The Quest

"With the fruit of their hands you have decorated your churches and adorned your unworthy bodies.

"You have aroused the devil in the heart – the devil of fear – fear of hell and everlasting punishment. The aspiration of the free heart toward God you have deadened; and with indulgences and the confessional have you lulled the waking conscience.

"Of the love of the Father you have made commerce – a sinful merchandise. Not because you love virtue do you preach it, but because of the sweet profit. You promise deliverance to all who follow your counsel; but as well can you make a present of moon and stars.

"Are you not told to recompense evil with good? And is God less than man that He should do otherwise?

"It is well for you that He does not do otherwise, for where then were your salvation?

"For you, and you only, are the brood of vipers against whom is kindled the wrath of Him who was gentle with adulterers and murderers."

While speaking, the man had risen to his full height, and he now appeared, to all there assembled, impressively tall.

When he had spoken, reaching his right hand backward he grasped the foot of the great golden crucifix. It snapped off like glass, and he threw it on the marble floor at the feet of the priest. The fragment broke into many bits. It was apparently not wood, but plaster.

"Sacrilege!" cried the priest, in a stifled voice, as if the sound were wrung from his throat. His eyes seemed to be starting out of his great purple face.

The man quietly replied:

"No, but my right; for you are the sacrilegist and the blasphemer who makes of the Son of man a hideous caricature."

Then the priest stepped forward, and gripped Markus by the wrist. The latter made no resistance, but cried in a loud voice that reverberated through the church:

"Do your work, Caiaphas!"

After that he suffered himself to be led away to the sacristy.

While the congregation still sat, spellbound and motionless, Johannes hastily writhed his way out between the benches and the throngs of people.

Father Canisius returned, now quite calm and far less red. And while the sacristan with broom and dust-pan swept up the fragments and put them into a basket, the priest turned toward the audience and said:

"Have sympathy with the poor maniac. We will pray for him."

After that, the service proceeded without further disturbance.

XVI

In a dreary district of the city, at the end of a long, lonely street, stands a long, gloomy building. The windows – all of the same form – are of ground glass, and the house itself is lengthened by a high wall. What lies behind this wall the neighbors do not know; but sometimes strange noises are borne over it – loud singing, yelling, dismal laughter, and monotonous mutterings.

On the steps of this house, silent, and with earnest faces, stood Johannes and Marjon. The latter had on a simple, dark gown, and she carried Keesje on her arm.

The door was opened by a porter wearing a uniform-cap. The man gave them, especially the monkey, a critical, hesitating look.

"That will not do," said he, drily. "You must leave your little ones at home when you come here to make visits."

"Come," said Marjon, without a smile at his jest, "ask the superintendent. My brother is so fond of him, and I do not dare leave him at home."

They had to wait awhile in the vestibule. At first they said not a word, and Keesje was very still.

Then, scratching Keesje's head, Johannes quietly remarked, "He has grown thin."

"He has a cough," said Marjon.

At length the doorkeeper came back, with the superintendent. Johannes instantly recognized in the tall, spare gentleman, the slovenly black suit, the gold spectacles, and the bushy white hair, his old friend Dr. Cijfer.

"Whom have they come to see?" he asked.

"The new one who was brought in yesterday – working-class," said the doorkeeper.

"Violent?" asked the doctor.

"No, quiet, Doctor. But they want to take their monkey with them."

"Why so, young people?" asked Dr. Cijfer, frowning at the monkey over the top of his spectacles in a most objectionable manner, to the discomfiture of Keesje.

"Doctor Cijfer, have you forgotten me?" asked Johannes.

"Wait," said the doctor, giving him a sharp look, "are you the boy who assisted me some time ago, and then ran away? Your name, indeed, was Johannes, was it not?"

"Yes, Doctor."

"Ah, yes," said the doctor, reflecting. "A rather queer boy, with some talent. And there is a brother of yours here? I always thought there were hereditary moments in your family. You were a queer boy."

"But it can't do any harm if our monkey goes with us, Doctor," said Marjon. "He is quite still and obedient."

Slowly shaking his head, the doctor made a prolonged "m-m-m" with his compressed lips, as if to say that he did not himself think it so hazardous.

"I have not yet seen the patient. We will ask the junior physician if he may receive callers. But only ten minutes – not longer, mind."

Dr. Cijfer vanished with the doorkeeper, and again the trio waited a considerable time.

Then the doorkeeper returned with a man-nurse in white jacket and apron. The latter led them down long halls, three times unlocking different doors and gratings with the key that he carried in his hand, until it seemed to Johannes as if they were pressing deeper and deeper into realms of error and constraint.

But it was still there – sadly still – not, as Johannes had expected it to be, noisy with ravings. Now and then a patient in a dark blue uniform came toward them, carrying a pail or a basket. He would look back at them suspiciously, and then go farther on, softly muttering.

At last they came to a dismal reception-room with a little wooden table and four rush-seated chairs. It was lighted from above, and there was no outlook. There they were left by themselves in painful suspense.

After what again seemed to be a very long time a different door of the same little room was opened by another nurse; and then, at last, Little Johannes could rest again on the bosom of his beloved brother.

But even before Johannes could reach him, Keesje had sprung to his shoulder and received the first greeting.

"Hey, Markus, do you greet Kees before you do us?" said Marjon, laughing through her tears.

"Are you jealous?" asked Markus. "He has become such a good comrade of mine."

Drawing Keesje up to him, he sat down, while Johannes and Marjon kneeled, one on each side. The two young people regarded him a long while without saying anything; yet it did them good.

"Only ten minutes," sighed Johannes, "and I have so much to ask and to say."

"Do not be uneasy," said Markus. "I shall not be here long.

"Is it not frightful here?" asked Marjon.

"It is the most sorrowful place on earth. But it is without deceit; and I am happy here, for I can do much to comfort."

"But it is fearfully unjust to put you here, with crazy folks," said Marjon. "Those miserable creatures!" and she clenched her slender little hand.

"It is only a small part of the great wrong. They act according to their understanding."

"Markus," said Johannes, "I want to ask you this: I saw poor Heléne in the kingdom of the Evil One. Do you know whom I mean? You do? What does that signify? And will she be saved?"

"I know whom you mean, Johannes; but do not forget that we are all in the kingdom of the Evil One. Only in the heart of the Father are we free. The Father allows Waan to have power over all who are away from Him – even over me.

"But not for ever, Markus."

"How can that which is evil avail for ever? The melancholy seem to be the chosen ones. The burden they bear is a precious one, but only if they realize that it is of the Father. Then it sanctifies; otherwise it crushes. Some learn this first through death, as did Heléne."

"Markus," said Marjon then, "we both have had such wicked things in our heads. Shall we ever be forgiven them?"

"Tell me about them," said Markus. "I know indeed, but yet tell me."

"We have wanted to murder, out of jealousy – he and … and I."

"That is the way with stags and buffaloes and cocks," said Markus. "They kill one another on account of their love. The strongest survives, and feels not the least remorse. And he is forgiven."

"But we are human, Markus," said Johannes.

"That is fine, dear Johannes, that you should say it of yourself. And yet you have not murdered anybody, have you?"

"No, but I have wanted to."

"Truly and with all your heart?"

"Not that way," said Johannes.

"No, for in that case you would not now be asking forgiveness. Forgiveness is already there, because insight is forgiveness."

The two disciples were silent, and looked at him thoughtfully through half-closed eyes. At last Marjon said:

"But then if we had done it we would have been forgiven all the sooner; for then we should have perceived the sooner that it was wrong."

"You would then have experienced the desire for, and the satisfaction in, the deed, and have lost the fear of it. That would have been two more fetters for you, with the power to understand reduced."

"But yet there are things which we have to do in order to know that they are wicked," said Johannes.

"Are there such things?" asked Markus. "Well, then, do them; but do not complain if the lesson is a hard one. There are children, also, who do not believe their parents when they tell them that fire will burn, and that burns are painful. And yet such children cry if they burn themselves."

"But why is it so intolerable to think that another will obtain that which we hold dear? Is that wicked?" asked Marjon.

"It is not wicked to long for love or power or honor, when those things are our due because of our being wise and good. But that which he covets comes not to the jealous one, nor power to him who thirsts for it, nor honor to the over-ambitious. The things longed for will not satisfy them. Nor are eating and drinking bad in themselves, but they are only for those who have need of them."

At that moment the door was unlocked. As it swung open the nurse said that the time was up, adding:

"Perhaps you may come again to-morrow."

"Will he have to stay here?" asked Marjon, as they were on their way down the long hall.

"Well," replied the nurse, "they may indeed shut up quite a lot more. He can deal with the violent ones better than the professor can. There was one here who gave us a lot of trouble, because he wouldn't eat. He'd thrown his plate at me head. Look here! What a cut! But your brother had him eating inside of ten minutes."

"Will he soon be free?" asked Johannes.

"They ought to make him a professor," was the reply. "I've heard they're to examine him to-morrow."

Little was said while Johannes was accompanying Marjon to the boarding-house in which she now lived. It was kept by one of Markus's friends, a workman in the iron foundry. The man was called Jan van Tijn, and was foreman of the hammer-works. He earned sixteen guldens a week, and had nine children. His dwelling had three small rooms and a kitchen, and there twelve persons had to sleep – father, mother, nine children, and the boarder. But Juffrouw van Tijn was still young, with a fresh face and a pair of strong arms, and she made light of her work.

"If there are to be still more of us," said Jan, "we must begin to lie in a row – spoon-fashion."

Jan had a long blonde moustache and a pair of shrewd eyes, and his manner of speech was coarse – terribly so. Marjon slept in the little kitchen, and, as Jan's eldest girl was not yet sixteen, Marjon could be of great service in the family.

"Did you get him out?" asked Jan, who had come in his working-blouse to meet them. And when they shook their heads, he began cursing, tremendously.

"Well-! Did ye ever see such scoundrels? I'd like to pitch into the loons! Can't that perfesser see that Markus knows more in his little finger than the whole scurvy lot of them – patients, doctors, perfessers, and all? And because he's given the priest a dressing-down, and broken an image worth a nickel, must he be shut up in a mad-house? Well-!!!"

Jan was furious, and proposed, with the aid of a sledge-hammer, to convince the learned gentlemen that they had made a blunder.

"He is to be examined to-morrow," said Johannes, thinking to calm him.

But Jan retorted scornfully, "Examined! Examined! I'll examine their own cocoanuts with a three-inch gimlet! If anything comes out but sawdust I hope to drop dead."

He said much more that I will not repeat.

Johannes stayed away from the Villa Dolores the entire day, for it was too dreary for him there. He would now far rather be in this poor household with its many children. He noticed how the young mother managed her uproarious little troop, how constantly and cheerfully busy she was the whole day long – bearing, and getting the better of, difficulties which would have dismayed and discouraged many another.

Johannes ate with them, and although not very hungry, because of his anxiety, he enjoyed his food. And after they had had their late afternoon coffee, and the younger children had gone to bed – when Van Tijn had returned from his work, and with a certain solemn thoughtfulness had filled his pipe and was silently smoking it – then Johannes felt wonderfully at peace. He had not known such peace in a long time. Very little was said. Outside, the twilight was falling; indoors, the only light was from the little flame under the coffee-pot. The women, too, were tired, and sat listening to the sounds in the street. And Johannes knew that they were all thinking of the friend in the asylum.

That evening, when he was again in the handsome, luxurious villa, everything seemed strange and distasteful. In the brightly lighted drawing-room, chatting in a low tone, Van Lieverlee sat close beside the lady of the house, with an intolerable air of being the rightful lord of the manor. Johannes merely wanted to bid them good-night.

"Have you found your poor friend?" asked Van Lieverlee, in his most condescending manner.

"Yes, Mijnheer," replied Johannes. And then, after some hesitation: "Can anything be done to get him out promptly?"

"My dear boy," said Van Lieverlee, "it is not to be desired, either for his own sake or that of society. I am not a doctor, but that he belongs where he is I can see at once, as could any layman. What do you think, Dearest?"

Dolores nodded languidly, and said: "My heart was touched for the man – he has a fine face. And have you noticed, Walter, what a splendid baritone voice he has?"

"Yes," said Van Lieverlee; "it is a pity he is out of his head. What a good singer of Wagner he might be! An excellent Parsifal! Do you not think so, Dolores?"

"A splendid Parsifal! Perhaps he may get well yet," added the countess.

"Oh, no," said Van Lieverlee. "That sort of prophet-frenzy is incurable. I know indeed of so many cases."

For an instant Johannes stood hesitating. Should he give vent to what was boiling in his breast?

But he was older now, and he curbed himself. Before he went to sleep he resolved: "This is my last night here."

XVII

Again they stood on the steps of the gloomy building – the three – Johannes, Marjon, and Keesje. It was a bleak day, and Keesje's thin little black face peeped out from under a thick shawl.

"Just go into the doctor's room, will you?" said the doorkeeper. "The doctor wishes to speak with you. The professor is there, also," he added, importantly. And when Marjon would have gone with them, he extended his hand as if to stay her, saying, "Pardon, but the lady and the little one weren't invited."

Without replying, Marjon turned round to Johannes and said, "Then I'll wait for you at the house. Will you come soon?"

In the tiresome, pompous quarters of the doctor, with its bookcases draped in green, its white gypsum busts of Galenus, Hippocrates, and other old physicians, sat two dark-coated gentlemen. They were vis-à-vis, each in an office-chair, and deep in conversation.

On the large writing-table lay several open books, and some shining white metal instruments for measuring and examining.

"Sit down, my friend," said Professor Bommeldoos, in his loud voice and brusque manner. "We all know one another, do we not? We have already made an examination together."

Johannes silently took a seat.

"Let me explain to you, Johannes," said Dr. Cijfer, in more soft and moderate tones. "We – Professor Bommeldoos and I – have been charged by the judicial commission to make a medical investigation of the mental condition of your brother. He has committed a crime – not a heavy one, but yet not without significance, and one for which he ought to have been placed under arrest. Yet the clergyman thought him irresponsible, and summoned a physician from the asylum. Your brother simply would not reply to the latter. He was stubbornly silent."

Johannes nodded. He knew it already.

"That was the reason for his being temporarily secluded here. Now I have seen the patient myself once, but I am sorry to have to say that I can get no further than the other physician. When I interrogate him he looks at me in a very peculiar way, and remains silent."

"I do not understand, Colleague," said Bommeldoos, "why you did not instantly diagnose this as a symptom of megalomania."

"But, worthy Colleague," replied Dr. Cijfer, "he does talk with the nurses and his fellow patients, and he is obliging and ready to help. They all wish him well – yes, they are even singularly fond of him."

"All of which comports very well with my diagnosis," said Bommeldoos.

"Does he often have those whims, Johannes," asked Dr. Cijfer, "when he will not speak?"

"He has no whims," said Johannes, stoutly.

"Why, then, will he not reply?"

"I think you would not answer me," returned Johannes, "if I were to ask you if you were mad."

The two learned men exchanged smiles.

"That is a somewhat different situation," said Bommeldoos, haughtily.

"He was not questioned in such a blunt manner as that," explained Doctor Cijfer. "I asked about his extraction, his age, the health of his father and mother, about his own youth, and so forth – the usual memory promptings. Will you not give us some further information concerning him? Remember, it is of real importance to your brother."

"Mijnheer," said Johannes, "I know as little as yourself about all that. And even if I knew more I would not tell you what he himself thought best not to tell."

"Come, come, my boy," said the professor, "are you trying to make sport of us? Do you not know whence you came? Nothing of your parents, nor of your youth?"

Johannes hesitatingly considered whether or not he should do as Markus had done, and answer no questions whatever. But still he might reply to those that concerned only himself.

"I do, indeed, know all that about myself, but not about him," said he.

"Then you are not brothers?" asked the doctor.

"No, not in the sense you mean."

Dr. Cijfer looked at Bommeldoos as if to see what he thought of this reply. Then he touched a bell-button, saying:

"It seems to me, Colleague, that we might better see him face to face. We can then, perhaps, get on better than when apart."

Bommeldoos nodded solemnly, and passed his hand over his mighty forehead. A servant came in.

"Will you bring the patient Vis from the ward of the calm patients, working-class?"

"Very well, Doctor."

The servant vanished, and for several minutes afterward it was as still as death in the study. The two learned men stared at the carpet quite absorbed in thought – not minding delay – after the manner of deep thinkers. Johannes heard the clock ticking on the mantel, the faint music from an out-of-doors band playing a merry march, the sound of hurrahs, and the clatter of horses' hoofs on the cobblestone pavement. The royal wedding-festivities were still in progress, and Johannes could mentally see the two people who at that moment were bowing and waving as they sat in their carriage. There was a knock at the door. The nurse came and said, "Here is the patient." Then he let Markus in, remaining himself to look on.

"I will ring for you," said Dr. Cijfer, with a gesture. The nurse disappeared.

Markus had on a dark-blue linen blouse, such as all the patients of the working-class wear. He stood tall and erect, and Johannes observed that his face was less pale and sad than usual. The blue became his dark curling hair, and Johannes felt happy and confident as he looked at him – standing there so proud and calm and handsome.

"Take a seat," said Dr. Cijfer.

But Markus seemed not to have heard, and remained standing, while he nodded kindly and reassuringly to Johannes.

"Observe his pride," said Professor Bommeldoos, in Latin, to Dr. Cijfer.

"The proud find pride, and the gloomy, gloom; but the glad find gladness, and the lowly, humility," said Markus.

Dr. Cijfer stood up, and took his measuring instrument from the table. Then, in a quiet, courteous tone, he said:

"Will you not permit us, Mijnheer, to take your head measure? It is for a scientific purpose."

"It gives no pain," added Bommeldoos.

"Not to the body," said Markus.

"There is nothing in it to offend one," said Dr. Cijfer. "I have had it done to myself many a time."

"There is a kind of opinionativeness and denseness that offend."

Bommeldoos flushed. "Opinionativeness and denseness! Mine, perchance? Am I such an ignoramus? Opinionated and stupid!"

"Colleague!" exclaimed Dr. Cijfer, in gentle expostulation. And then, as he enclosed Markus's head with the shining craniometer, he gave the measurement figures. A considerable time passed, nothing being heard save the low voice of the doctor dictating the figures. Then, as if proceeding with his present occupation, taking advantage of what he considered a compliant mood of the patient, the crafty doctor fancied he saw his opportunity, and said:

"Your parents certainly dwelt in another country – one more southerly and more mountainous."

But Markus removed the doctor's hand, with the instrument, from his head, and looked at him piercingly.

"Why are you not sincere?" asked he then, with gentle stress. "How can truth be found through untruth?"

Dr. Cijfer hesitated, and then did exactly what Father Canisius had done – something which, later, he was of the opinion he ought not to have done: he argued with him.

"But if you will not give me a direct reply I am obliged to get the truth circuitously."

Said Markus, "A curved sword will not go far into a straight scabbard."

Professor Bommeldoos grew impatient, and snapped at the doctor aside in a smothered voice: "Do not argue, Colleague, do not argue! Megalomaniacs are smarter, and sometimes have subtler dialectic faculties, than you have. Just let me conduct the examination."

And then, after a loud "h'm! h'm!" he said to Markus:

"Well, my friend, then I will talk straight out to you. It is better so, is it not? Then will you give me a direct reply?"

Markus looked at him for some time, and said: "You cannot."

"I cannot! Cannot what?"

"Talk," replied Markus.

"I cannot talk! Well, well! I cannot talk! Colleague, you will perhaps take note of that. You say I cannot talk. What am I now doing?"

"Stammering," said Markus.

"Exactly – exactly! All men stammer. The doctor stammers, and I stammer, and Hegel stammers, and Kant stammers…"

"They do," said Markus.

"Mijnheer Vis, then, is the only one who can talk. Is it not so?"

"Not with you," replied Markus. "In order to talk one must have a hearer who can understand."

Dr. Cijfer smiled, and whispered, not without a shade of irony, "Take care, Colleague! You also err in dialectics." But Bommeldoos angrily shook his round head with its bulbous cheeks, and continued:

"That is to say that you consider yourself wiser than all other men? Note the reply, Colleague."

"I think myself wiser than you," said Markus. "Decide yourself whether this means wiser than all other men."

"I have made a note of the reply," said Dr. Cijfer, while a sound of satisfaction came from his pursed-up lips.

Yet the professor took no notice of these ironical remarks, and proceeded:

"Now just tell me, frankly, my friend, are you a prophet? An apostle? Are you perhaps the King? Or are you God himself?"