"What can you find in the sun?" said Pluizer. "It is nothing, after all, but a big candle--sunlight or candlelight, it is all the same in the end. Look at the patches of light and shadow in the street--they are nothing more than the effect of a light which burns steadily and does not nicker. And that light is really quite a small flame shining on a quite small speck of the universe. Out there, beyond the blue, above and beneath, it is dark,--cold and dark! It is night there, now and always."
But his words had no effect on Johannes. The calm warm sunbeams had penetrated him, bathed his whole soul--he was full of light and peace.
Pluizer carried him off to Doctor Cypher"s cold house. For some time yet the sunny images floated before his brain; then they slowly faded away, and by the middle of the day all was dark again within him.
But when evening came he made his way through the town once more, the air was soft and full of the vapourous odours of the past. Only the fragrance was ten times stronger, and oppressed him in the narrow streets. But as he crossed the open square he smelt the gra.s.s and leaves from the country beyond. And overhead he saw the spring in the tranquil little clouds and the tender rose of the western sky. The twilight shed a soft grey mist, full of delicate tints, over the town. The streets were quiet, only a grinding organ in the distance played a love-sick tune; the houses stood out black against the crimson heavens, their fantastic pinnacles and chimneys stretching up like numberless arms.
To Johannes it was as though the sun were giving him a kind smile as he shed his last beams over the great city--kind, like the smile which seals a pardon. And the warmth stroked Johannes"s cheek with a caress.
Deep tenderness came over his soul, so great that he could walk no farther, but lifted up his face to the wide heavens with a deep sigh.
The Spring was calling to him and he heard it. He longed to answer--to go. His heart was full of repentance and love and forgiveness. He gazed up with longing tears flowing from his sad eyes.
"Come, Johannes! do not behave so strangely; people are staring at you!"
cried Pluizer.
The long monotonous rows of houses stretched away on each side, gloomy and repulsive--an offence in the soft atmosphere, a discord in the voices of the Spring.
The folk were sitting at their doors and on the steps, to enjoy the warmth. To Johannes this was a mockery. The squalid doors stood open and the stuffy rooms within awaited their inhabitants. The organ was still grinding out its melancholy tune in the distance.
"Oh, if I could but fly away--far away! To the sand-hills and the sea!"
But he must needs go home to the little garret room; and that night he could not sleep.
He could not help thinking of his father, and of the long walks he had been used to take with him, when he trotted ten yards behind, or his father traced letters for him in the sand. He thought of the spots where the violets grew under the brushwood, and of the days when he and his father had hunted for them. All the night he saw his father"s face just as he had seen him in the evenings when he sat by his side in the silence and lamplight, watching him and listening to the scratching of his pen.
Every morning now he asked Pluizer when he might once more go home to his father, and see the garden and the sand-hills again. And he perceived now that he had loved his father more than Presto, or his little room, for it was of him that he asked--
"Tell me how he is, and if he is not angry with me for staying away so long."
Pluizer shrugged his shoulders. "Even if I could tell you, what good would it do you?"
But the spring still called him, louder and louder. Night after night he dreamed of the dark green moss and the downs, and the sunbeams falling through the fine, fresh verdure.
"I can bear it no longer," thought Johannes. "I cannot stay."
And as he could not sleep he softly got out of bed, went to the window, and looked out on the night. He saw the drowsy, fleecy clouds slowly sailing beneath the full moon, peacefully floating in a sea of pale light. He thought of the downs far away, sleeping through the warm night; how beautiful it must be in the low woods where none of the baby leaves would be stirring, and where the air was smelling of damp moss and young birch sprouts! He fancied he could hear the rising chorus of frogs, sounding mysteriously from afar over the meadows, and the pipe of the only bird which accompanies the solemn stillness--which begins its song with such soft lament and breaks off so suddenly that the silence seems more still than before. And it called to him--everything called to him. He bowed his head on the window-sill and sobbed in his sleeve.
"I cannot, I cannot bear it! I shall die soon, if I do not get away!"
When Pluizer came to call him next day he was still sitting by the window, where he had fallen asleep with his head on his arm.
The days went by, longer and warmer, and still there was no change. But Johannes did not die, and had to bear his troubles.
One morning Doctor Cypher said to him--
"Come with me, Johannes; I have to visit a sick man."
Doctor Cypher was well known as a learned man, and many appealed to him for help against disease and death. Johannes had already gone with him on such errands now and then. Pluizer was unusually cheerful that morning. He would at times stand on his head, dance and leap, and play all sorts of impudent tricks. He wore a constant mysterious grin, as though he had a surprise in store for some one. Johannes dreaded him most in this mood.
Doctor Cypher was as grave as ever. They went a long way that morning, in a train, and on foot. They went farther than Johannes had ever been before outside the town.
It was a fine hot day. Johannes, looking out from the train, saw the broad green fields fly past, with tall feathery gra.s.ses and grazing kine. He saw white b.u.t.terflies flitting over the flowery land where the air quivered with the heat of the sun.
But suddenly he saw a gleam in the distance.--There lay the long undulating stretch of sand-hills.
"Now, Johannes," said Pluizer with a grin, "now you have your wish, you see."
Johannes, half incredulous, sat gazing at the sand-hills. They came nearer and nearer. The long ditches on each side of the railway seemed to whirl round a distant centre, and the little houses flew swiftly past and away down the road.
Then came some trees: thickly green horse-chestnut trees, covered with thousands of spikes of pink and white blossoms--dark, blue-green pines--tall, spreading lime-trees. It was true, then,--he was going to see his sand-hills once more. The train stopped; they all three jumped out, under verdurous shade.
Here was the deep, green moss, here were the flecks of sunshine on the ground under the forest-trees--this was the fragrance of birch-buds and pine-needles.
"Is it real--is it true?" thought Johannes. "Can such happiness befall me?"
His eyes sparkled and his heart beat high. He began to believe in his happiness. He knew these trees and this soil. He had often trodden this forest-path.
They were alone here. But Johannes could not help looking round, as though some one were following him. And he fancied that between the oak boughs he caught sight of a dark figure hiding itself, as they threaded the last turns of the path.
Pluizer looked at him with mysterious cunning. Doctor Cypher hurried forward, with long strides, keeping his eyes on the ground.
At each step the way was more familiar--he knew every stone and every shrub--and suddenly Johannes started violently: he stood before his old home.
The horse-chestnut in front of the house spread the shade of its large, fingered leaves. Above him the beautiful white flowers, and thick, round ma.s.s of foliage towered high overhead. He heard the sound of an opening door which he knew well--and he smelt the peculiar smell of his own home. He recognised the pa.s.sage, the doors, everything, bit by bit--with a keen pang of lost familiarity. It was all a part of his life--of his lonely dreamy childhood. He had held council with all these things, had lived with them his own life of thoughts--to which he had admitted no human being. But now he felt himself dead, as it were, and cut off from the old house, with its rooms and pa.s.sages and doorways. The severance, he knew, was irremediable, and he felt as melancholy and woeful as though he had come to visit a graveyard. If only Presto had sprung out to meet him, it would have been less dreary. But Presto, no doubt, was gone or dead.
But where was his father?
He looked back through the open door out into the sunny garden, and saw the man who, as he had fancied, was following them on the way, coming towards the house. He came nearer and nearer, and seemed to grow in stature as he approached. When he reached the door a vast cold shadow filled the entrance. Then Johannes knew him.
There was perfect silence indoors, and they went up-stairs without speaking. There was one step which always creaked under foot as Johannes knew; and now he heard it creak three times with a sound like a groan of pain. But under the fourth footstep it was like a deep sob.
Above stairs, Johannes heard moaning, as low and as regular as the slow ticking of a clock. It was a heart-rending and doleful sound. The door of his own little room stood open; he timidly glanced in. The strange flowers on the curtains stared at him with unmeaning surprise. The clock had stopped. They went on to the room whence the groaning came. It was his father"s bedroom. The sun shone in brightly, on the green bed-curtains which were drawn close. Simon, the cat, sat on the window-sill, in the sun. There was an oppressive smell of wine and camphor; the low moaning now sounded close at hand.
Johannes heard whispering voices and carefully softened footsteps. Then the green curtains were opened.
He saw his father"s face, which had so often risen before him during the last few weeks. But it was quite different. The kind, grave expression had given way to a rigid look of suffering, and his face was ashy pale, with brown shadows. The teeth showed through the parted lips, and the white of the eyes under the half-closed lids. His head lay sunk in pillows, and was lifted a little with every moaning breath, falling back wearily after each effort.
Johannes stood by the bed without stirring, staring with wide fixed eyes at the well-known features. He did not know what he thought; he dared not move a finger, he dared not take the wan old hands, which lay limp on the white linen sheet.
All about him was black, the sun and the bright room, the greenery outside and the blue air he had come in from--all the past was black--black, heavy and impenetrable. And that night he could see nothing but that pale face. He could think of nothing but the poor head which seemed so weary, and yet was lifted again and again with a groan of anguish.
But there was a change in this regular movement. The moaning ceased, the eyes slowly opened and stared about inquiringly, while the lips tried to say something.
"Good-morning, father," whispered Johannes, looking into the seeking eyes and trembling with terror. The dim gaze rested on him, and a faint, faint smile moved the hollow cheeks; the thin clenched hand was lifted from the sheet and made a feeble movement towards Johannes, but it dropped again, powerless.
"Come, come," said Pluizer. "No scenes here."
"Get out of the way, Johannes," said Doctor Cypher. "We must see what can be done."