the ruddy moustache riveted Johannes' attention, and he heard a quiver in the rough voice as the speaker pointed with both hands toward the wailing infant, in such a way as to remove from the incident all that was comic or annoying.
It was apparent to Johannes that these people suffered an injustice; that they were about to resist; and that this resistance was perilous – yes, very perilous – to the point of involving their lives and their subsistence, and also that of their wives and children.
He could see the evidences of long-suffered injustice, in their passionate looks and eager gestures. He saw breathless fear at the thought of the danger which menaced them and their dear ones if they should offer resistance. He saw the proud glitter in their eyes, and the high-spirited lifting of their heads as the inner struggle was decided, and heroism triumphed over fear. They would fight – they knew it now. The great rising wave of courage and ardor left no irresolute one unmoved. Johannes looked the faces over very carefully, but there was not one upon which he could still read the traces of anxiety and hesitation. One kindled soul illuminated them all, like a mighty fire.
Then Johannes' soul grew ardent, and he too waxed strong at heart; for there began to touch him the first rays of the beauty which lay slumbering beneath that sombre veil of ugliness.
After this speaker there were others, who rose in their places without coming forward. Not one of them hazarded the quenching of the sacred fire. They all spoke of the coming struggle as of an inevitable event. But Johannes, with a sensation that made him clench his fists as if the enemy's hand were already at his throat, now saw a heavy, burly fellow stop, stammering, in the middle of his speech, and begin to sob; not from fear – no! – but from keen anger, on account of suffered scorn and humiliation, and because of the insupportable suspicion that he had been disloyal to his comrades. Johannes guessed the details of that story, even although he did not understand the words. The man had been deceived; and, in a time of deep misery, when his wife was ill, he had been seduced, by promises, from joining his comrades in this struggle.
Johannes was glad to see actions, fine in themselves, proceed from a burst of pure emotion, when the whole earnest assemblage, in one unanimous spirit of generosity, forgave the seeming traitor, and reinstated him in their regard.
And as the workmen were about to take their leave, with the stern yet cheerful earnestness of those who are committed to a righteous struggle, Johannes saw, with great pleasure, that Markus was going to speak. They knew him, and instantly there was absolute silence. There was something in the pleased readiness with which these German miners took their places again to listen – a childlike trust, and a good-natured seriousness – that Johannes had never seen among the Fair-people; no, nor anywhere in his own country.
As Markus spoke German with the careful slowness and the purity of one who did not belong to the land, Johannes understood it all.
"My friends," said Markus, "you have been taught in your schools and churches of a Spirit of Truth, which was to come as the Comforter of mankind.
"Well, then, this which has now taken possession of you, and which has strengthened all your hearts and brightened all your eyes – even this is the Comforter, the Spirit of Truth, the Holy Ghost.
"For Truth and Righteousness are one, and proceed from One. From your cheerful and courageous eyes I see that you know surely, with a full conscience, that it is the truth which has stirred you, and that you are to risk your lives in the cause of justice.
"And that this spirit is a Comforter you will find by experience; that is, if you are loyal.
"But this I now say to you, because you do not know as I know, that truth is like a mountain-path between, two abysses, and that it is more difficult to maintain than the tone of a violin.
"You have suffered injustice; but you have also committed injustice. For the act of oppression is injustice, and it is also injustice to permit oppression.
"You have been taught otherwise, and have been told it is written that injustice will be permitted. But even if this were written, the Spirit of Truth would cause it to be erased. I say to you that whoever practices injustice is an evil-doer, and whoever permits injustice is his accomplice.
"There is a pride which in God's eyes is an honor to a man, and there is also an arrogance which will cause him to stumble and to be crushed.
"The Spirit of Truth says this: 'Acquaint yourselves with your own value, and endure no slight which is hostile to the truth.' But he who overestimates himself will have a fall, and God will not lift him up."
After these powerful and penetrating words, which sounded like a threatening admonition, Markus sat down, resting his head upon his hand. After waiting awhile in silence, the whispering crowd dispersed with shuffling footsteps, without having made a sign of approval or acquiescence.
"May I stay with you, Markus?" asked Johannes, softly, afraid of disturbing his guide. Markus looked up kindly.
"How about your little comrade?" he asked. "Would she not grow uneasy? Come with me. I will show you the way back again."
Together they found the way in the night through the woods to the little resort and the lodging-house. But excepting an exchange of "Good-nights" not another word was spoken. In his great awe of him, Johannes dared not ask Markus how he knew all about his adventures.
II
The next morning, in the dirty little breakfast-room of the lodging-house, there mingled with the usual smell of fresh coffee and stale tobacco smoke the fragrance of wood-violets and of musk; for a pale lavender note, written with blue ink, was awaiting Johannes.
He opened it, and read the following:
Dearly beloved Soul-Brother:
Come to me to-day as soon as you can, upon the wings of our poet-friendship. Countess Dolores went yesterday, with her little daughters, and her servants; but she left something for you which will make you happy, and which I myself will place in your hand.
The following is the first delicate and downy fruit of our union of souls:
HYMEN MYSTICUM
To Little Johannes
In solemn state swim our two souls,
Like night-black, mystic swans.
O'er passion-seas profoundly deep —
Of briny, melancholy tears.
Oh! Thou supremely bitter ocean!
All wingless, bear we with us, thro' the sky's dark courses,
Thy ceaseless, lily-sorrow —
And the fell weight of this sad world's woe.
Entwine with mine thy slender throat, my brother,
That, swooning, we may farther swim,
And with our song the dazzled race amaze.
Let us, in sensuous tenderness,
Like faded lilies intertwine,
With a death-sob of supremest ecstasy.
Would not your friend be able to compose music for this? And I hope soon to know her better.
Your soul's kinsman,
Walter v. L. T. D.
Kurhotel, 8th Sept. (Van Lieverlee tot Endegeest).
Just here, I wish I could say that Johannes immediately let Marjon read both the letter and the verses, and that, with her, he made merry over them. But that, alas! the truth will not permit. And now, for the sake of my small hero, I confess I should be heartily ashamed if I thought that none of you, in reading the above, would be as ingenuous as he was, in regarding the poem with the utmost seriousness – even hesitating, like himself, to doubt its quality, concluding that it must indeed be fine though a little too high for understanding, and, for that very reason, not at first sight so very striking and intelligible.
Are you certain that none of you would have been so stupid as to be deceived by it? Quite certain? Well, then, please do not forget how youthful Johannes still was; and consider, also, the wonderful progress of the age, due, no doubt, to the zealous and untiring efforts of our numerous literary critics.
Johannes did not mention the letter; but when he saw Marjon, he said:
"I saw somebody, yesterday. Can you think who it was?"
Marjon's pale, dull face lighted up suddenly, and she stared at Johannes with fixed, bright eyes.
"Markus!" said she. Johannes nodded assent, and she continued:
"Thank God! I felt it. I heard that the laborers about here were soon to go on a strike, and then I supposed-well – Now everything will be all right again!"
Then she was silent, eating her bread contentedly. A little later, she asked:
"Where are you going? Is it far? What have you agreed to do?"
"I have settled nothing," said Johannes. "But I will go to him with you before long. It is not far." Then, affecting to make light of it, he said: "I have had an invitation to the hotel."
"Gracious!" said Marjon, under her breath. "The deuce is to pay again."
In the park Johannes met Mijnheer van Lieverlee. He stood on the grass in front of a thicket of withered shrubs, gazing at the mountains; and was clad in cream-white flannel, with a bright-purple silk handkerchief in his breast pocket. One hand rested upon his ebony walking-stick; with the other – thumb and forefinger pressed together, and little finger extended – he was making rhythmical movements in the air.
When he saw Johannes, he greeted him with a nod and a wink, as if there were a secret understanding between them.
"Superb! Is it not? Superb!"
Johannes did not exactly know what he meant – the verses he had received, the mountains opposite, or the fine, September morning. He selected the most obvious, and said:
"Yes, sir! Glorious weather!"
Van Lieverlee gave him a keen look, as if uncertain whether or not he was being made sport of, and then leisurely remarked:
"You do not appear to be impressed by the combination of white, mauve, and golden brown."
Johannes thought himself very sensitive to the effect of color; so he felt ashamed of not having noticed the color-composition. He saw it now, fully – the white flannel, the purple pocket-handkerchief, and the faded, yellow-brown shrub. That Van Lieverlee should thus include himself in this symphony of color seemed to him in the highest degree pertinent.
"I was engaged in making a 'pantoem' in harmony with that color-scheme," said Van Lieverlee; and then, seeing the blank look on Johannes' face, he added, "Do you know what a 'pantoem' is?"
"I do not, sir."
"Oh, boy! boy! and you call yourself a poet! What did you receive this morning? Do you know what that is?"
"A sonnet," said Johannes, eagerly.
"Is that so? Did you think it a fine one?"
That was a disquieting question. Johannes was quite at a loss about it; but it seemed that poets were wont to ask such questions, so he overcame what he considered his childishness, and said:
"I think it is splendid!"
"You think so! Well, I know it. There is no need to make a secret of it. I call what is good, good, whether it was I who made it, or somebody else."
That seemed both just and true to Johannes. Now that he was again with Van Lieverlee, and heard him talk in such a grand style, with that easy, fluent enunciation, and those elegant gestures, he found him, on the whole, not bad, but, on the contrary, attractive and admirable. He knew that Marjon would think otherwise; but his confidence in her judgment declined as his confidence in Van Lieverlee augmented.
"Now, Johannes, I have something for you which ought to make you very happy," said Van Lieverlee, at the same time taking from a pretty, red portfolio, that smelled delightfully like Russia leather, a note embellished with a crown and sealed with blue wax. "This was written by Countess Dolores with her own hand, and I know what it contains. Treat it with respect."
Before handing it over to him, Van Lieverlee, with a sweeping flourish, pressed it to his own lips. Johannes felt himself to be a dolt; for he knew it would be an impossibility for him to imitate that.
The note contained a very brief, though cordial, invitation to stay at her home sometime, when she should be with her children, at her country-seat in England. There was, too, within the note, a pretty bit of paper. Johannes had never seen its like. It meant money.
"How kind of her!" he exclaimed rapturously. He felt greatly honored. Immediately, however, his thoughts turned toward Markus – toward Marjon and Keesje. How about them? Something must be done about it; to decline was impossible.
"Well?" said Van Lieverlee. "You do not appear to be half pleased about it. Or do not you believe it yet? It really is not a joke!"
"Oh, no!" said Johannes. "I know it is not … but…"
"Your friend may go with you, you know; or does she not care to?"
"I have not asked her yet," said Johannes, "for, you see, we have … we have finally found him."
"What do you mean? w hat are you talking about? Speak out plainly, boy. You need never keep secrets from me.
"It is no secret, sir," said Johannes, greatly embarrassed.
"Then why are you stuttering so? And why do you say 'sir'? Did I not write you my name? Or do you reject my offer of brotherhood?"
"I will accept it, gladly, but I have still another brother that I think a great deal of. It is he whom we are seeking – my comrade and I. And now we have found him."
"A real, ordinary brother?"
"Oh, no!" said Johannes. And then, after a moment of hesitation, softly, but with emphasis, "It is … Markus… Do you know whom I mean?"
"Markus? Who is Markus?" asked Van Lieverlee, with some impatience, as if completely mystified.
"I do not know who he is," replied Johannes, in a baffled manner. "I hoped that you might know because you are so clever, and have seen so much."
Then he related what had happened to him after he had fallen in with the dark figure, on the way to the city where mankind was – with its sorrows.
Van Lieverlee listened, staring into space at first, with a rather incredulous and impatient countenance, now and then giving Johannes a scrutinizing look. At last he smiled.
Then, slowly and decisively, he said, "It is very clear who he is."
"Who is he?" asked Johannes in breathless expectancy.
"Well, a Mahatma, of course – a member of the sacred brotherhood from Thibet. We will surely introduce him, also, to the Pleiades. He will feel quite at home there."
That sounded very pleasing and reassuring. Was the great enigma about to be solved now, and every trouble smoothed away?
"But," said Johannes, hesitating, "Markus feels really at home only when he is among poor and neglected people – Kermis-folk, and working men. He looks like a laborer, too – almost like a tramp – he is so very poor. I never look at him without wanting to cry. He is very different from you – utterly unlike!"
"That is nothing. That does not signify," said Van Lieverlee, with an impatient toss of his head. "He dissembles."
"Then you, also, think…" said Johannes, hesitating, and resuming with an effort, "You think, Walter, that the poor are downtrodden, and that there is injustice in wealth?"
Van Lieverlee threw back his head, and made a sweeping gesture with his right arm.
"My dear boy, there is no need for you to enlighten me upon that subject. I was a socialist before you began to think. It is very natural for any kind-hearted man to begin with such childish fancies. The poor are imposed upon, and the rich are at fault. Every newsboy, nowadays, knows that. But when one grows somewhat older, and gets to be-hold things from an esoteric standpoint, the matter is not so simple."
"There you are," thought Johannes. "As Markus told it, it was much too simple to be true."
"Do not forget," resumed Van Lieverlee, "that we all come into the world with an individual Karma. Nothing can alter it. Each one must bring with him his past, and either expiate or else enjoy it. We all receive an appointed task which we are obliged to perform. The poor and downtrodden must attribute their sad fate to the inevitable outcome of former deeds; and the trials they endure are the best medium for their purification and absolution. There are others, on the contrary, who behold their course in life more clear and smooth because their hardest struggles lie behind them. I really sympathize deeply with the unhappy proletarian; but I do not on that account venture to lower myself to his pitiful condition. The Powers hold him there, and me here – each at his post. He still needs material misery to make him wiser. I need it no longer, because I have learned enough in former incarnations. My task, instead, is the elevation, refinement, and preservation of the beautiful. Therefore I am assigned to a more privileged position. I am a watch-man in the high domain of Art. This must be kept pure and undefiled in the great, miry medley of coarse, rude, and apathetic people who compose the greater part of mankind. This cultivation of the beautiful is my sacred duty. To it I must devote myself in all possible ways, and for all time. The beautiful! The beautiful! in its highest refinement – sleeping or waking – in voice, in movement, in food, and in clothing! That is my existence, and to it I must subordinate everything else."
This oration Van Lieverlee delivered with great emphasis while slowly moving forward over the short, smooth grass, accompanying the cadences of the well-chosen sentences with wide time-beats of the ebony walking-stick.
Johannes was convinced – to such a degree that he perceived in it naught else than the complement and completion of that which Markus, up to the present, had taught him.
Yes, he might go to his children now. He was sure of it. Markus would approve.
"I wish that Marjon might hear you – just once," said he.
"Marjon? Is that your comrade? Then why does he not come? Bless me! It was a girl, though, truly! What are you to each other?"
Van Lieverlee stopped, and, stroking his small, flaxen beard gave Johannes another keen look.
"Do you not really think, Johannes," he proceeded, with significant glances, and in a judicial tone, "do you not think … h'm … to put it mildly, that you are rather free and easy?"
"What do you mean?" asked Johannes, looking straight at him, unsuspiciously.
"You are a sly little customer, and you know remarkably well how to conduct yourself; but there is not a bit of need for your troubling yourself about me. I am not one of the narrow-minded, every-day sort of people. Such things are nothing to me – no more than a dry leaf. I only wish you to bear in mind the difficulties. We must not expose our esoteric position. There are too many who understand nothing about it, and would get us into all kinds of difficulties. Countess Dolores, for example, is still very backward in that respect."
Johannes understood next to nothing of this harangue, but he was afraid of being taken for a fool if he let it be evident. So he ventured the remark:
"I will do my best."
Van Lieverlee burst out laughing, and Johannes laughed with him, pleased that he appeared to have said something smart. Thereupon he took his leave, and went to look up Marjon, that they might go to the city of the miners.