Pluizer took him, too, to the great churches to listen to what was said there. He took him to festivals and grand ceremonies, and made him intimate in many houses. Johannes learnt to study men, and it sometimes happened that he could not help thinking of his past life, of the tales Windekind had told him and of his own disappointments. There were men who reminded him of the glow-worm, who fancied that the stars were his departed friends; or of the cockchafer who was one day older than his comrade, and who had said so much about a vocation; and he heard tales which made him think of Kribbelgauw, the Spider-Hero, and of the eel who did nothing, but was fed because it was a grand thing to have a fat king. Himself, he could only compare to the younger cockchafer, who did not know what a vocation was, and flew to the light. He felt that he in the same way was creeping, helpless and crippled, over the carpet with a string round his body, a cruel string which Pluizer tugged and twitched. Ah! he should never see the garden again! When would the heavy foot come and crush him to death? Pluizer laughed at him if he ever spoke of Windekind; and by degrees he began to think that Windekind had never existed. 'But, Pluizer, then the little key does not exist--nothing is real!' 'Nothing, nothing. Men and numbers--those are real and exist, endless numbers!' 'Then you deceived me, Pluizer. Let me go away--let me seek no more--leave me alone.' 'Have you forgotten what Death told you? That you are to become a man, a complete man?' 'I will not! it is horrible!' 'You must. You wished it once. Look at Doctor Cypher, does he think it horrible? Become like him----' It was very true. Doctor Cypher seemed always content and happy. Unwearied and imperturbable, he pursued his way, studying and teaching, satisfied and equable. 'Look at him,' Pluizer went on, 'he sees everything, and yet sees nothing. He looks on men as though he himself were a being apart, having nothing to do with their sufferings. He moves among griefs and wretchedness as though he were invulnerable, and meets Death face to face as though he were immortal. All he aims at is to understand what he sees, and everything is good in his eyes that comes in the way of knowledge. He is satisfied with everything so long as he understands it. That is what you must be.' 'But that I can never be.' 'Well, I cannot help that.' This was the hopeless conclusion of all their discussions. Johannes grew dull and indifferent, and searched and searched, knowing no longer why, or for what. He had become like the multitudes of whom Wistik had spoken. It was now winter, but he scarcely observed it.