Johannes nodded a "Yes!" So far as he understood, that was his aim.
"You must be strong, then, Johannes – not weak and softhearted. Then I will help you. But remember; all or nothing."
And with trembling fingers Johannes helped to retie the loosened cords around the little feet of the rabbit.
XI
"Now, we shall see," said Pluizer, "if I cannot show you just as fine sights as Windekind can."
And when they had bidden the doctor good-by – promising to return soon, he guided Johannes into every nook and corner of the great town. He showed him how the great monster lived, breathed, and fed itself; how it consumed, and again renewed itself.
But he was partial to the slums and alleys, where the people were packed together – where everything was gloomy and grimy, and the air black and close.
He took him into one of the large buildings from which Johannes had seen the smoke ascending that first day.
A deafening roar pervaded the place – everywhere a rattling, clanking, pounding, and resounding. Great wheels revolved, and long belts whizzed in rapid undulations. The walls and floors were black, the windows broken or covered with dust. The mighty chimneys rose high above the blackened building, belching great columns of curling smoke. In that turmoil of wheels and machinery Johannes saw numbers of pale-faced men with blackened hands and clothing, silently and ceaselessly working.
"Who are they?" asked Johannes.
"Wheels – more wheels," laughed Pluizer, "or human beings – as you choose. What they are doing there they do, day in – day out. And one can be human in that way, also – after a fashion."
They went on into dirty, narrow streets, where the little strip of blue sky looked only a finger's width; and even then was clouded by the clothes hung out to dry. It swarmed with people there. They jostled one another, shouted, laughed, and sometimes sang. In the houses the rooms were so small, so dark and damp, that Johannes hardly dared to breathe. He saw ragged children creeping over the bare floors; and young girls, with disheveled hair, humming melodies to thin, pale nurslings. He heard quarreling and scolding, and all the faces around him were tired, dull, or indifferent.
Johannes' heart was wrung with pain. It was not akin to his earlier grief – he was ashamed of that.
"Pluizer," he asked, "have these people always lived here – so dreary and so wretched? While I…" He dared not go on.
"Certainly; and that is fortunate. Indeed, their life is not so very dreary and wretched. They are inured to this, and know nothing better. They are dull, careless cattle. Do you see those two women there – sitting in front of their door? They look as contentedly over the foul street as you used to look upon your dunes. There is no need for you to cry over these people. You might as well cry about the moles that never see the daylight."
Johannes did not know what to reply, nor did he know why he felt so sad.
In the midst of the clamorous pushing and rushing he still saw the pale, hollow-eyed man, striding with noiseless steps.
"He is a good man after all. Do you not think so?" said Pluizer, "to take the people away from this? But even here they are afraid of him."
When night fell, and hundreds of lamps flickered in the wind – casting long, wavering lights over the black water, they passed through the silent streets. The tall old houses looked tired – as if leaning against one another in sleep. Most of them had closed their eyes; but here and there a window still sent out a faint, yellow glimmer.
Pluizer told Johannes long stories about those who dwelt behind them – of the pains that were there endured, and of the struggles that took place there between misery and love of life. He did not spare him, but selected the gloomiest, the lowest, and most trying; and grinned with enjoyment when Johannes grew pale and silent at his shocking tales.
"Pluizer," asked Johannes, suddenly, "do you know anything about the Great Light?"
He thought that that question might save him from the darkness which was pressing closer and heavier upon him.
"Chatter! Windekind's chatter!" said Pluizer. "Phantoms – illusions! There are only people – and myself. Do you fancy that any kind of god could take pleasure in anything on this earth – such a medley as there is here to be ruled over? Moreover, such a Great Light would not leave so many here – in the darkness."
"But those stars! Those stars!" cried Johannes; as if expecting that visible splendor to protest for him against this statement.
"The stars! Do you know, little fellow, what you are chattering about? Those lights up there are not like the lanterns you see about you here. They are all worlds – every one of them much larger than this world with its thousands of cities – and in the midst of them we swing like a speck of dust. There is no above nor below. There are worlds on all sides of us – nothing but worlds, and there is no end to them."
"No, no!" cried Johannes in terror, "do not say so! I see little lights on a great, dark plain above me."
"Yes, you can see nothing but little lights. If you gazed up all your life, you would see nothing else than little lights upon a dark plain above you. But you can, you must know that the universe – in the midst of which this little clod with its pitiful swarm of dotards is as nothing – shall vanish into nothingness. So speak no more of 'the stars' as if they were but a few dozens. It is foolishness."
Johannes was silenced.
"Come on," said Pluizer. "Now we will go to see something cheerful."
At intervals they were greeted by strains of music in lovely, lingering waves of sound. On a dark canal stood a large house, out of whose many tall windows the light was streaming brightly. A long line of carriages stood in front of it. The stamping of the horses rang with a hollow sound in the stillness of the night, and they were throwing "yeses" with their heads. The light sparkled on the silver trappings of the harness, and on the varnish of the vehicles.
Indoors, it was dazzlingly bright. Johannes stood gazing, half-blinded, in the glare of hundreds of varicolored lights, of mirrors and flowers.
Graceful figures glided past the windows, bowing to one another, laughing, and gesturing. Far back in the room moved richly dressed people, with lingering step or with rapid, swaying turns. A confused sound of laughter and of cheerful voices, sliding steps and rustling garments reached the street, borne upon the waves of that soft, entrancing music which Johannes had already heard from afar. In the street, close by the windows, stood a few dark figures, whose faces only – strange and dissimilar – were lighted by the splendor at which they were gazing so intently.
"That is fine! That is splendid!" cried Johannes. He greatly enjoyed the sight of the color and light and the many flowers. "What is going on there? May we go in?"
"Really, do you think this beautiful, too? Or perhaps you would prefer a rabbit-hole! Just look at the people – laughing, bowing, and glittering! See how dignified and spruce the men are, and how gay and smart the ladies. And how devoted they are to the dancing, as though it were the most important matter in the world."
Johannes thought again of the ball in the rabbit-hole, and he saw a great deal that reminded him of it. But here everything was grander and more brilliant. The young ladies in their rich array seemed to him, when they lifted their long white arms, and turned their heads half aside in dancing, as beautiful as the elves. The servants moved around majestically, offering delicious drinks – with respectful bows.
"How splendid! How splendid!" cried Johannes.
"Very pretty, is it not?" said Pluizer. "But you must look a little farther than just to the end of your nose. You see nothing now, do you, but lovely, laughing faces? Well, almost all those smiles are false and affected. Those kindly old ladies at the side there sit like anglers around a pond; their young girls are the bait, the gentlemen are the fishes. However well they like to chat together, they