The Quest

"One must not admire oneself – I have always said that," replied Wistik, "but it is very true that I am good, and do not deserve all those mean things said of me. And what is the truth may be acknowledged, even if it be called boasting. Neither bragging nor decrying, but the truth – that is my idea."

Thereupon the little fellow nodded proudly, and set his cap on more firmly.

They were sitting on a rocky coast. To the left the sun was shining brightly upon a steep wall of rose-red rocks. To the right was a gentle upward slope, where trees were growing, with delicate silver-grey foliage. In front of them lay the wide waters of the sea – almost motionless, but slightly stirring with the fresh wind, and sparkling in the light. There was nothing to be seen save red rocks, blue sky, and water. The blue, crystal-clear water lapped and gurgled and splashed about the hollows and chinks in the stone at their feet, and then disappeared in the clefts and caves, where the sea-weed and the coral were. How bright it was! How fresh and spacious!

"I never see Windekind, now," said Johannes. "It is truly sad, for Father Pan's kingdom was most beautiful. But I am resigned, and I believe you when you say that still more beautiful things are to be found. Did I not once think the dunes the most beautiful of all, and fear I never should feel at home anywhere else? But now this strange land seems to me even greater, and I feel at home here also. Where are we, dear Wistik?"

"What difference does it make?" said Wistik, who never willingly admitted he did not know a thing.

"It does not matter," replied Johannes. "The main thing is that I know that I am I – Johannes, and that I see things good and clear; that yesterday I was at that office, and that I sought for Markus at the foundry. And I know too that I might now be seen lying asleep. But yet I am not dreaming, for I am wide awake – quite wide awake, and I remember everything."

"Exactly," agreed Wistik. "Do you recollect what Markus said about remembering?"

He paused a moment, and then went on in a tone that grew softer and more solemn.

"Remembrance, Johannes, is truly a holy thing; for it makes the past —present. Now the future to it … and then we should be…"

"Where, Wistik?"

"In that still autumn day, where the gold on the tree-tops never fades, and a branch never breaks. Do you remember?" asked Wistik, hardly above a whisper.

Johannes nodded, in silence. After a while he said:

"It is splendid, Wistik, that I still remember, even in the night, and stay awake and knowing things, even although my body is asleep in bed. I will not be dead and lie down like a log, forgetting everything, as some do in sleep. Neither will I dream all sorts of nonsense, as if every night I grew foolish. That is shameful. I will not do so."

"Right, Johannes! No one wishes to be dead, and no one wishes to be foolish. And when human beings sleep they are dead, and when they dream they are foolish. None of that for me!"

"I shall try to live in my sleep, and to be wise in my dreams," said Johannes. "But it is hard, and time flies so fast!"

He gazed at his hands, his limbs, and his whole body. He had on his handsomest suit. In amazement, he asked:

"What body is this I have on, Wistik? And how silly to wear clothes. What clothes are these?"

"Do you not see? They are your own clothes."

So it was. Johannes recalled them precisely. And he held in his hand one of Marjon's blue forget-me-nots.

"I do not understand it, Wistik! That I have a dream-life – that I travel with you in the night, that I do understand. But how did my clothes get here? Do my clothes dream, too?"

"Why not?" asked Wistik.

Astonished, Johannes continued to meditate. The water swirled and splashed all about the hollows in the rocks. The exquisite warbling of a yellow-finch rang sweet and plaintive from between the clefts.

"But if everything can dream, then everything must be alive – my trousers too, and my shoes."

"Why not?" said Wistik again. "Just prove to me that they are not."

The way to do that was not clear to Johannes.

"Or perhaps," he resumed, "perhaps I make everything – rocks, sea, light, and clothing. One or the other; I dream it and make it, or it dreams everything itself and makes itself."

"It cannot be any other way," assented Wistik.

"But then, I could make something else if I wished to."

"I think so, too," said Wistik.

"A violin? Could I make a violin, and then play on it?"

"Just try it," said Wistik.

Behold! There was the violin – all ready for him. Johannes took it, and passed the bow over the strings as if he had handled it all his life. The most glorious music came from it – as fine as any he had ever heard.

"Oh, Wistik! Do you hear? Who would ever have thought that I could make such music!"

"'Vraagal can do all that Vraagal wills,' said Pan."

"Yes," said Johannes, musing an instant, and forgetting his violin, which forthwith vanished. "Pan also spoke of the real Devil, you remember. He said that I must ask you to show him to me."

Wistik had drawn up his little knees and placed his arms about them, his long beard hanging down in front to his shins. Sitting thus, he threw a sidelong glance at Johannes, to see if he intended to do it. Then his entire little body began to tremble. "Shall we not take a little fly out over the ocean?" he asked.

But Johannes was not to be diverted.

"No, I want to see the real Devil."

"Are you sure, Johannes?"

"Yes," replied the latter. He felt himself a hero, now, after having defied the octopus.

"Think well about it," said Wistik.

"What does he look like?"

"What do you think?"

"I think," said Johannes, beginning to look stern and angry, "I think he looks like Marjon's sister."

"Why?" asked Wistik.

"Because I hate her! Because whatever I think beautiful she always spoils for me, and spoils it through the remembrance alone. She looks like Marjon, and she also looks like that dear friend about whom I am always thinking; and yet she is not the same – she is ugly and common. She kissed me once, and it has spoiled my life."

"Wrong, Johannes! He does not look in the least like that," said Wistik.

Suddenly, Johannes noticed that the bright light was growing dimmer, and that the great firm rocks began to quiver and shake as if seen through heated air, uneven glass, or flowing water.

Then, all at once, he knew, without descrying it, through an inner feeling of nameless distress, that It was sitting behind him.

It! You know well, do you not, what it was? It – the same that sat by the pool when that poor young girl was drowned – It was sitting behind him, huge and deathly still. Sunlight, sea, and rocks – the whole beautiful land, grew hazy and vague.