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THE QUEST

BY

FREDERIK VAN EEDEN

THE AUTHORIZED TRANSLATION

FROM THE DUTCH OF

DE KLEINE JOHANNES

by

LAURA WARD COLE


MITCHELL KENNERLEY

NEW YORK AND LONDON

MCMXI




PART I




I


I will tell you something about Little Johannes and his quest. My story
is very like a fairy tale, but everything in it really happened. As soon
as you lose faith in it, read no farther, for then it was not written
for you. And, should you chance to meet Little Johannes, you must never
speak to him about it, for that would grieve him and make me sorry I had
told you all this.

Johannes lived in an old house with a big garden. It was hard to find
the way about them, for in the house were many dark halls, flights of
stairs, chambers, and spacious garrets; and in the garden everywhere
were fencings and hot-houses. To Johannes it was a whole world in
itself. He could make far journeys in it, and he gave names to
everything he discovered. For the house he chose names from the animal
kingdom; the caterpillar loft, because there he fed the caterpillars and
watched them change their state; the chicken room, because once he had
found a hen there. This had not come of itself, but had been put there
by Johannes' mother, to brood. For things in the garden, preferring
those products of which he was most fond, he chose names from the
vegetable kingdom, such as Raspberry Mountain, Gooseberry Woods, and
Strawberry Valley. Behind all was a little spot he named Paradise; and
there, of course, it was exceedingly delightful. A great sheet of water
lay there--a pond where white water-lilies were floating, and where the
reeds held long, whispered conversations with the wind. On the opposite
side lay the dunes. Paradise itself was a little grass-plot on the near
shore, encircled by shrubbery. From the midst of this shot up the tall
nightingale-plant. There, in the thick grass, Johannes often lay gazing
through the swaying stalks to the gentle hill-tops beyond the water. He
used to go every warm summer evening and lie looking for hours, without
ever growing weary of it. He thought about the still depths of the clear
water before him--how cozy it must be down amid the water plants, in
that strange half-light. And then again, he thought of the far-away,
gloriously-tinted clouds which hovered above the dunes--wondering what
might be behind them, and if it would not be fine to be able to fly
thither. Just as the sun was sinking, the clouds piled up upon one
another till they seemed to form the entrance to a grotto; and from the
depths of that grotto glowed a soft, red light. Then Johannes would feel
a longing to be there. Could I only fly into it! he thought. What would
really be beyond? Shall I sometime--sometime be able to get there?

But often as he made this wish, the grotto always fell apart in ashen,
dusky flecks, and he never was able to get nearer to it. Then it would
grow cold and damp by the pond, and again he would seek his dark little
bedroom in the old house.

He lived there not entirely alone. He had a father who took good care of
him, a dog named Presto, and a cat named Simon. Of course, he thought
most of his father, but he by no means considered Presto and Simon so
very much beneath him, as a big man would have. He confided even more
secrets to Presto than to his father, and for Simon he felt a devout
respect. That was not strange, for Simon was a big cat with glossy,
black fur, and a thick tail. By merely looking at him one could see that
he was perfectly convinced of his own greatness and wisdom. He always
remained dignified and proper, even when he condescended to play with a
rolling spool, or while gnawing a waste herring-head behind a tree. At
the extreme demonstrativeness of Presto he closed his green eyes
disdainfully, and thought: "Well--dogs know no better!"

Can you realize now, that Johannes had a great awe of him? He held much
more intimate relations with the little brown dog. Presto was neither
beautiful nor superior, but an unusually good and sagacious dog, never
farther than two steps away from Johannes, and patiently listening to
whatever his master told him. I do not need to tell you how much
Johannes thought of Presto. But he still had room in his heart for other
things. Does it seem strange that his little dark bedroom, with the
diamond window-panes, held also a large place? He liked the
wall-hangings, with the big flowers in which he saw faces--faces he had
so often studied when he was ill, or while he lay awake mornings. He
liked the one small picture that hung there. It represented stiff
figures walking in a still stiffer garden beside a smooth lake, where
sky-high fountains were spouting, and coquetting swans were swimming. He
liked best, however, the hanging clock. He always wound it up carefully
and seriously, and considered it a necessary courtesy to watch it while
it was striking. At least that was the way unless he happened to be
asleep. If, through neglect, the clock ran down, Johannes felt very
guilty and begged its pardon a thousand times. You would have laughed,
perhaps, if you had heard him in conversation with his room. But confess
how often you talk to your own self. It does not appear to you in the
least ridiculous. Besides, Johannes was convinced that his hearers
understood him perfectly, and he had no need of an answer. Secretly,
however, he expected an answer some day from the clock or the
wall-paper.

Johannes certainly had schoolmates, but they were not properly friends.
He played with them, invented plots in school, and formed robber bands
with them out-of-doors; but he only felt really at home when he was
alone with Presto. Then he never longed for the boys, but felt himself
at ease and secure.

His father was a wise and serious man, who often took Johannes with him
on long expeditions through the woods and over the dunes. They talked
but little--and Johannes followed ten steps behind his father, greeting
the flowers he met. And the old trees, which must always remain in the
selfsame place, he stroked along their rough bark with his friendly
little hand. Then the good-natured giants rustled their thanks.

Sometimes his father wrote letters in the sand, one by one, and Johannes
spelled the words which they formed. Again, the father stopped and
taught Johannes the name of some plant or animal.

And Johannes often asked questions, for he saw and heard many perplexing
things. He often asked silly questions. He wanted to know why the world
was just as it was, why plants and animals must die, and if miracles
could take place. But Johannes' father was a wise man, and did not tell
all he knew. That was well for Johannes.

Evenings, before he went to sleep, Johannes always made a long prayer.
His nurse had taught him. He prayed for his father and for Presto.
Simon, he thought, did not need to be prayed for. He prayed a good while
for himself, too, and almost always ended with the wish that some day
there might be a miracle. And when he had said _Amen_, he peeped
expectantly around the darkening room, at the faces on the
wall-hangings, which looked still stranger in the faint twilight; and at
the door-knob, and the clock, where the miracle ought now to begin. But
the clock always kept on ticking in the very same way--the door-knob did
not stir--it grew quite dark, and Johannes fell asleep without having
seen the miracle.

But some day it would happen. He knew it would.




II


It was warm by the pool and utterly still. The sun, flushed and tired
with his daily work, seemed to rest a moment on the rim of the dunes,
for a breathing spell before diving under. The smooth water reflected,
almost perfectly, the flaming face of the sun. The leaves of the beech
tree which hung over the pond took advantage of the stillness to look at
themselves attentively, in the mirror-like water. The solitary heron,
standing on one foot between the broad leaves of a water-lily, forgot
that he had come out to catch frogs, and, deep in thought, was gazing
along his nose.

Then came Johannes to the grass plot, to see the cloud-grotto. Plump!
plump! sprang the frogs from the bank. The mirror was all rippled, the
image of the sun was broken up into broad bands, and the beech leaves
rustled angrily, for they had not yet viewed themselves long enough.

Fastened to the bare roots of a beech tree lay a little old boat.
Johannes had been strictly forbidden to get into it; but, oh, how strong
the temptation was this evening! The clouds had already taken the
semblance of a wondrous portal, behind which the sun would soon sink to
rest. Glittering ranks of clouds ranged themselves at the sides, like a
golden-armored life-guard. The face of the water reflected the glow, and
red rays darted through the reeds like arrows.

Slowly, Johannes loosened the boat-rope from the roots. He would drift
there, in the midst of the splendor. Presto had already sprung into the
boat, and before his master intended it the reeds moved apart, and away
they both drifted toward the evening sun.

Johannes lay in the bow, and gazed into the depths of the light-grotto.
Wings! thought he. Wings now, and away I would fly!

The sun had disappeared, but the clouds were all aglow. In the east the
sky was deep blue. A row of willows stood along the bank, their small,
pale leaves thrust motionlessly out into the still air. They looked like
exquisite, pale-green lace against the sombre background.

Hark! What was that? It darted and whizzed like a gust of wind cutting a
sharp furrow in the face of the water. It came from the dunes--from the
grotto in the clouds!

When Johannes looked round, a big, blue dragon-fly sat on the edge of
the boat. He had never seen one so large. It rested there, but its wings
kept quivering in a wide circle. It seemed to Johannes that the tips of
its wings made a luminous ring.

That must be a fire dragon-fly, he thought--a rare thing.

The ring grew larger and larger, and the wings whirled so fast that
Johannes could see nothing but a haze. And little by little, from out
this haze, he saw the shining of two dark eyes; and a light, frail form
in a garment of delicate blue sat in the place of the dragon-fly. A
wreath of white wind-flowers rested upon the fair hair, and at the
shoulders were gauzy wings which shimmered in a thousand hues, like a
soap bubble.

A thrill of happiness coursed through Johannes. _This_ was a miracle!

"Will you be my friend?" he whispered.

That was a queer way of speaking to a stranger. But this was not an
every-day case, and he felt as if he had always known this little blue
being.

"Yes, Johannes," came the reply, and the voice sounded like the rustling
of the reeds in the night wind, or the pattering of rain-drops on the
forest leaves.

"What is your name?" asked Johannes.

"I was born in the cup of a wind-flower. Call me Windekind."[1]

Windekind laughed, and looked in Johannes' eyes so merrily that his
heart was blissfully cheered.

"To-day is my birthday," said Windekind. "I was born not far away, of
the first rays of the moon and the last rays of the sun. They say the
sun is feminine.[2] It is not true. The sun is my father."

Johannes determined forthwith to speak of the sun as masculine, the next
morning, in school.

"Look! There comes up the round, fair face of my mother. Good evening,
Mother! Oh! oh! But she looks both good-natured and distressed!"

He pointed to the eastern horizon. There, in the dusky heavens, behind
the willow lace-work which looked black against the silver disk, rose
the great shining moon. Her face wore a pained expression.

"Come, come, Mother! Do not be troubled. Indeed, I can trust him!"

The beautiful creature fluttered its gauzy wings frolicsomely and
touched Johannes on the cheek with the Iris in its hand.

"She does not like it that I am with you. You are the first one. But I
trust you, Johannes. You must never, never speak my name nor talk about
me to a human being. Do you promise?"

"Yes, Windekind," said Johannes. It was still so strange to him. He felt
inexpressibly happy, yet fearful of losing his happiness. Was he
dreaming? Near him, Presto lay calmly sleeping on the seat. The warm
breath of his dog put him at rest. The gnats swarmed over the face of
the water, and danced in the sultry air, just as usual. Everything was
quite clear and plain about him. It must be true! And all the time he
felt resting upon him the trustful glance of Windekind. Then again he
heard the sweet, quavering voice:

"I have often seen you here, Johannes. Do you know where I was?
Sometimes I sat on the sandy bottom of the pond, among the thick water
plants, and looked up at you as you leaned over to drink, or to peep at
the water beetles, or the newts. But you never saw me. And many times I
peeped at you from the thick reeds. I am often there. When it is warm I
sleep in an empty reed-bird's nest. And, oh! it is so soft!"

Windekind rocked contentedly on the edge of the boat, and struck at the
gnats with his flower.

"I have come now to give you a little society. Your life will be too
dreary, otherwise. We shall be good friends, and I will tell you many
things--far better things than the school-master palms off upon you. He
knows absolutely nothing about them. And when you do not believe me, I
shall let you see and hear for yourself. I will take you with me."

"Oh, Windekind! dear Windekind! Can you take me there?" cried Johannes,
pointing to the sky, where the crimson light of the setting sun had just
been streaming out of the golden cloud-gates. That glorious arch was
already melting away in dull, grey mist, yet from the farthest depths a
faint, rosy light was still shining.

Windekind gazed at the light which was gilding his delicate features and
his fair locks, and he gently shook his head.

"Not yet, Johannes, not yet. You must not ask too much just now. Even I
have not yet been at my father's home."

"I am always with my father," said Johannes.

"No! That is not your father. We are brothers, and my father is your
father, too. But the earth is your mother, and for that reason we are
very different. Besides, you were born in a house, with human beings,
and I in a wind-flower. The latter is surely better. But it will be all
the same to us."

Then Windekind sprang lightly upon the side of the boat, which did not
even stir beneath his weight, and kissed Johannes' forehead.

That was a strange sensation for Johannes. Everything about him was
changed.

He saw everything now, he thought, much better and more exactly. The
moon looked more friendly, too, and he saw that the water-lilies had
faces, and were gazing at him pensively.

Suddenly he understood why the gnats were all the time dancing so
merrily around one another, back and forth and up and down, till their
long legs touched the water. Once he had thought a good deal about it,
but now he understood perfectly.

He knew, also, what the reeds were whispering, and he heard the trees on
the bank softly complaining because the sun had set.

"Oh, Windekind, I thank you! This is delightful. Yes, indeed, we will
have nice times together!"

"Give me your hand," said Windekind, spreading his many- wings.
Then he drew Johannes in the boat, over the water, through the lily
leaves which were glistening in the moonlight.

Here and there, a frog was sitting on a leaf. But now he did not jump
into the water when Johannes came. He only made a little bow, and said:
"Quack." Johannes returned the bow politely. Above everything, he did
not wish to appear conceited.

Then they came to the rushes. They were wide-spread, and the boat
entirely disappeared in them without having touched the shore. But
Johannes held fast to his guide, and they scrambled through the high
stalks to land.

Johannes thought he had become smaller and lighter, but perhaps that was
imagination. Still, he could not remember ever having been able to climb
up a grass stalk.

"Now be ready," said Windekind, "you are going to see something funny."

They walked on through the high grass, beneath the dark undergrowth
which here and there let through a small, shining moonbeam.

"Did you ever hear the crickets evenings in the dunes? It is just as if
they were having a concert. Is it not? But you can never tell where the
sound comes from. Now they never sing for the pleasure of it; but the
sound comes from the cricket-school where hundreds of little crickets
are learning their lessons by heart. Keep still, for we are close to
them."

Chirp! Chirp!

The bushes became less dense, and when Windekind pushed apart the grass