XXIV
Sepp Jörgen was the only one who stayed put, wondering what was going on. He saw a crowd of people following the Pied Piper. He caught sounds that were full of expectation and longing. But he did not feel what the crowd felt and the pipe was not speaking to him. He let all of Hamelin pass by, lost in the pursuit of his own destiny, his hungry eyes searching for Kätchen and Lori. To no avail. Sepp Jörgen, whose fate it was to understand everything too late, had been left behind again. The crowd had passed him by, just as everything had so far passed him by; the crowd was led on by the sound of the Piper’s pipe. Oh how enthralling that land of seven castles must be, if its spell manages to awaken so many sleepers! The Piper’s pipe moved between whispering and resonating, between weeping and exulting. It promised pure joy and pleasure beyond imagining. And everyone who heard it believed in it. Even Mosse the usurer, who believed in nothing that couldn’t be backed by a cast-iron guarantee. The Piper’s procession passed through all the streets of the town. Once in a while the Piper played his pipe as if he was still calling out to someone. Someone was indeed missing from the crowd, and it wasn’t Sepp Jörgen. The pipe sounded like a tender and pleading lament. But whoever was missing did not make an appearance. For a moment the pipe sounded a note of hesitation, as if deluged by a torrent of tears. But only for a moment: then the note of triumph came clearly back. The miracle of the land with seven castles. Eventually the procession left Hamelin behind it. It began to climb the slopes of Mount Koppel. The forest murmured above the heads of thousands who were listening intently. The Piper’s pipe played tirelessly. At first it had sounded an occasional note of mockery at everyone and everything, ( 98 )
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mockery like that of the cackling devil on the Cathedral of the Holy Trinity. At first deep groaning sounds had come from time to time, as if someone’s awkward hand had brushed against a heart in pain. Now the sound of the pipe was growing fainter but it did not fade away. A wave of faith and fervour swept away all traces of doubt and confusion. The way ahead was clear. Everything was clear. The Pied Piper continued on his way and grew just as his tune did. He was a tall man; but now it was as if he stood a head taller than the whole crowd. Oh the power of the Piper’s pipe! Hamelin would be reborn. Worlds long dead had been restored to life, hearts grown cold were now aflame. The people of Hamelin, that good Hanseatic town, no longer had their minds set on buying and selling, on profit and loss. Longings they had never known were making them pine, dreams undreamt they were starting to dream now. Oh the power of the Piper’s pipe!
( 99 )
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And was not the Piper himself reborn through his pipe? He was no longer thinking about petty retaliation, getting his own back in some small-minded way, about Frosch and Strumm; he wasn’t even thinking about Kristián. He felt pain, but it was dwarfed by longing. The sound of his pipe was purging the Piper’s pain; it was purifying his thoughts of Agnes. Oh for that land of seven castles! It is sure that from time to time his heart had longed for it; but only the pipe made it real. And at the clear and powerful sound of his pipe the Piper repeated to himself: ‘Neither guilt nor sin!’ The way forward is clear, clear is the goal they are aiming for. Must we not plunge into the abyss in order to reach paradise? This is the path that Agnes followed; catch up, yes, catch up with Agnes he will. Solemn and sunk in thought, their leader led the townsfolk of Hamelin on and they followed him, drawn by the tune of his pipe, commanding and compelling. It swept them away and urged them onwards. Onwards, right up to the gates… They stumbled along and over the edge of the path, but no sooner had they fallen than they picked themselves up and went on again. They heard nothing but the Piper and they saw nothing but the Piper. And as they walked on the abyss suddenly opened up in front of them. Looking all the more sombre and grave, the Pied Piper stood over the abyss. Powerful and solemn was the sound of his pipe. No one from Hamelin stopped at the gates. No one, with the exception of Sepp Jörgen, vacantly watching the river flow by. Forward they went accompanied by the sound of the pipe, with confident smiles and arms outstretched: Oh for the land of seven castles! There wasn’t a peep out of them as they all went over and disappeared. Without a ( 100 )
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