– silver-white. All the houses showed clear lines and bright surfaces in the sunlight, and there was a warm pulsing in the pale blue air. The water seemed alive. The brown buds of the elm trees were big and glossy, and clamorous sparrows were fluttering among the branches.
As he gazed at all this, Johannes fell into a strange mood. The sunshine brought to him a sweet stupor – a blending of real luxury and oblivion. Dreamily he gazed at the glittering ripples – the swelling elm-tree buds, and he listened to the chirping of the sparrows. There was gladness in their notes.
Not in a long time had he felt so susceptible to subtle impressions – nor so really happy.
This was the old sunshine that he remembered. This was the sun that used to call him out-of-doors to the garden, where he would lie down on the warm ground, looking at the grasses and green things in front of him. There, nestled in the lee of an old wall, he could enjoy at his ease the light and heat.
It was just right in that light! It gave that safe-at-home feeling – such as he remembered long ago, in his mother's arms. His mind was full of memories of former times, but he neither wept for nor desired them. He sat still and dreamed – wishing only that the sun would continue to shine.
"What are you moping about there, Johannes?" cried Pluizer. "You know I do not approve of dreaming."
Johannes raised his pensive eyes, imploringly.
"Let me stay a little longer," said he. "The sun is so good."
"What do you find in the sun?" asked Pluizer. "It is nothing but a big candle; it does not make a bit of difference whether you are in candle-light or sunlight. Look! see those shadows and dashes of light on the street. They are nothing but the varied effect of one little light that burns steadily – without a flicker. And that light is really a tiny flame, which shines upon a mere speck of the earth. There, beyond that blue – above and beneath us – it is dark – cold and dark! It is night there – now and ever."
But his words had no effect on Johannes. The still warm sunshine penetrated him, and filled his whole being with light and peace.
Pluizer led him away to the chilly house of Doctor Cijfer. For a little while the image of the sun hovered before his vision, then slowly faded away; and by the middle of the day all was dark again.
When the evening came and he passed through the town once more, the air was sultry and full of the stuffy smells of spring. Everything was reeking, and he felt oppressed in the narrow streets. But in the open squares he smelled the grass and the buds of the country beyond; and he saw the spring in the tranquil little clouds above it all – in the tender flush of the western sky.
The twilight spread a soft grey mist, full of delicate tints, over the town. It was quiet everywhere – only a street-organ in the distance was playing a mournful tune. The buildings seemed black spectres against the crimson sky – their fantastic pinnacles and chimneys reaching up like countless arms.
When the sun threw its last rays out over the great town, it seemed to Johannes that it gave him a kind smile – kind as the smile that forgives a folly. And the sweet warmth stroked his cheeks, caressingly.
Then a great sadness came into Johannes' heart – so great that he could go no farther. He took a deep breath, and lifted up his face to the wide heavens. The spring was calling him, and he heard it. He would answer – he would go. He was all contrition and love and forgiveness.
He looked up longingly, and tears fell from his sorrowful eyes.
"Come, Johannes! Do not act so oddly – people are looking at you," said Pluizer.
Long, monotonous rows of houses stretched out on both sides – dark and gloomy – offensive in the soft spring air, discordant in the springtime melody.
People sat at their doors and on the stoops to enjoy the season. To Johannes it was a mockery. The dirty doors stood open, and the musty rooms within awaited their occupants. In the distance the organ still prolonged its melancholy tones.
"Oh, if I could only fly away – far away to the dunes and to the sea!"
But he had to return to the high-up little room; and that night he lay awake.
He could not help thinking of his father and the long walks he had taken with him, when he followed a dozen steps behind, and his father wrote letters for him in the sand. He thought of the places under the bushes where the violets grew, and of the days when he and his father had searched for them. All night he saw the face of his father – as it was when he sat beside him evenings by the still lamp-light – watching him, and listening to the scratching of his pen.
Every morning after this he asked Pluizer to be allowed to go once more to his home and to his father – to see once again his garden and the dunes. He noticed now that he had had more love for his father than for Presto and for his little room, since it was of him that he asked.
"Only tell me how he is, and if he is still angry with me for staying away so long."
Pluizer shrugged his shoulders. "Even if you knew, how would it help you?"
Still the spring kept calling him – louder and louder. Every night he dreamed of the dark green moss on the hillslopes, and of sunbeams shining through the young and tender, verdure.
"It cannot long stay this way," thought Johannes. "I cannot bear it."
And often when he could not sleep he rose up softly, went to the window, and looked out at the night. He saw the sleepy, feathery little clouds drifting slowly over the disk of the moon to float peacefully in a sea of soft, lustrous light. He thought of the distant dunes – asleep, now, in the sultry night – how wonderful it must be in the low woods where not a leaf would be stirring, and where it was full of the fragrance of moist moss and young birch-sprouts. He fancied he could hear, in the distance the swelling chorus of the frogs, which hovered so mystically over the plains; and the song of the only bird which can accompany the solemn stillness – whose lay begins so soft and plaintive and breaks off so suddenly, making the silence seem yet deeper. And it all was calling – calling him. He dropped his head upon his arms on the window-sill, and sobbed.
"I cannot bear it. I shall die soon if I cannot go."
When Pluizer roused him the following morning, he was still sitting by the window, where he had fallen asleep with his head on his arm.
The days passed by – grew long and warm – and there came no change. Yet Johannes did not die, and had to bear his sorrow.
One morning Doctor Cijfer said to him:
"Come with me, Johannes. I have to visit a patient."
Doctor Cijfer was known to be a learned man, and many appealed to him to ward off sickness and death. Johannes had already accompanied him many times.
Pluizer was unusually frolicsome this morning. Again and again he stood on his head, danced and tumbled, and perpetrated all kinds of reckless tricks. His face wore a constant, mysterious grin, as if he had a surprise all ready for the springing. Johannes was very much afraid of him in this humor.
But Doctor Cijfer was as serious as ever.
They went a long way this morning – in a railway train and afoot. They went farther than at other times, for Johannes had never yet been taken outside the town.
It was a warm, sunny day. Looking out of the train, Johannes saw the great green meadows go by, with their long-plumed grass, and grazing
