The Quest

"Yes, that's who he means!" said the bar-woman.

The women looked at one another, and then went on again with their splashing and scrubbing.

"I do not know anything yet," said Johannes, a little more boldly.

"Neither do we," said the slovenly girl. "Do you, Bet?"

"I know that he is a darn good fellow," answered Bet.

"They do say, though, that he is not good," said another work-woman.

"True, he may not be good – but good he is, I say," retorted Bet.

This sounded a bit obscure, but Johannes understood it perfectly well.

"He has more sense than all four of you put together," said the bar-woman, indignantly. "I have seen, with my own eyes, how the little daughter of Sannes, the Plumber, who had been given up by as many as four doctors because there was not a ghost of a chance for her, – how she was taken by Markus on his lap, when all the phlegm came loose; and only yesterday, I saw her with her mother, running in front of the booths."

"And the other day," said the slatternly girl, "when that tall Knelis at the vegetable market was drunk again – you know that common brawler with the white flap on his cap – well, he just took him gently by the wing, home to his old woman; and the fellow went along, as meek as a booby tied to his mother's apron-string."

In this way, one story suggested another, and Johannes soon learned how much his Guide was liked and esteemed among performers, showmen, workmen, day-laborers – yes, even by the shopkeepers and tavern-keepers, although he was a poor customer.

"What does he really do?" asked Johannes.

"Don't you know that?" replied the mistress, astonished. "And yet I thought you were going to be his apprentice. He is a scissors-grinder. His cart stands here, in the shed."

Johannes felt his heart thumping again, for he heard coming the very one of whom they were speaking. He scarcely dared to look at him. But the woman exclaimed: "Good morning, Markus! That's a sly-boots of yours – he doesn't even know what your work is!"

Quite in his accustomed way Markus said: "Good morning, all! Is there a bowl of coffee for me, too? Well, there is time enough yet to understand about that. One may learn fast enough, turning the wheel."

"Will he have to turn?" asked the woman. "Then have you no footboard?"

Markus set his coffee down among the clean drinking-glasses, on a little table, and sat down beside it, while the maid was cutting the slices of bread.

Then Johannes and he regarded each other with a look full of complete, mutual understanding. In his earnest, musical voice Markus had spoken lightly, and easily, without conveying to the others any particular meaning. But that they listened eagerly was apparent. Whenever his voice was heard, others usually stopped speaking; and the least thing he said, in jest or in earnest, was listened to with respectful attention.

"Yes, you see," said Markus, "I still have a cart with a footboard. But nowadays there are much finer ones with window-glass upon them, and a big wheel which another has to turn."

"Gracious!" said the bar-mistress, "so you're getting up in the world, Markus! Sure, you've had a legacy, or a lucky lottery ticket."

"No, Vrouw Schimmel, but I thought this; your standing is good, of late, and as you have to go to the banker's now, with your money, you might loan me, say, a hundred and fifty guldens, and I'll repay the loan at the rate of a gulden a week. How will that do?"

The woman stopped working and laughed. The mistress laughed, too, and cried: "You're a regular Jew!" and, after having sauntered back and forth a while, she said:

"All right – begin now and here! Sharpen these knives, and mind you make them sharp as razors!"

After Markus and Johannes had eaten their bread, the old cart was dragged out of the shed and dusted off, the axles oiled, the rope moistened, and the knives were sharpened. Johannes watched attentively, and saw how swiftly and skilfully Markus turned and directed the steel until it was sharp and bright, and how the golden fountain of sparks flew over the whizzing wheel.

Afterward they went together up the street, for it was necessary to earn some money.

Markus stepped slowly wheeling his cart through the sunny streets – alive with people. From time to time his "Scissors to Gri-i-i-nd!" rang out above the tramp of feet and the rattle of wagons, while he looked searchingly right and left to see if there was not some one who had something to be sharpened. Johannes ran ahead, to ring the bells of all the houses, and to bring the knives and scissors out to the cart.

Johannes did his very best. He felt that only now had life begun in real earnest. For one's bread one must work, and earn money. He had never yet thought about money and money-making; but the reality was stern and sobering. Every one around him talked about money and money-getting. Yet his noble Guide, he saw, was poor and shabby – forced to hard and constant labor to keep from starving. Life grew serious indeed.

They said but little to each other. They were too busy. Johannes enjoyed the work. He felt there was something heroic and important in the fact that he, the young gentleman who had been to a superior school here, was now going around as a scissors-grinder's boy. And when the housemaids, somewhat surprised, looked at his neat little suit, he carried it more jauntily. But the meeting with an old schoolmate was full of pain.

Toward twelve o'clock he grew tired and hungry. In passing by the bakeries he had a feeling now that he had never known before – almost peevishness – as if something had been taken away from him – as if that bread were his by very right.

Then they came to the circus, where Marjon was. And there she sat, with her dark-eyed sister. Her flaxen hair was now braided and wound around her head.

Johannes heard the sound of an iron kettle being shaken, and he knew that that meant potatoes. And there was bacon, also, and some boiled vegetables. At first, these things were of prime importance to him. He could think of nothing else until he had eaten – ravenously. Then, rather ashamed, he glanced up.

They were sitting out-of-doors, in the rear of the tents and the booths, with an awning stretched out over their heads to protect them from the sun, which was shining fiercely and brightly. Close by stood the circus-wagon – painted green, with variegated red and white trimmings. A canary's cage stood upon the platform, between flower-pots, and the yellow bird was singing merrily.

Johannes thought it fine and good now to be among people. There sat the bright little being with the pale face, the large grey eyes, and the ash-blonde hair – braided and wound like a diadem about her head. It seemed to Johannes as if a brilliant light streamed out from her; a light which tasted sweet, and smelled sweet also. And could she not ride a horse, and spring through hoops, and with those slender hands throw plates up high, and catch and balance them? And she looked often at Johannes, and seemed to find him a nice little boy.

Beside her, calm and serious, his head bent forward, his dark hair curling in his neck, sat Markus, eating. This made him seem to Johannes still more dear and intimate.

Next, sat Marjon's sister. Johannes felt a little uneasy in her presence. She sat close by him, and ate very audibly. She shoveled food upon Johannes' plate, and now and then patted him on the shoulder, to encourage him to eat. Then she looked at him, kindly enough, but with a cold penetration as if with some fixed purpose. Her eyes seemed almost black, and her glossy hair was as black as ebony. But her skin was waxy white. Whenever she stirred, something in her clothing always creaked, and there was a heavy odor of perfumery about her.

Beyond Marjon sat the little monkey, watching the movements of the steel forks with his sharp, earnest eyes. Occasionally Marjon spoke to him, and then he whined in eager expectation of something to eat.

That quarter of an hour was delightful! Johannes looked repeatedly at Marjon, trying to think who she looked like, and why it seemed as if he must have known her a long time. And he found it pleasant and adorable when she spoke to him, and was as confidential as if with a friend. Yes, he remembered something of that old sensation with Windekind – the feeling of friendship and intimacy. But he could well see that she did not resemble Windekind. He noticed that her nails were not very clean, and admitted that she did make use of coarse and profane language. Yet her speech was not flat, but musical – with a foreign accent; and her bearing was nearly always winsome, although she did things considered bad manners – things never permitted him.

The afternoon which now followed, filled with the same sort of work – continually running back and forth across the sunny streets – seemed hard indeed. At last he could not think any more, and his feet burned fiercely. Sad and perplexed he sat down on a stone stoop as the shadows grew deeper and cooler, and thought of the gloomy garret where he was again to sleep.

"Come, Johannes. The day's money is nearly earned, and then we go to Vrouw Schimmel's for our supper."

"How much have we earned?" asked Johannes; expecting to hear, to his consolation, of the riches which he had procured by his hard work.

"Two guldens, forty-seven cents," said Markus.

"Is that enough?"

"So long as we can sleep for nothing at Vrouw Schimmel's and can eat for nothing at the circus. But we cannot do that every day."

Johannes felt greatly discouraged. Already so tired, and so little accomplished! Not enough earned yet for one day's support! How would he ever have enough strength left over to help the people? With his head in his hands he sat staring vacantly at the pavement.

"Tired?" asked Markus, gently. Johannes nodded. Markus spoke again:

"But remember, my boy! This is your first day. It will be easier after you get used to it."

Johannes lifted his weary, disheartened eyes, and looked at his Guide who was patiently engaged in putting something about the cart-axle to rights.

"It is not your first day, though, Markus, is it? It can never be any easier for you. And that ought not to be so. It will never do."

A strange bitterness of thought took possession of Johannes – as if everything were full of fraud and foolishness – as if he himself were made a fool of. What sort of fellow was that, with the long hair, the silly old cap, and frayed-out trousers, who sat there, pottering?

Markus glanced round and looked at him. Immediately Johannes grew ashamed of his thoughts and felt a deep, over-mastering sorrow and sympathy, that He – He who was standing there before him, was obliged to toil so – in poverty and squalor.