The Quest

"Yes, he lived about the time of Bach, or rather, that of Brahms. He created the German Empire."

Said Gerbrand, "The German Empire, father! Where is that?"

"There is no longer a German Empire, Gerbrand, although there are millions of Germans. Such empires do not now exist; but in that day they were thought to be something very admirable."

And Hugo: "Was it as fine as the Chromatic Fantasie, father, or the Pyramids?"

"It was something very different, my boy, but certainly not so fine, for it was less lasting."

On the third and highest terrace, beneath the loftiest of the white marble columns, and running around the entire temple, was a frieze, sculptured in bas-relief. Upon it were groups of figures, cut with most wonderful art, giving representative scenes from the whole history of mankind. Among them, the spectacle of the battles held the youths the longest.

"Look, father! Here again is a man being killed. Why was that? What harm did he do?"

"That is Pertinax," replied the father, "a king of Rome, killed by his soldiers because he was just."

"A man killed for being just! What strange people!" said Hugo, smiling.

"They killed Socrates also, because he was wise, did they not, father? We saw that a little while ago," said Gerbrand.

"Yes, Gerbrand," said Hugo; "but indeed they also fought for good reasons, did they not, father? Socrates himself fought, and Sophocles."

"And Æschylus," added the father. "He lost his hand at Marathon. And Dante fought, and so did Byron."

"Shelley too, father?" asked Hugo.

"No, my boy."

"But, father," asked Gerbrand, "when is it right to fight, and when is it not?"

"It is right, my boys, when that which is the dearest and most sacred must be protected from attack – whatever is dearer to us than our lives. That is what Æschylus and Socrates and Dante conceived to be their duty. They fought for freedom – the greatest freedom of their time. And should any beings come now and try to attack what we term our liberty and our rights, we also would fight for them."

"I wish that would happen," said Gerbrand. – And the others laughed.

"Did Beethoven fight, father?" asked Hugo.

"No, although his life, as well as that of Shelley, was a struggle in the cause of true liberty – at least for what he held to be true liberty."

"But Beethoven wore a high, black hat, did he not, father? And Bach had his hair cut off, and wore a wig," said Gerbrand.

"Mozart also," added Hugo. "I do not understand how kings could do such queer things."

"How was it possible," exclaimed Gerbrand, "for these people in their high hats and silly black clothes to look at one another and not burst out laughing?"

"My dear boys," said the father, "there is not a thing so foolish, so ugly, or so bad, but even the best of men will do it, or tolerate it, if only many take part in it, and it is a common error of their time. But that was a very queer age. At the time such great and wise kings as Goethe, Shelley, and Beethoven lived, ninety out of every hundred men lived like the very beasts. Some never bathed their entire bodies…

"Think of it!" cried the youths.

"They wore soiled, hideous clothing, were rude and ill-mannered, and had no conception of music nor of poetry."

"How could that be?" exclaimed the two young men.

"Because it was thought that the best human living was possible for only an occasional exception – for one in a hundred, or one in a thousand. You think that very stupid, do you not? But at that time everybody felt so, even the kings."

"Not Shelley, though," exclaimed Hugo.

"No, not Shelley," said the father. "But it is now nearly noon. We must not miss the Hall of the Hundred Pillars. We agreed to go there, you remember, while we were still at home with mother and the children."

The halls were decorated with inscriptions in many languages – each with its own ornate characters. Johannes recognized Sanskrit, Chinese, Arabic, Hebrew, and Greek. He could read only a few of the sentences; but these he retained, without understanding them:

"IN LA SUA VOLONTADE E NOSTRA PACE," and "MITE ET COGNATUM EST HOMINI DEUS."

The Hall of the Hundred Pillars had entrances from all sides, on the same level, through the lowest and heaviest colonnades, and also along stairways descending from all the terraces. The floor of the hall looked like a vast, snow-covered plain, so white was the marble, and the astronomical figures with which it was inlaid were all of silver. The hundred pillars that gave the hall its name were of red granite, and supported the central dome, which, spanning the imposing space by arch on arch, stood like a miracle of art. There were no windows, but the light streamed in through the open arches, and past the white and light blue pillarets of the dome. Yet it was not possible, from below, to see the sky.

The hall was already filled with people – thousands upon thousands. Whispering softly, all pressed forward, and at last stood still in silent expectation. Johannes followed his fellow-countrymen.

"Look, boys," whispered the father, "these pillars are of one piece – the largest stone columns in the world. In remote antiquity, when, also, men were able to build great structures, there were two like them in Rome; and we found another one, half hewn, on the coast of Corsica. Then we ourselves made ninety-seven others, and placed them all here, to the honor of God."

"Father," whispered Gerbrand, "surely we are now the happiest and the mightiest beings in the universe, are we not?"

But the father looked at him reprovingly, and said: "For shame, boy! We are only poor blind earth-worms, and all our happiness is misery, and all our magnificence is a sham, compared with the splendor of the Truth. It is but a feeble glimmering of the reality. To express this, we come hither yearly; and it was to teach you this that I brought you with me. Look up, and read what is written there."

Johannes' eyes followed the direction of the upraised hand, and he saw a Greek proverb that ran around the dome in colossal letters of gold. As interpreted by the father of the two youths it read thus: "To the only God, who alone is the Truth and the real Existence – our Father, whom we love with all our hearts and all our understanding, and for whose sake we love one another as we love ourselves."

Then the man showed his children a gold figure, at the northern end of the hall, at which the eyes of all the people were now directed, and said:

"Notice! There is the number of the hour; but beneath, it says: 'There is neither hour nor time.' Do you see? Remember that as long as you live. And now consider why we have come here to-day. For a few moments the sun stands at the summer solstice – its highest point. The temple is so built that just at that instant the sun's light comes through the opening in the dome and touches the golden figure of the hour. Then all of us – thousands on thousands from every region of the world – will again in song solemnly pledge ourselves to faithful love toward one another, and toward the Father of us all."

After this the boys were silent, gazing with all the people at the golden figure. And now that innumerable throng, in the whole, vast space, became as still as death – as still as some great forest before a storm, when not a leaf stirs.

Then, in mighty, resounding tones, a great bell began to strike the hour; while the people, all in the utmost suspense, counted the strokes. Before the last stroke fell, the golden figure burst into flame, in the bright light of the sun.

Then, in unison, without any pause, all joined in one mighty chorus, stately, solemn, and simple, that soared into the spacious vault like a song of thanks and of promise in one – a renewal for the year to come of the bond of love between God and man.

And so strong and deep was their emotion that some sank to their knees as if overcome, while others rested head or hands upon the shoulders of those standing in front of them. But the greater number stood erect, and sang loudly and clearly, regarding the scene with bright, joyful, and spirited looks.

Johannes himself felt thankful and happy beyond words – like a child under his Father's blessing, in the heart of his home.

Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt!!! went the alarm-clock on the black mantel-shelf above the Dutch oven in Marjon's small kitchen. The iron bed shuddered and creaked; and Marjon sprang up, with the sleepy, mechanical haste of one accustomed to begin work at dawn, to stop the alarm.

There stood the unpainted table, the oil-lamp, and the unwashed coffee-set, and Marjon began to put things in order.

And out from the stifling, dark alcove came, one by one, the seven children of Van Tijn – to wash themselves at the kitchen pump and to dry themselves with one and the same old hand-towel.

XXIV

Already they had been twice to the hospital, on visitors' days – Wednesday and Saturday – but they had not been permitted to see Markus.

He still lay unconscious, and the doctor did not yet know whether an operation would be necessary.