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Graduate Texts in Mathematics

Christopher Heil

Introduction
to Real
Analysis
Graduate Texts in Mathematics 280
Graduate Texts in Mathematics

Series Editors

Sheldon Axler
San Francisco State University, San Francisco, CA, USA

Kenneth Ribet
University of California, Berkeley, CA, USA

Advisory Editors

Alejandro Adem, University of British Columbia

David Eisenbud, University of California, Berkeley & MSRI
Brian C. Hall, University of Notre Dame
Patricia Hersh, North Carolina State University
J. F. Jardine, University of Western Ontario
Jeffrey C. Lagarias, University of Michigan
Ken Ono, Emory University
Jeremy Quastel, University of Toronto
Fadil Santosa, University of Minnesota
Barry Simon, California Institute of Technology
Ravi Vakil, Stanford University
Steven H. Weintraub, Lehigh University
Melanie Matchett Wood, University of Wisconsin-Madison

Graduate Texts in Mathematics bridge the gap between passive study and
creative understanding, offering graduate-level introductions to advanced topics in
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characteristic features of the theory. Although these books are frequently used as
textbooks in graduate courses, they are also suitable for individual study.

More information about this series at http://www.springer.com/series/136

Christopher Heil

Introduction to Real Analysis

123
Christopher Heil
School of Mathematics
Georgia Institute of Technology
Atlanta, GA, USA

ISSN 0072-5285 ISSN 2197-5612 (electronic)

Graduate Texts in Mathematics
ISBN 978-3-030-26901-2 ISBN 978-3-030-26903-6 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-26903-6

Mathematics Subject Classification (2010): 28-XX, 26-XX, 42-XX, 46-XX, 47-XX, 54-XX

© Springer Science+Business Media, LLC, part of Springer Nature 2019

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For Alex, Andrew, and Lea
Contents

Preliminaries . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

1 Metric and Normed Spaces . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15

1.1 Metric Spaces . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15
1.1.1 Convergence and Completeness . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16
1.1.2 Topology in Metric Spaces . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17
1.1.3 Compact Sets in Metric Spaces . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18
1.1.4 Continuity for Functions on Metric Spaces . . . . . . . . . . . 20
1.2 Normed Spaces . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22
1.2.1 Vector Spaces . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22
1.2.2 Seminorms and Norms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23
1.2.3 Infinite Series in Normed Spaces . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24
1.2.4 Equivalent Norms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26
1.3 The Uniform Norm . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27
1.3.1 Some Function Spaces . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28
1.4 Hölder and Lipschitz Continuity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31

2 Lebesgue Measure . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33
2.1 Exterior Lebesgue Measure . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34
2.1.1 Boxes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35
2.1.2 Some Facts about Boxes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36
2.1.3 Exterior Lebesgue Measure . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39
2.1.4 The Exterior Measure of a Box . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44
2.1.5 The Cantor Set . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46
2.1.6 Regularity of Exterior Measure . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49
2.2 Lebesgue Measure . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52
2.2.1 Definition and Basic Properties . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
2.2.2 Toward Countable Additivity and Closure under
Complements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55
2.2.3 Countable Additivity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59
2.2.4 Equivalent Formulations of Measurability . . . . . . . . . . . . 62

vii
viii Contents

2.2.5 Carathéodory’s Criterion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 64

2.2.6 Almost Everywhere and the Essential Supremum . . . . . 66
2.3 More Properties of Lebesgue Measure . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71
2.3.1 Continuity from Above and Below . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71
2.3.2 Cartesian Products . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 74
2.3.3 Linear Changes of Variable . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75
2.4 Nonmeasurable Sets . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81
2.4.1 The Axiom of Choice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81
2.4.2 Existence of a Nonmeasurable Set . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 82
2.4.3 Further Results . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 84

3 Measurable Functions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87
3.1 Definition and Properties of Measurable Functions . . . . . . . . . . 87
3.1.1 Extended Real-Valued Functions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 88
3.1.2 Complex-Valued Functions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 92
3.2 Operations on Functions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93
3.2.1 Sums and Products . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93
3.2.2 Compositions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95
3.2.3 Suprema and Limits . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 96
3.2.4 Simple Functions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 98
3.3 The Lebesgue Space L∞ (E) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103
3.3.1 Convergence and Completeness in L∞ (E) . . . . . . . . . . . 105
3.4 Egorov’s Theorem . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 107
3.5 Convergence in Measure . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 111
3.6 Luzin’s Theorem . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117

4 The Lebesgue Integral . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119

4.1 The Lebesgue Integral of Nonnegative Functions . . . . . . . . . . . . 119
4.1.1 Integration of Nonnegative Simple Functions . . . . . . . . . 121
4.1.2 Integration of Nonnegative Functions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 123
4.2 The Monotone Convergence Theorem and Fatou’s Lemma . . . 126
4.2.1 The Monotone Convergence Theorem . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127
4.2.2 Fatou’s Lemma . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 130
4.3 The Lebesgue Integral of Measurable Functions . . . . . . . . . . . . 132
4.3.1 Extended Real-Valued Functions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133
4.3.2 Complex-Valued Functions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 135
4.3.3 Properties of the Integral . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 136
4.4 Integrable Functions and L1 (E) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 138
4.4.1 The Lebesgue Space L1 (E) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 138
4.4.2 Convergence in L1 -Norm . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 140
4.4.3 Linearity of the Integral for Integrable Functions . . . . . 142
4.4.4 Inclusions between L1 (E) and L∞ (E) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 143
4.5 The Dominated Convergence Theorem . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 146
4.5.1 The Dominated Convergence Theorem . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 147
4.5.2 First Applications of the DCT . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 149
Contents ix

4.5.3 Approximation by Continuous Functions . . . . . . . . . . . . 150

4.5.4 Approximation by Really Simple Functions . . . . . . . . . . 153
4.5.5 Relation to the Riemann Integral . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 154
4.6 Repeated Integration . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161
4.6.1 Fubini’s Theorem . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161
4.6.2 Tonelli’s Theorem . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 168
4.6.3 Convolution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 171

5 Differentiation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 177
5.1 The Cantor–Lebesgue Function . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 178
5.2 Functions of Bounded Variation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 182
5.2.1 Definition and Examples . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 183
5.2.2 Lipschitz and Hölder Continuous Functions . . . . . . . . . . 186
5.2.3 Indefinite Integrals and Antiderivatives . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 187
5.2.4 The Jordan Decomposition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 189
5.3 Covering Lemmas . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 194
5.3.1 The Simple Vitali Lemma . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 195
5.3.2 The Vitali Covering Lemma . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 196
5.4 Differentiability of Monotone Functions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 200
5.5 The Lebesgue Differentiation Theorem . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 207
5.5.1 L1 -Convergence of Averages . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 208
5.5.2 Locally Integrable Functions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 210
5.5.3 The Maximal Theorem . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 210
5.5.4 The Lebesgue Differentiation Theorem . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 213
5.5.5 Lebesgue Points . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 216

6 Absolute Continuity and the Fundamental Theorem of

Calculus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 219
6.1 Absolutely Continuous Functions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 220
6.1.1 Differentiability of Absolutely Continuous Functions . . 222
6.2 Growth Lemmas . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 223
6.3 The Banach–Zaretsky Theorem . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 229
6.4 The Fundamental Theorem of Calculus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 234
6.4.1 Applications of the FTC . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 235
6.4.2 Integration by Parts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 237
6.5 The Chain Rule and Changes of Variable . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 241
6.6 Convex Functions and Jensen’s Inequality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 245

7 The Lp Spaces . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 253

7.1 The ℓp Spaces . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 254
7.1.1 Hölder’s Inequality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 256
7.1.2 Minkowski’s Inequality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 259
7.1.3 Convergence in the ℓp Spaces . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 262
7.1.4 Completeness of the ℓp Spaces . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 264
7.1.5 ℓp for p < 1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 265
x Contents

7.1.6 c0 and c00 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 266

7.2 The Lebesgue Space Lp (E) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 269
7.2.1 Seminorm Properties of k · kp . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 271
7.2.2 Identifying Functions That Are Equal Almost
Everywhere . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 272
7.2.3 Lp (E) for 0 < p < 1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 273
7.2.4 The Converse of Hölder’s Inequality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 274
7.3 Convergence in Lp -norm . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 277
7.3.1 Dense Subsets of Lp (E) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 279
7.4 Separability of Lp (E) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 284

8 Hilbert Spaces and L2 (E) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 289

8.1 Inner Products and Hilbert Spaces . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 289
8.1.1 The Definition of an Inner Product . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 290
8.1.2 Properties of an Inner Product . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 290
8.1.3 Hilbert Spaces . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 292
8.2 Orthogonality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 295
8.2.1 Orthogonal Complements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 296
8.2.2 Orthogonal Projections . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 298
8.2.3 Characterizations of the Orthogonal Projection . . . . . . . 302
8.2.4 The Closed Span . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 302
8.2.5 The Complement of the Complement . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 303
8.2.6 Complete Sequences . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 304
8.3 Orthonormal Sequences and Orthonormal Bases . . . . . . . . . . . . 305
8.3.1 Orthonormal Sequences . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 305
8.3.2 Unconditional Convergence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 307
8.3.3 Orthogonal Projections Revisited . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 308
8.3.4 Orthonormal Bases . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 310
8.3.5 Existence of an Orthonormal Basis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 312
8.3.6 The Legendre Polynomials . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 313
8.3.7 The Haar System . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 314
8.3.8 Unitary Operators . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 316
8.4 The Trigonometric System . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 320

9 Convolution and the Fourier Transform . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 327

9.1 Convolution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 327
9.1.1 The Definition of Convolution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 328
9.1.2 Existence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 329
9.1.3 Convolution as Averaging . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 331
9.1.4 Approximate Identities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 333
9.1.5 Young’s Inequality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 338
9.2 The Fourier Transform . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 344
9.2.1 The Inversion Formula . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 348
9.2.2 Smoothness and Decay . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 353
9.3 Fourier Series . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 360
Contents xi

9.3.1 Periodic Functions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 361

9.3.2 Decay of Fourier Coefficients . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 362
9.3.3 Convolution of Periodic Functions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 365
9.3.4 Approximate Identities and the Inversion Formula . . . . 365
9.3.5 Completeness of the Trigonometric System . . . . . . . . . . 371
9.3.6 Convergence of Fourier Series for p 6= 2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 374
9.4 The Fourier Transform on L2 (R) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 378

Hints for Selected Exercises and Problems . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 387

Index of Symbols . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 389

References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 393

Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 395
Preface

This text grew out of lecture notes that I developed over the years for the
“Real Analysis” graduate sequence here at Georgia Tech. This two-semester
sequence is taken by first-year mathematics graduate students, well-prepared
undergraduate mathematics majors, and graduate students from a wide va-
riety of engineering and scientific disciplines. Covered in this book are the
topics that are taught in the first semester: Lebesgue measure, the Lebesgue
integral, differentiation and absolute continuity, the Lebesgue spaces Lp (E),
and Hilbert spaces and L2 (E). This material not only forms the basis of a core
subject in pure mathematics, but also has wide applicability in science and
engineering. A text covering the second semester topics in analysis, including
abstract measure theory, signed and complex measures, operator theory, and
functional analysis, is in development.
This text is an introduction to real analysis. There are several classic anal-
ysis texts that I keep close by on my bookshelf and refer to often. However, I
find it difficult to use any of these as the textbook for teaching a first course
on analysis. They tend to be dense and, in the classic style of mathematical
elegance and conciseness, they develop the theory in the most general setting,
with few examples and limited motivation. These texts are valuable resources,
but I suggest that they should be the second set of books on analysis that
you pick up.
I hope that this text will be the analysis text that you read first. The def-
initions, theorems, and other results are motivated and explained; the why
and not just the what of the subject is discussed. Proofs are completely rigor-
ous, yet difficult arguments are motivated and discussed. Extensive exercises
and problems complement the presentation in the text, and provide many
opportunities for enhancing the student’s understanding of the material.

xiii
xiv Preface

Audience

This text is aimed at students who have taken a standard (proof-based)

undergraduate mathematics course on the basics of analysis. A brief review
of the needed background material is presented in the Preliminaries section
of the text. This includes:
• sequences, series, limits, suprema and infima, and limsups and liminfs,
• functions,
• cardinality,
• basic topology of Euclidean space (open, closed, and compact sets),
• continuity and differentiability of real-valued functions,
• the Riemann integral.

Online Resources

A variety of resources are available on the author’s website,

http://people.math.gatech.edu/∼ heil/
These include the following.

• A Chapter 0, which contains a greatly expanded version of the mate-

rial that appears in the Preliminaries section of this text, along with
discussions and exercises.
• An Alternative Chapter 1, which is an expanded version of the material
presented in Chapter 1, including detailed discussion, motivation, and
exercises, focused on the setting of normed spaces.
• A Chapter 10, which provides an introduction to abstract measure the-
ory.
• An Instructor’s Guide, with a detailed course outline, commentary, re-
marks, and extra problems. The exposition and problems in this guide
may be useful for students and readers as well as instructors.
• Selected Solutions for Students, containing approximately one worked
solution of a problem or exercise from each section of the text.
• An Errata List that will be updated as I become aware of typographical
or other errors in the text.

Additionally, a Solutions Manual is available to instructors upon re-

quest; instructions for obtaining a copy are given on the Birkhäuser website
for this text.
Preface xv

Outline

Chapter 1 presents a short review of metric and normed spaces. Students

who have completed an undergraduate analysis course have likely encountered
much of this material, although possibly only in the context of the Euclidean
space Rd (or Cd ) instead of abstract metric spaces. The instructor has the
option of beginning the course here or proceeding directly to Chapter 2. The
online Alternative Chapter 1 presents a significantly expanded version of
this chapter focused on normed spaces. (A detailed introduction to the more
general setting of metric spaces is available in the first chapters of the author’s
text Metrics, Norms, Inner Products, and Operator Theory [Heil18].)
In Chapter 2 we begin the study of Lebesgue measure. The fundamental
question that motivates this chapter is: Can we assign a “volume” or “mea-
sure” to every subset of Rd in such a way that all of the properties that
we expect of a “volume” function are satisfied? For example, we want the
measure of a cube or a ball in Rd to coincide with the standard definition of
the volume of a cube or ball, and if we translate an object rigidly in space
then we want its measure to always remain the same. If we break an object
into countably many disjoint pieces, then we want the measure of the original
object to be the sum of the measures of the pieces. Surprisingly (at least to
me!), this simply can’t be done (more precisely, the Axiom of Choice implies
that it is impossible). However, if we relax this goal somewhat then we find
that we can define a measure that obeys the correct rules for a “large” class
of sets (the Lebesgue measurable sets). Chapter 2 constructs and studies
this measure, which we call the Lebesgue measure of subsets of Rd .
In Chapters 3 and 4 we define the integral of real-valued and complex-
valued functions whose domain is a measurable subset of Rd . Unfortunately,
we cannot define the Lebesgue integral of every function. Chapter 3 in-
troduces the class of measurable functions and deals with issues related to
convergence of sequences of measurable functions, while Chapter 4 defines
and studies the Lebesgue integral of a measurable function. The Lebesgue
integral extends the Riemann integral, but is far more general. We can de-
fine the Lebesgue integral for functions whose domain is any measurable set.
We prove powerful results that allow us, in a large family of cases, to make
conclusions about the convergence of a sequence of Lebesgue integrals, or
to interchange the order of iterated integrals of functions of more than one
variable.
The Fundamental Theorem of Calculus (FTC) is, as its name suggests,
central to analysis. Chapters 5 and 6 explore issues related to differen-
tiation and the FTC in detail. We see that there are surprising examples
of nonconstant functions whose derivatives are zero at “almost every” point
(and therefore fail the FTC). In our quest to fully understand the FTC we de-
fine functions of bounded variation and study averaging operations in Chap-
ter 5. Then in Chapter 6 we introduce the class of absolutely continuous
functions, which turn out to be the functions for which the FTC holds. The
xvi Preface

Banach–Zaretsky Theorem plays a prominent role in Chapter 6, and it is

central to our understanding of absolute continuity and its impact.
In Chapter 7 our focus turns from individual functions to spaces of func-
tions. The Lebesgue spaces Lp (E) group functions by integrability proper-
ties, giving us a family of spaces indexed by an extended real number p with
0 < p ≤ ∞. For p ≥ 1 these are normed vector spaces of functions, while
for 0 < p < 1 they are metric spaces whose metric is not induced from a
norm. The case p = 2 is especially important, because we can define an inner
product on L2 (E), which makes it a Hilbert space. This topic is explored in
Chapter 8. In a metric space, all that we can do is define the distance be-
tween points in the space. In a normed space we can additionally define the
length of each vector in the space. But in a Hilbert space, we furthermore have
a notion of angles between vectors and hence can define orthogonality. This
leads to many powerful results, including the existence of an orthonormal
basis for every separable Hilbert space. Even though a Hilbert space can be
infinite-dimensional, in many respects our intuitions from Euclidean space
hold when we deal with a Hilbert space.
Chapter 9 contains “extra” material that is usually not covered in our
real analysis sequence here at Georgia Tech, but which has many striking ap-
plications of the techniques developed in the earlier chapters. First we define
the operation of convolution. Then we introduce and study the Fourier trans-
form and Fourier series. These results form the core of the field of harmonic
analysis, which has wide applicability throughout mathematics, physics, and
engineering. Convolution is a generalization of the averaging operations that
were used in Chapters 5 and 6 to characterize the class of functions for
which the Fundamental Theorem of Calculus holds. The Fourier transform
and Fourier series allow us to both construct and deconstruct a wide class
of functions, signals, or operators in terms of much simpler building blocks
based on complex exponentials (or sines and cosines in the real case). Al-
though Chapter 9 presents only a taste of the theorems of harmonic anal-
ysis (which deserves another course, and a future text, to do it justice), we
do get to see many applications of all of the tools that we derived in earlier
chapters, including convergence of sequences of integrals (via the Dominated
Convergence Theorem), interchange of iterated integrals (via Fubini’s Theo-
rem), and the Fundamental Theorem of Calculus (via the Banach–Zaretsky
Theorem).
Many exercises and problems appear in each section of the text. The Ex-
ercises are directly incorporated into the development of the theory in each
section, while the additional Problems given at the end of each section provide
further practice and opportunities to develop understanding.
Preface xvii

Course Options

There are many options for building a course around this text. The course
that I teach at Georgia Tech is fast-paced, but covers most of the text in one
semester. Here is a brief outline of such a one-semester course; a more detailed
outline with much additional information (and extra problems) is contained
in the Instructor’s Guide that is available on the author’s website.
Chapter 1: Assign for student reading, not covered in lecture.
Chapter 2: Sections 2.1–2.4.
Chapter 3: Sections 3.1–3.5. Omit Section 3.6.
Chapter 4: Sections 4.1–4.6.
Chapter 5: Sections 5.1–5.2, and selected portions of Sections 5.3–5.5.
Chapter 6: Sections 6.1–6.4. Omit Sections 6.5-6.6.
Chapter 7: Sections 7.1–7.4.
Chapter 8: Sections 8.1–8.4 (as time allows).
Chapter 9: Bonus material, not covered in lecture.
Another option is to begin the course with Chapter 1 (or the online Al-
ternative Chapter 1). A fast-paced course could cover most of Chapters
1–8. A moderately paced course could cover the first half of the text in detail
in one semester, while a moderately paced two-semester course could cover
all of Chapters 1–9 in considerable detail.

Acknowledgments

Every text builds on those that have come before it, and this one is no
exception. Many classic and recent volumes have influenced the writing, the
choice of topics, the proofs, and the selection of problems. Among those that
have had the most profound influence on my writing are Benedetto and Czaja
[BC09], Bruckner, Bruckner, and Thomson [BBT97], Folland [Fol99], Rudin
[Rud87], Stein and Shakarchi [SS05], and Wheeden and Zygmund [WZ77].
I greatly appreciate all of these texts and encourage the reader to consult
them. Additional texts and papers are listed in the references.
Various versions of the material in this volume have been used over the
years in the real analysis courses that were taught at Georgia Tech, and I
thank all of the many students and colleagues who have provided feedback.
Special thanks are due to Shahaf Nitzan, who taught the course out of earlier
versions of the text and provided invaluable feedback.

Christopher Heil
Atlanta, Georgia
April 27, 2019
Preliminaries

We use the symbol ⊓ ⊔ to denote the end of a proof, and the symbol ♦ to
denote the end of a definition, remark, example, or exercise. We also use ♦
to indicate the end of the statement of a theorem whose proof will be omitted.
A few problems are marked with an asterisk *; this indicates that they may
be more challenging. A detailed index of symbols employed in the text can
be found at the end of the volume.

Numbers

The set of natural numbers is denoted by N = {1, 2, 3, . . . }. The set of integers

is Z = {. . . , −1, 0, 1, . . . }, Q denotes the set of rational numbers, R is the set
of real numbers, and C is the set of complex numbers. We often refer to R as
the real line, and to C as the complex plane.
Complex Numbers. The real part of a complex number z = a+ib (where
a, b ∈ R) is Re(z) = a, and its imaginary part is Im(z) = b. We say that z
is rational if both its real and imaginary parts are rational numbers. The
complex conjugate of z is z = a − ib. The modulus, or absolute value, of z is
√ p
|z| = zz = a2 + b2 .

If z 6= 0 then its polar form is z = reiθ where r = |z| > 0 and θ ∈ [0, 2π). In
this case the argument of z is arg(z) = θ. Given any z ∈ C, there is a complex
number α such that |α| = 1 and αz = |z|. If z 6= 0 then α is uniquely given
by α = e−iθ = z/|z|, while if z = 0 then α can be any complex number that
has unit modulus.
Extended Real Numbers. The set of extended real numbers [−∞, ∞] is

[−∞, ∞] = R ∪ {−∞, ∞}.

1
2 Preliminaries

We extend many of the normal arithmetic and order notations and oper-
ations to [−∞, ∞]. For example, if a ∈ [−∞, ∞] then a is a real number if
and only if −∞ < a < ∞. If −∞ < a ≤ ∞ then we set a + ∞ = ∞. However,
∞ − ∞ and −∞ + ∞ are undefined, and are referred to as indeterminate
forms. If 0 < a ≤ ∞, then we define

a · ∞ = ∞, (−a) · ∞ = −∞, a · (−∞) = −∞, (−a) · (−∞) = ∞.

We also adopt the following conventions:

1
0 · (±∞) = 0 and = 0.
±∞
The Dual Index. Let p be an extended real number in the range
1 ≤ p ≤ ∞. The dual index to p is the unique extended real number p′ that
satisfies
1 1
+ ′ = 1.
p p
We have 1 ≤ p′ ≤ ∞, and (p′ )′ = p. If 1 < p < ∞, then we can write p′
explicitly as
p
p′ = .
p−1
¡ ¢′
Some examples are 1′ = ∞, 23 = 3, 2′ = 2, 3′ = 32 , and ∞′ = 1.

The Notation F. In order to deal simultaneously with the complex plane

and the extended real line, we let the symbol F denote a choice of either
[−∞, ∞] or C. Associated with this choice, we declare that:
• if F = [−∞, ∞], then the word scalar means a finite real number c ∈ R;
• if F = C, then the word scalar means a complex number c ∈ C.
Note that a scalar cannot be ±∞; instead, a scalar is always a real or complex
number.

Sets

The notation x ∈ X means that x is an element of the set X. We often refer

to an element of X as a point in X.
We write A ⊆ B to denote that A is a subset of a set B. If A ⊆ B and
A 6= B then we say that A is a proper subset of B, and we write A ( B.
The empty set is denoted by ∅.
A collection of sets {Xi }i∈I is disjoint if Xi ∩ Xj = ∅ whenever i 6= j. The
S
collection {Xi }i∈I is a partition of X if it is disjoint and i∈I
© Xi = X. ª
If X is a set, then the complement of S ⊆ X is X \S = x ∈ X : x ∈ /S .
We sometimes abbreviate X \S as S C if the set X is understood. If A and B
Preliminaries 3

are subsets of X, then the relative complement of A in B is

B \A = B ∩ AC = {x ∈ B : x ∈ / A}.
© ª
The power set of X is P(X) = S : S ⊆ X , the set of all subsets of X.
The Cartesian product of sets X and Y is X ×Y = {(x, y) : x ∈ X, y ∈ Y },
the set of all ordered pairs of elements of X and Y. The Cartesian product
of finitely many sets X1 , . . . , XN is
N
Y © ª
Xj = X1 × · · · × XN = (x1 , . . . , xN ) : xk ∈ Xk , k = 1, . . . , N .
j=1

Equivalence Relations

Informally, we say that ∼ is a relation on a set X if for each choice of x and

y in X we have only one of the following two possibilities:

x ∼ y (x is related to y) or x 6∼ y (x is not related to y).

An equivalence relation on a set X is a relation ∼ that satisfies the following

conditions for all x, y, z ∈ X.
• Reflexivity: x ∼ x.
• Symmetry: If x ∼ y then y ∼ x.
• Transitivity: If x ∼ y and y ∼ z then x ∼ z.
For example, if we declare that x ∼ y if and only if x − y is rational, then ∼
is an equivalence relation on R.
If ∼ is an equivalence relation on X, then the equivalence class of x ∈ X
is the set [x] that contains all elements that are related to x:

[x] = {y ∈ X : x ∼ y}.

Any two equivalence classes are either identical or disjoint. That is, if x and y
are two elements of X, then either [x] = [y] or [x] ∩ [y] = ∅. The union of
all equivalence classes [x] is X. Consequently, the set of distinct equivalence
classes forms a partition of X.

Intervals

An interval in the real line R is any one of the following sets:

• (a, b), [a, b), (a, b], [a, b] where a, b ∈ R and a < b, or
4 Preliminaries

• (a, ∞), [a, ∞), (−∞, a), (−∞, a] where a ∈ R, or

• R = (−∞, ∞).
An open interval is an interval of the form (a, b), (a, ∞), (−∞, a), or
(−∞, ∞). A closed interval is an interval of the form [a, b], [a, ∞), (−∞, a],
or (−∞, ∞). We refer to [a, b] as a finite closed interval, a bounded closed
interval, or a compact interval.
The empty set ∅ and a singleton {a} are not intervals, but even so we
adopt the notational conventions

[a, a] = {a} and (a, a) = [a, a) = (a, a] = ∅.

We also consider extended intervals, which are any of the following sets:
• (a, ∞] = (a, ∞) ∪ {∞} or [a, ∞] = [a, ∞) ∪ {∞}, where a ∈ R,
• [−∞, b) = (−∞, b) ∪ {−∞} or [−∞, b] = (−∞, b] ∪ {−∞}, where b ∈ R,
or
• [−∞, ∞] = R ∪ {−∞} ∪ {∞}.
An extended interval is not an interval—whenever we refer to an “interval”
without qualification we implicitly exclude the extended intervals.

Euclidean Space

We let Rd denote d-dimensional real Euclidean space, the set of all ordered
d-tuples of real numbers. Similarly, Cd is d-dimensional complex Euclidean
space, the set of all ordered d-tuples of complex numbers.
The zero vector is 0 = (0, . . . , 0). We use the same symbol “0” to denote
the zero vector and the number zero; the intended meaning should be clear
from context.
The dot product of vectors x = (x1 , . . . , xd ) and y = (y1 , . . . , yd ) in Rd or
Cd is
x · y = x1 y1 + · · · + xd yd ,
and the Euclidean norm of x is
¡ ¢1/2
kxk = (x · x)1/2 = |x1 |2 + · · · + |xd |2 .

The translation of a set E ⊆ Rd by a vector h ∈ Rd (or a set E ⊆ Cd by

a vector h ∈ Cd ) is E + h = {x + h : x ∈ E}.
Preliminaries 5

Sequences

Let I be a fixed set. Given a set X and points xi ∈ X for i ∈ I, we write

{xi }i∈I to denote the sequence of elements xi indexed by the set I. We call I
an index set in this context, and refer to xi as the ith component of the se-
quence {xi }i∈I . If we know that the xi are scalars (real or complex numbers),
then we often write (xi )i∈I instead of {xi }i∈I . Technically, a sequence {xi }i∈I
is shorthand for the mapping x : I → X given by x(i) = xi for i ∈ I, and
therefore the components xi of a sequence need not be distinct. If the index
set I is understood then we may write {xi } or {xi }i , or if the xi are scalars
then we may write (xi ) or (xi )i .
Often the index set I is countable. If I = {1, . . . , d} then we sometimes
write a sequence in list form as

{xn }dn=1 = {x1 , . . . , xd },

or if the xn are scalars then we often write

(xn )dn=1 = (x1 , . . . , xd ).

Similarly, if I = N then we may write

{xn }n∈N = {x1 , x2 , . . . },

or if each xn is a scalar then we usually write

(xn )n∈N = (x1 , x2 , . . . ).

A subsequence of a countable sequence {xn }n∈N = {x1 , x2 , . . . } is a se-

quence of the form {xnk }k∈N = {xn1 , xn2 , . . . } where n1 < n2 < · · · .
We say that a countable sequence of real numbers (xn )n∈N is monotone
increasing if xn ≤ xn+1 for every n, and strictly increasing if xn < xn+1
for every n. We define monotone decreasing and strictly decreasing sequences
similarly.

The Kronecker Delta and the Standard Basis Vectors

Given indices i and j in an index set I (typically I = N), the Kronecker delta
of i and j is the number δij defined by the rule
(
1, if i = j,
δij =
0, if i 6= j.

For each integer n ∈ N, we let δn denote the sequence

6 Preliminaries

δn = (δnk )k∈N = (0, . . . , 0, 1, 0, 0, . . . ).

That is, the nth component of the sequence δn is 1, while all other components
are zero. We call δn the nth standard basis vector, and we refer to the family
{δn }n∈N as the sequence of standard basis vectors, or simply the standard
basis.

Functions

Let X and Y be sets. We write f : X → Y to mean that f is a function

with domain X and codomain Y. We usually write f (x) to denote the image
of x under f, but if L : X → Y is a linear map from one vector space X to
another vector space Y then we may write Lx instead of L(x). We also use
the following notation.
• The direct image of a set A ⊆ X under f is f (A) = {f (x) : x ∈ A}.
• The inverse image of a set B ⊆ Y under f is

f −1 (B) = {x ∈ X : f (x) ∈ B}.

• The range of f is range(f ) = f (X) = {f (x) : x ∈ X}.

• f is injective, or one-to-one, if f (x) = f (y) implies x = y.
• f is surjective, or onto, if range(f ) = Y.
• f is bijective if it is both injective and surjective. The inverse function of
a bijection f : X → Y is the function f −1 : Y → X defined by f −1 (y) = x
if f (x) = y.
• Given S ⊆ X, the restriction of a function f : X → Y to the domain S is
the function f |S : S → Y defined by (f |S )(x) = f (x) for x ∈ S.
• The zero function on X is the function 0 : X → R defined by 0(x) = 0 for
every x ∈ X. We use the same symbol 0 to denote the zero function and
the number zero.
• The characteristic function of A ⊆ X is the function χA : X → R given by
(
1, if x ∈ A,
χA (x) =
0, if x ∈
/ A.

• If the domain of a function f is Rd , then the translation of f by a vector

a ∈ Rd is the function Ta f defined by Ta f (x) = f (x − a) for x ∈ Rd .
Preliminaries 7

Cardinality

A set X is finite if either X is empty or there exists a positive integer n and a

bijection f : {1, . . . , n} → X. In the latter case we say that X has n elements.
A set X is denumerable or countably infinite if there exists a bijection
f : N → X.
A set X is countable if it is either finite or denumerable. In particular, N,
Z, and Q are all denumerable and hence are countable.
A set X is uncountable if it is not countable. In particular, R and C are
uncountable.

Extended Real-Valued Functions

A function that maps a set X into the real line R is called a real-valued
function, and a function that maps X into the extended real line [−∞, ∞]
is an extended real-valued function. Every real-valued function is extended
real-valued, but an extended real-valued function need not be real-valued.
An extended real-valued function f is nonnegative if f (x) ≥ 0 for every x.
Let f : X → [−∞, ∞] be an extended real-valued function. We associate
to f the two extended real-valued functions f + and f − defined by

f + (x) = max{f (x), 0} and f − (x) = max{−f (x), 0}.

We call f + the positive part and f − the negative part of f. They are each
nonnegative extended real-valued functions, and for every x we have

f (x) = f + (x) − f − (x) and |f (x)| = f + (x) + f − (x).

Given f : X → [−∞, ∞], to avoid multiplicities of parentheses, brackets,

and braces, we often write f −1 (a, b) = f −1 ((a, b)), f −1 [a, ∞) = f −1 ([a, ∞)),
and so forth. We also use shorthands such as

{f ≥ a} = {x ∈ X : f (x) ≥ a},
{f = a} = {x ∈ X : f (x) = a},
{a < f < b} = {x ∈ X : a < f (x) < b},
{f ≥ g} = {x ∈ X : f (x) ≥ g(x)},

and so forth.
If f : S → [−∞, ∞] is an extended real-valued function on a domain S ⊆ R,
then f is monotone increasing on S if for all x, y ∈ S we have

x ≤ y =⇒ f (x) ≤ f (y).

We say that f is strictly increasing on S if for all x, y ∈ S,

8 Preliminaries

x < y =⇒ f (x) < f (y).

Monotone decreasing and strictly decreasing functions are defined similarly.

Notation for Extended Real-Valued and

Complex-Valued Functions

A function of the form f : X → C is said to be complex-valued. We have the

inclusions R ⊆ [−∞, ∞] and R ⊆ C, so every real-valued function is both
an extended real-valued and a complex-valued function. However, neither
[−∞, ∞] nor C is a subset of the other, so an extended real-valued function
need not be a complex-valued function, and a complex-valued function need
not be an extended real-valued function. Hence there are usually two separate
cases that we need to consider:
• extended real-valued functions of the form f : X → [−∞, ∞], and
• complex-valued functions of the form f : X → C.
To consider both cases together, we use the notation F introduced earlier,
which stands for a choice of either the extended real line [−∞, ∞] or the
complex plane C. Thus, if we write f : X → F then we mean that f could
either be an extended real-valued function or a complex-valued function on
the domain X. Both possibilities include real-valued functions as a special
case. As we declared earlier that, the word scalar means a finite real number
(if F = [−∞, ∞]) or a complex number (if F = C). Thus, a scalar-valued
function cannot take the values ±∞.

Suprema and Infima

A set of real numbers S is bounded above if there exists a real number M

such that x ≤ M for every x ∈ S. Any such number M is called an upper
bound for S. The definition of bounded below is similar, and we say that S is
bounded if it is bounded both above and below.
A number x ∈ R is the supremum, or least upper bound, of S if
• x is an upper bound for S, and
• if y is any upper bound for S, then x ≤ y.
We denote the supremum of S, if one exists, by x = sup(S). The infimum, or
greatest lower bound, of S is defined in an entirely analogous manner, and is
denoted by inf(S).
It is not obvious that every set that is bounded above has a supremum.
We take the existence of suprema as the following axiom.
Preliminaries 9

Axiom (Supremum Property of R). Let S be a nonempty subset of R.

If S is bounded above, then there exists a real number x = sup(S) that is
the supremum of S. ♦
We extend the definition of supremum to sets that are not bounded above
by declaring that sup(S) = ∞ if S is not bounded above. We also declare that
sup(∅) = −∞. Using these conventions, every set S ⊆ R has a supremum in
the extended real sense.
If S = (xn )n∈N is countable, then we often write supn xn or sup xn to
denote the supremum instead of sup(S), and similarly we may write inf n xn
or inf xn instead of inf(S).
If (xn )n∈N and (yn )n∈N are two sequences of real numbers, then

inf xn + inf yn ≤ inf (xn + yn ) ≤ sup (xn + yn ) ≤ sup xn + sup yn .

n n n n n n

Any or all of the inequalities on the preceding line can be strict. If c > 0 then

sup cxn = c sup xn and sup (−cxn ) = −c inf xn .

n n n n

Convergent and Cauchy Sequences of Scalars

Convergence of sequences will be discussed in the more general setting of

metric spaces in Section 1.1.1. Here we will only consider sequences (xn )n∈N of
real or complex numbers. We say that a sequence of scalars (xn )n∈N converges
if there exists a scalar x such that for every ε > 0 there is an N > 0 such
that
n ≥ N =⇒ |x − xn | < ε.
In this case we say that xn converges to x as n → ∞, and we write

xn → x or lim xn = x or lim xn = x.
n→∞

We say that (xn )n∈N is a Cauchy sequence if for every ε > 0 there exists
an integer N > 0 such that

m, n ≥ N =⇒ |xm − xn | < ε. ♦

An important consequence of the Supremum Property is that the following

equivalence holds for any sequence of scalars:

(xn )n∈N is convergent ⇐⇒ (xn )n∈N is Cauchy.

10 Preliminaries

Convergence in the Extended Real Sense

Let (xn )n∈N be a sequence of real numbers. We say that the sequence (xn )n∈N
diverges to ∞ as n → ∞ if for each real number R > 0 there is an integer
N > 0 such that xn > R for all n ≥ N. In this case we write

lim xn = ∞.
n→∞

We define divergence to −∞ similarly.

We say that limn→∞ xn exists or that (xn )n∈N converges in the extended
real sense if
• xn converges to a real number x as n → ∞, or
• xn diverges to ∞ as n → ∞, or
• xn diverges to −∞ as n → ∞.
For example, every monotone increasing sequence of real numbers (xn )n∈N
converges in the extended real sense, and in this case lim xn = sup xn . Sim-
ilarly, a monotone decreasing sequence of real numbers converges in the ex-
tended real sense and its limit equals its infimum.

Limsup and Liminf

The limit superior, or limsup, of a sequence of real numbers (xn )n∈N is

lim sup xn = inf sup xm = lim sup xm .

n→∞ n∈N m≥n n→∞ m≥n

Likewise, the limit inferior, or liminf, of (xn )n∈N is

lim inf xn = sup inf xm = lim inf xm .

n→∞ n∈N m≥n n→∞ m≥n

The liminf and limsup of every sequence of real numbers exists in the extended
real sense. Further,

(xn )n∈N converges in

⇐⇒ lim inf xn = lim sup xn ,
the extended real sense n→∞ n→∞

and in this case lim xn = lim inf xn = lim sup xn .

If (xn )n∈N and (yn )n∈N are two sequences of real numbers, then

lim inf xn + lim inf yn ≤ lim inf (xn + yn )

n→∞ n→∞ n→∞

≤ lim sup xn + lim inf yn

n→∞ n→∞
Preliminaries 11

≤ lim sup (xn + yn )

n→∞

≤ lim sup xn + lim sup yn ,

n→∞ n→∞

as long as none of the sums above takes an indeterminate form ∞ − ∞

or −∞ + ∞. Strict inequality can hold on any line above. If the sequence
(xn )n∈N converges, then

lim inf (xn + yn ) = lim xn + lim inf yn ,

n→∞ n→∞ n→∞

and likewise

lim sup (xn + yn ) = lim xn + lim sup yn .

n→∞ n→∞ n→∞

If (xn )n∈N is a sequence of real numbers, then there exist subsequences

(xnk )k∈N and (xmj )j∈N such that

lim xnk = lim sup xn and lim xmj = lim inf xn .

k→∞ n→∞ j→∞ n→∞

In fact, if (xn )n∈N is bounded above then lim sup xn is the largest possible
limit of a subsequence (xnk )k∈N , and likewise if (xn )n∈N is bounded below
then lim inf xn is the smallest possible limit of a subsequence. Consequently,

lim inf (−xn ) = − lim sup xn .

n→∞ n→∞

On occasion we deal with real-parameter versions of liminf and limsup.

Given a real-valued function f whose domain includes an interval centered
at a point x ∈ R, we define

lim sup f (t) = inf sup f (t) = lim sup f (t),

t→x δ>0 |t−x|<δ δ→0 |t−x|<δ

and lim inft→x f (t) is defined analogously. The properties of these real-
parameter versions of liminf and limsup are similar to those of the sequence
versions.

Infinite Series

Infinite series in the general setting of normed spaces will be discussed in

Section 1.2.3; here we restrict our attention to infinite series of scalars. If
(cn )n∈N
Pis a sequence of real or complex numbers, then we say that the infinite
∞
series n=1 cn converges if there exists a scalar s such that the partial sums
PN P∞
sN = n=1 cn converge to s as N → ∞. In this case n=1 cn is assigned the
12 Preliminaries

value s:
∞
X N
X
cn = lim sN = lim cn = s.
N →∞ N →∞
n=1 n=1

Series of Real Numbers.

P∞ Assume that every cn is a real number. Then
we say that the series n=1 cn converges in the extended real sense, or simply
that the series exists, if
• sN converges to a real number s as N → ∞, or
• sN diverges to ∞ as N → ∞, or
• sN diverges to −∞ as N → ∞.

Nonnegative Series. If every cnPis a nonnegative real number (that is,

∞
cn ≥ 0 for every n), then the series n=1 cn converges in the extended real
sense. Moreover, there are only two possibilities: Either the series converges
to a nonnegative real number or it diverges to infinity. We indicate which
possibility holds as follows:
∞
X
cn < ∞ means that the series converges (to a finite real number),
n=1

while
∞
X
cn = ∞ means that the series diverges to infinity.
n=1

Pointwise Convergence of Functions

If X is a set and {fn }n∈N is a sequence of extended real-valued or complex-

valued functions whose domain is X, then we say that fn converges pointwise
to a function f if

f (x) = lim fn (x) for all x ∈ X.

n→∞

In this case we write fn (x) → f (x) for every x ∈ X or fn → f pointwise.

Note that this convergence can be in the extended real sense.
If {fn }n∈N is a sequence of extended real-valued functions whose domain
is a set X, then we say that {fn }n∈N is a monotone increasing sequence if
{fn (x)}n∈N is monotone increasing for each x, i.e., if

f1 (x) ≤ f2 (x) ≤ · · · for all x ∈ X.

In this case f (x) = limn→∞ fn (x) exists for each x ∈ X in the extended real
sense, and we say that fn increases pointwise to f . We denote this by writing

fn ր f on X.
Preliminaries 13

Continuity

Continuity for the general setting of functions on metric spaces will be dis-
cussed in Section 1.1.4. Here we define continuity for scalar-valued functions
whose domain is a subset E of Rd . We say that f : E → C is continuous on
the set E if whenever we have points xn , x ∈ E such that xn → x, it follows
that f (xn ) → f (x).

Derivatives and Everywhere Differentiability

Let f be a scalar-valued function whose domain includes an open interval

centered at a point x ∈ R. We say that f is differentiable at x if the limit

f (y) − f (x)
f ′ (x) = lim
y→x y−x
exists and is a scalar.
Let [a, b] be a closed interval in the real line. A function f is everywhere
differentiable or differentiable everywhere on [a, b] if it is differentiable at each
point in the interior (a, b) and if the appropriate one-sided derivatives exist
at the endpoints a and b. That is, f is everywhere differentiable on [a, b] if

f (y) − f (x)
f ′ (x) = lim
y→x, y∈[a,b] y−x

exists and is a scalar for each x ∈ [a, b].

We use similar terminology if f is defined on other types of intervals in R.
For example, x3/2 is differentiable everywhere on [0, 1] and x1/2 is differen-
tiable everywhere on (0, 1], but x1/2 is not differentiable everywhere on [0, 1].

The Riemann Integral

Let f : [a, b] → R be a bounded, real-valued function on a finite, closed in-

terval [a, b]. A partition of [a, b] is a choice of finitely many points xk in [a, b]
such that a = x0 < x1 < · · · < xn = b. If we wish to give this partition a
name then we will write:
© ª
Let Γ = a = x0 < · · · < xn = b be a partition of [a, b].
© ª
The mesh size of Γ is |Γ | = max xj − xj−1 : j = 1, . . . , n .
Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
"This is the last! There is nothing—nothing!"

XIII
The clear warm sunlight of an early spring morning streamed over
the great city. Bright rays entered the little room where Johannes
lived, and on the low ceiling there quivered and wavered a great
splash of light, reflected from the water rippling in the moat.
Johannes sat before the window in the sunshine, gazing out over the
town. Its aspect was entirely altered. The grey fog had floated away,
and a lustrous blue vapor enfolded the end of the long street and
the distant towers. The slopes of the slate roofs glistened—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 cows. He saw white butterflies fluttering above the flower-
decked ground, where the air was quivering with the heat of the
sun.
And, suddenly, he felt a thrill. There lay, outspread, the long and
undulating dunes!
"Now, Johannes!" said Pluizer, with a grin, "now you have your wish,
you see."
Only half believing, Johannes continued to gaze at the dunes. They
came nearer and nearer. The long ditches on both sides seemed to
be whirling around their centre, and the lonely dwellings along the
road sped swiftly past.
Then came some trees—thick-foliaged chestnut trees, bearing great
clusters of red or white flowers—dark, blue-green pines—tall, stately
linden trees.
It was true, then; he was going to see his dunes once more.
The train stopped and then the three went afoot, under the shady
foliage.
Here was the dark-green moss—here were the round spots of
sunshine on the ground—this was the odor of birch-sprouts and
pine-needles.
"Is it true? Is it really true?" thought Johannes. "Am I going to be
happy?"
His eyes sparkled, and his heart bounded. He began to believe in his
happiness. He knew these trees, this ground; he had often walked
over this wood-path.
They were alone on the way, yet Johannes felt forced to look round,
as though some one were following them; and he thought he saw
between the oak leaves the dark figure of a man who again and
again remained hidden by the last turn in the path.
Pluizer gave him a cunning, uncanny look. Doctor Cijfer walked with
long strides, looking down at the ground.
The way grew more and more familiar to him—he knew every bush,
every stone. Then suddenly he felt a sharp pang, for he stood before
his own house.
The chestnut tree in front of it spread out its large, hand-shaped
leaves. Up to the very top the glorious white flowers stood out from
the full round masses of foliage.
He heard the sound he knew so well of the opening of the door, and
he breathed the air of his own home. He recognized the hall, the
doors, everything—bit by bit—with a painful feeling of lost familiarity.
It was all a part of his life—his lonely, musing child-life.
He had talked with all these things—with them he had lived in his
own world of thought that he suffered no one to enter. But now he
felt himself cut off from the old house, and dead to it all—its
chambers, halls, and doorways. He felt that this separation was past
recall, and as if he were visiting a churchyard—it was so sad and
melancholy.
If only Presto had sprung to meet him it would have been less
dismal—but Presto was certainly away or dead.
Yet where was his father?
He looked back to the open door and the sunny garden outside, and
saw the man who had seemed to be following him, now striding up
to the house. He came nearer and nearer, and seemed to grow
larger as he approached. When he reached the door, a great chill
shadow filled the entrance. Then Johannes recognized the man.
It was deathly still in the house, and they went up the stairs without
speaking. There was one stair that always creaked when stepped
upon—Johannes knew it. And now he heard it creak three times. It
sounded like painful groanings, but under the fourth footstep it was
like a faint sob.
Upstairs Johannes heard a moaning—low and regular as the ticking
of a clock. It was a dismal, torturing sound.
The door of Johannes' room stood open. He threw a frightened
glance into it. The marvelous flower-forms of the hangings looked at
him in stupid surprise. The clock had run down.
They went to the room from which the sounds came. It was his
father's bedroom. The sun shone gaily in upon the closed, green
curtains of the bed. Simon, the cat, sat on the window-sill in the
sunshine. An oppressive smell of wine and camphor pervaded the
place, and the low moaning sounded close at hand.
Johannes heard whispering voices, and carefully guarded footfalls.
Then the green curtains were drawn aside.
He saw his father's face that had so often been in his mind of late.
But it was very different now. The grave, kindly expression was gone
and it looked strained and distressed. It was ashy pale, with deep
brown shadows. The teeth were visible between the parted lips, and
the whites of the eyes under the half-closed eyelids. His head lay
sunken in the pillow, and was lifted a little with the regularity of the
moans, falling each time wearily back again.
Johannes stood by the bed, motionless, and looked with wide, fixed
eyes upon the well-known face. He did not know what he thought—
he dared not move a finger; he dared not clasp those worn old
hands lying limp on the white linen.
Everything around him grew black—the sun and the bright room, the
verdure outdoors, and the blue sky as well—everything that lay
behind him—it grew black, black, dense and impenetrable. And in
that night he could see only the pale face before him, and could
think only of the poor tired head—wearily lifted again and again,
with the groan of anguish.
Directly, there came a change in this regular movement. The
moaning ceased, the eyelids opened feebly, the eyes looked
inquiringly around, and the lips tried to say something.
"Father!" whispered Johannes, trembling, while he looked anxiously
into the seeking eyes. The weary glance rested upon him, and a
faint, faint smile furrowed the hollow cheeks. The thin closed hand
was lifted from the sheet, and made an uncertain movement toward
Johannes—then fell again, powerless.
"Come, come!" said Pluizer. "No scenes here!"
"Step aside, Johannes," said Doctor Cijfer, "we must see what can be
done."
The doctor began his examination, and Johannes left the bed and
went to stand by the window. He looked at the sunny grass and the
clear sky, and at the broad chestnut leaves where the big flies sat—
shining blue in the sunlight. The moaning began again with the
same regularity.
A blackbird hopped through the tall grass in the garden—great red
and black butterflies were hovering over the flower-beds, and there
reached Johannes from out the foliage of the tallest trees the soft,
coaxing coo of the wood-doves.
In the room the moaning continued—never ceasing. He had to listen
to it—and it came regularly—as unpreventable as the falling drop
that causes madness. In suspense he waited through each interval,
and it always came again—frightful as the footstep of approaching
death.
All out-of-doors was wrapped in warm, mellow sunlight. Everything
was happy and basking in it. The grass-blades thrilled and the leaves
sighed in the sweet warmth. Above the highest tree tops, deep in
the abounding blue, a heron was soaring in peaceful flight.
Johannes could not understand—it was an enigma to him. All was so
confused and dark in his soul. "How can all this be in me at the
same time?" he thought.
"Is this really I? Is that my father—my own father? Mine—
Johannes'?"
It was as if he spoke of a stranger. It was all a tale that he had
heard. Some one had told him of Johannes, and of the house where
he lived, and of the father whom he had forsaken, and who was now
dying. He himself was not that one—he had heard about him. It was
a sad, sad story. But it did not concern himself.
But yes—yes—he was that same Johannes!
"I do not understand the case," said Doctor Cijfer, standing up. "It is
a very obscure malady."
Pluizer stepped up to Johannes.
"Are you not going to give it a look, Johannes? It is an interesting
case. The doctor does not know it."
"Leave me alone," said Johannes, without turning round. "I cannot
think."
But Pluizer went behind him and whispered sharply in his ear,
according to his wont:
"Cannot think! Did you fancy you could not think? There you are
wrong. You must think. You need not be gazing into the green trees
nor the blue sky. That will not help. Windekind is not coming. And
the sick man there is going to die. You must have seen that as well
as we. But what do you think his trouble is?"
"I do not know—I will not know!"
Johannes said nothing more, but listened to the moaning that had a
plaintive and reproachful sound. Doctor Cijfer was writing notes in a
little book. At the head of the bed sat the dark figure that had
followed them. His head was bowed, his long hand extended toward
the sufferer, and his deep-set eyes were fixed upon the clock.
The sharp whispering in his ear began again.
"What makes you look so sad, Johannes? You have your heart's
desire now. There are the dunes, there the sunbeams through the
verdure, there the flitting butterflies and the singing birds. What
more do you want? Are you waiting for Windekind? If he be
anywhere, he must be there. Why does he not come? Would he be
afraid of this dark friend at the bedside? Yet always he was there!"
"Do you not see, Johannes, that it has all been imagination?
"Do you hear that moaning? It sounds lighter than it did a while ago.
You can know that it will soon cease altogether. But what of that?
There must have been a great many such groans while you were
running around outside in the garden among the wild-roses. Why do
you stay here crying, instead of going to the dunes as you used to?
Look outside! Flowers and fragrance and singing everywhere just as
if nothing had happened. Why do you not take part in all that life
and gladness?
"First, you complained, and longed to be here; and after I have
brought you where you wished to be, you still are not content. See!
I will let you go. Stroll through the high grass—lie in the cool shade
—let the flies buzz about you—inhale the fragrance of the fresh
young herbs. I release you. Go, now! Find Windekind again!
"You will not? Then do you now believe in me alone? Is what I have
told you true? Do I lie, or does Windekind?
"Listen to the moans!—so short and weak! They will soon cease.
"Do not look so agonized, Johannes. The sooner it is over the better.
There could be no more long walks now; you will never again look
for violets with him. With whom do you think he has taken his walks,
during the past two years—while you were away? You cannot ask
him now. You never will know. After this you will have to content
yourself with me. If you had made my acquaintance a little earlier,
you would not look so pitiful now. You are a long way yet from being
what you ought to be. Do you think Doctor Cijfer in your place would
look as you do? It would make him about as sad as that cat is—
purring there in the sunshine. And it is well. What is the use of being
so wretched? Did the flowers teach you that? They do not grieve
when one of them is plucked. Is not that lucky? They know nothing,
therefore they are happy. You have only begun to know things; and
now you must know everything, in order to be happy. I alone can
teach you. All or nothing.
"Listen to me. What is the difference whether that is your father or
not? He is a man who is dying; that is a common occurrence.
"Do you hear the moaning still? Very feeble, is it not? He is near his
end."
Johannes looked toward the bed in fearful distress.
Simon, the cat, dropped from the window-seat, stretched himself,
and curled up purring on the bed close beside the dying man.
The poor, tired head moved no more. It lay still, pressed into the
pillow; yet from the half-open mouth there still came, at intervals,
short, exhausted sounds.
They grew softer—softer—scarcely audible.
Then Death turned his dark eyes from the clock to rest them upon
the down-sunken head. He raised his hand—and all was still.
An ashen shadow crept over the stiffening face.
Silence—dreary, lonely silence!
Johannes waited—waited.
But the recurring groans had ceased. All was still—utterly, awfully
still.
The strain of the long hours of listening was suspended, and it
seemed to Johannes as if his soul were released, and falling into
black and bottomless depths.
He fell deeper and deeper. It grew stiller and darker around him.
Then he heard Pluizer's voice, as if from far away. "Hey, ho! Another
story told."
"That is good," said Doctor Cijfer. "Now you can find out what the
trouble was. I leave that to you. I must away."
While still half in a dream, Johannes saw the gleam of burnished
knives.
The cat ruffed up his back. It was cold next the body, and he sought
the sunshine again.
Johannes saw Pluizer take a knife, examine it carefully, and
approach the bed with it.
Then Johannes shook off his stupor. Before Pluizer could reach the
bed he was standing in front of him.
"What are you going to do?" he asked. His eyes were wide open
with horror.
"We are going to find out what it was," said Pluizer.
"No!" said Johannes; and his voice was as deep as a man's.
"What does that mean?" asked Pluizer, with a grim glare. "Can you
prevent me? Do you not know how strong I am?"
"You shall not!" said Johannes. He set his teeth and drew in a deep
breath, looked steadily at Pluizer, and tried to stay his hand.
But Pluizer persisted. Then Johannes seized his wrists, and wrestled
with him.
Pluizer was strong, he knew. He never yet had opposed him; but he
struggled on with a fixed purpose.
The knife gleamed before his eyes. He saw sparks and red flames;
yet he did not give in, but wrestled on.
He knew what would happen if he succumbed. He knew, for he had
seen before. But it was his father that lay behind him, and he would
not let it happen now.
And while they wrestled, panting, the dead body behind them lay
rigid and motionless—just as it was the instant when silence fell—the
whites of the eyes visible in a narrow strip, the corners of the mouth
drawn up in a stiffened grin. The head, only, shook gently back and
forth, as they both pushed against the bed in their struggle.
Still Johannes held firm, though his breath failed and he could see
nothing. A veil of blood-red mist was before his eyes; yet he stood
firm.
Then, gradually, the resistance of the two wrists in his grasp grew
weaker. His muscles relaxed, his arms dropped limp beside his body,
and his closed hands were empty.
When he looked up Pluizer had vanished. Death sat, alone, by the
bed and nodded to him.
"You have done well, Johannes," said he.
"Will he come back?" whispered Johannes. Death shook his head.
"Never. He who once dares him will see him no more."
"And Windekind? Shall I not see Windekind again?"
The solemn man looked long and earnestly at Johannes. His regard
was not now alarming, but gentle and serious, and attracted
Johannes like a profound depth.
"I alone can take you to Windekind. Through me alone can you find
the book."
"Then take me with you. There is no one left—take me, too! I want
nothing more."
Again Death shook his head.
"You love men, Johannes. You do not know it, but you have always
loved them. You must become a good man. It is a fine thing to be a
good man."
"I do not want that—take me with you!"
"You mistake—you do want it: you cannot help it."
Then the tall, dark figure grew vague before Johannes' eyes—it
faded into a filmy, grey mist adrift in, the room—and passed away
along the sunbeams.
Johannes bowed his head upon the side of the bed, and sobbed for
the dead man.
 XIV
A long time afterward, he lifted up his head. The sunbeams shone
obliquely in, bringing a rosy glow. They resembled straight bars of
gold.
"Father, father!" whispered Johannes.
Outside, the sun was pouring over everything a flood of shining,
golden, glowing splendor. Every leaf hung motionless, and all was
hushed in solemn worship of the sun.
Along with the light there fell into the room a gentle soughing—as if
the sunbeams were singing.
"Sun-son! Sun-son!"
Johannes lifted up his head, and listened. It tingled in his ears.
"Sun-son! Sun-son!"
It was like Windekind's voice. He alone had named him that; should
he call him now?
But he looked at the face beside him. He would listen no more.
"Poor, dear father!" he said.
But suddenly it rang again around him from all sides, so loud, so
penetrating, that he trembled with his marvelous emotion.
"Sun-son! Sun-son!"
Johannes stood up and gazed outside. What light! What splendid
light! It streamed over the high tree tops, it glistened amid the
grass-blades, and sparkled in the shadow-patches. The whole air
was filled with it up to the very sky where the first exquisite sunset
clouds were flecking the blue.
Beyond the meadow, between the green trees and shrubs, he saw
the dunes. Red gold lay along their slopes, and in their shadows
hung the blue of the heavens.
They lay stretched out reposefully in their robe of tender tints. The
delicate undulations of their expanse brought a benediction—as does
prayer. Johannes felt again as he had felt when Windekind taught
him how to pray.
Was not that he, there, in the blue garment? Look! there in the
heart of the light—shimmering in a maze of blue and gold. Was not
that Windekind, beckoning him?
Johannes flew out of doors into the sunlight. For an instant he stood
still. He felt the holy solemnity of the light, and scarcely dared to
move where the foliage was so still.
Yet, there, in front of him, was the light figure again. It was
Windekind! It surely was! His radiant face was turned toward him,
and the lips were parted as if calling him. With his right hand he was
beckoning. In his left he held aloft some object. In the tips of his
slender fingers he held it, and it glittered and sparkled.
With a glad cry of joy and yearning, Johannes sped toward the
beloved apparition. But with laughing face and waving hand, it
floated before him, still beckoning him on. Sometimes it would drift
low, and lingeringly skim the ground, to ascend again lightly and
swiftly, and float farther off, like a feathery seed borne on by the
wind.
Johannes himself longed to rise and fly as he had done long ago, in
his dreams. But the earth held his feet, and his steps were heavy on
the grassy ground. He was obliged to pick his way painfully through
the bushes—their foliage rustling and scratching along his clothes—
their branches brushing across his face. Panting with weariness he
had to climb the mossy slopes of the dunes. Yet he followed
untiringly—his eye never turned from Windekind's radiant apparition
—from what was gleaming in the upraised hand.
There he was, in the middle of the dunes. The wild-roses, with their
thousands of pale yellow cups, were blossoming in the glowing
valleys, and gazing at the sunlight. And many other flowers were
blooming there—bright blue, yellow, and purple. A sultry heat filled
the little hollows, cherishing the fragrant herbs. Strong, resinous
odors hung in the air. Johannes smelled them as he went—he
smelled the wild thyme, and the dry reindeer-moss which crackled
under his feet. It was intoxicatingly delightful.
And he saw mottled field-moths fluttering in front of the lovely
image he was following; also little black and red butterflies, and the
sand-eye—the merry little moth with satiny wings of the most
delicate blue.
Golden beetles that live on the wild-rose whirred around his head,
and big bumblebees danced and hummed all about in the dry,
scorched grass. How delightful it was! How happy he would be if
only he were with Windekind.
But Windekind swept farther and farther away. He followed
breathlessly. The big, pale-leaved thorn-bushes held him back, and
hurt him with their briars. The fuzzy, silvery torch-plants shook their
tall heads as he pushed them aside from his course. He scrambled
up the sandy barriers, and wounded his hands with the prickly
broom.
He pushed on through the low birch-wood where the grass was
knee-high, and the water-birds flew up from the little pools which
glistened among the shrubs. Dense, white-flowered hawthorns
mingled their fragrance with that of the birch-leaves and the mint,
which grew in great profusion in the swampy soil.
But there came an end to woods, and verdure, and fragrant flowers.
Only the singular, pale blue sea-holly, growing amid the sear,
colorless heath-grass.
On the top of the last high swell of the dunes Johannes saw
Windekind's form. There was a blinding glitter from his upraised
hand. Borne over from the other side by a cool breeze, a great,
unceasing roar sounded mysteriously alluring. It was the sea.
Johannes felt that he was nearing it, and he slowly climbed the last
ascent. At the top, he fell on his knees and gazed upon the ocean.
As he got above the ridge, a rosy glow illumined him. The sunset
clouds had drawn apart from the central light. Like a wide ring of
welded blocks of stone, with glowing red edges, they surrounded the
sinking sun. Upon the sea was a broad path of living, crimson fire—a
flaming, sparkling path leading to the distant gates of heaven.
Behind the sun, which could not yet be looked upon—in the depths
of the light-grotto—were exquisite tints of intermingled blue and
rose. Outside, the whole wide sky was lighted up with blood-red
streaks, and dashes and fleckings of streaming fire.
Johannes watched—until the sun's disk touched the farthest end of
that glowing path which led up to him.
Then he looked down, and very near was the bright form that he
had followed. A boat, clear and glistening as crystal, drifted near the
shore upon the broad, fiery way. At one end of the boat stood
Windekind, alert and slender, with that golden object in his hand. At
the other end, Johannes recognized the dark figure of Death.
"Windekind! Windekind!" cried Johannes. But as he approached the
marvelous boat, he also looked toward the horizon. In the middle of
the glowing space, surrounded by great fiery clouds, he saw a small,
black figure. It grew larger and larger, and a man slowly drew near,
calmly walking on the tossing fiery waters.
The glowing red waves rose and fell beneath his feet, but he walked
tranquilly onward.
The man's face was pale, and his eyes were dark and deep—deep as
the eyes of Windekind; but there was an infinitely gentle melancholy
in their look such as Johannes had never seen in any other eyes.
"Who are you?" asked Johannes. "Are you a man?"
"I am more," was the reply.
"Art Thou Jesus—Art Thou God?" asked Johannes.
"Speak not those names!" said the figure. "They were holy and pure
as sacerdotal robes, and precious as nourishing corn; yet they have
become as husks before swine, and a jester's garb for fools. Name
them not, for their meaning has become perverted, their worship a
mockery. Let him who would know me cast aside those names and
listen to himself."
"I know Thee! I know Thee!" said Johannes.
"It was I who made you weep for men, while yet you did not
understand your tears. It was I who caused you to love before you
knew the meaning of your love. I was with you and you saw me not
—I stirred your soul and you knew me not.
"Why do I first see Thee now?"
"The eyes which behold Me must be brightened by many tears. And
not for yourself alone, but for Me, must you weep. Then I will
appear to you and you shall recognize in Me an old friend."
"I know Thee! I recognized Thee! I want to be with Thee!"
Johannes stretched out his hands. But the man pointed to the
glittering boat that was slowly drifting out upon the fiery path.
"Look!" said he; "that is the way to all you have longed for. There is
no other. Without those two shall you not find it. Take your choice.
There is the Great Light; there you would yourself be what you long
to know. There!"—and he pointed to the dark East—"where human
nature and its sorrows arc, there lies my way. Not that errant light
which has misled you, but I, will be your guide. You know now. Take
your choice."
Then Johannes slowly turned away his eyes from Windekind's
beckoning figure, and reached out his hands to the serious man. And
with his guide, he turned to meet the chill night wind, and to tread
the dreary road to the great, dark town where humanity was, with
all its misery.
Sometime I may tell you more about Little Johannes; but it will not
be like a fairy tale.

PART II

I
I have said that I might perhaps have something more to tell about
Little Johannes. Surely you have not thought I would not keep my
word! People are not so very trustful in these days, nor so patient,
either.
But now I am going to put you to confusion, by telling you what else
happened to Little Johannes. Listen! It is worth your while. And the
best thing of all is that it will be rather like a fairy story—even more
so than what I have already told you.
And yet it is all true. Yes, it all really truly happened. Perhaps you
will again be inclined to doubt; but when you are older—much, much
older—you will perceive how true it is. It will be so much more
pleasant for you to have faith in it, that I wish from my heart you
may be able to. If you cannot, I am sorry for you; but at least be
truthful. Therefore skip nothing, but read it all.
And should you happen to meet Johannes, I give you leave to speak
with him about these matters, and to give him my regards. He might
not answer, but he will not be offended. He is still rather small, but
he has grown a bit.

The fine weather did not continue far into the evening. The splendid
clouds which Johannes had seen above the sea, and out of which
strode that dark figure, now betokened a thunder-storm. Before he
reached the middle of the dunes again, the sunset sky and the starry
heavens were obscured, and a wild, exhausting wind, filled with fine,
misty rain, swept him on. Behind him the lightning played above the
sea, and the thunder rolled as if the heavens were being torn
asunder, and the planks of its floor tossed one by one into a great
garret.
Johannes was not alarmed, but very happy. He felt the close clasp of
a warm, firm hand. It seemed as if he never yet had clung to a hand
so perfect and so life-giving. Even the hand of Windekind seemed
flimsy and feeble compared with this.
He thought that he now had reached the end of all his puzzles and
difficulties. This may also have occurred to you. But how could that
be possible when he was still such a mere stripling, and did not yet
comprehend one half of all the marvelous things that had befallen
him!
It may be that all has been plain to you. But it was not to him,
although he may have thought so. He was yet only a little fellow
without beard or moustache, and his voice was still that of a boy.
"My friend," said he to his Guide, "I know now that I have been bad
—very bad. But now that you have come and I can cling to your
hand, can I not redeem my faults? Is there still time?"
The dark figure kept silently and steadily on beside him in the storm
and darkness. Johannes could see neither his eyes nor his features;
he only heard the swishing and flapping of his garments—heavy with
the rain. Then he asked again, somewhat anxiously, because the
consolation he was yearning for was longer delayed than he
expected:
"May I not sometime call myself a friend of yours? Am I not yet
worthy of that? I have always so wanted to have a friend! That was
the best thing in life, I thought—really the only thing I cared about.
And now I have lost all my friends—my dog, Windekind, and my
father. Am I too bad to deserve a true friend?"
Then there came an answer:
"When you can be a true friend, Johannes, then indeed you will find
one."
There was consolation in the soft, low tones, and there was love and
forgiveness; but the words were torturing.
"Bad, bad!" muttered Johannes, setting his teeth together. He
wanted to cry, but he could not do that. That would have been to
pity himself, and that was not in accordance with his Guide's reply.
He had not been a good friend to his dog, nor to Windekind, nor to
his father. He wished now that he could at once make amends for
everything, but that could not be. It had been made clear.

It was desolate on the dunes, and dark as pitch. The wind was
whistling through the reeds and the dwarf poplars, but there was
nothing to be seen. How far away seemed the quiet sunlight now,
the playful animals, and the flowers! Silently and swiftly the two
strode on along a winding cart-track through the deep, wet sand,
now and then stumbling over the ruts. It was the road that led to
the town.
"I shall—" began Johannes again, resolutely lifting his head. But
there he halted.
"Who says 'I shall'? Who knows what he will do? Can Johannes say, I
am?"
"I am sorry and I am ashamed, and I wish to be better," said
Johannes.
"That is well," said the soft low voice. And the tears started in
Johannes' eyes. He clung close to his Guide, trembling slightly as
they went.
"Teach me, my Father. I want to know how to be better."
"Not 'Father,' Johannes. We both have the same Father. You must
call me Brother."
At that word Johannes looked timidly up at his Guide with startled
face and wide-open eyes. In a flash of the steel-blue lightning,
Johannes saw the pale brow, with the dark eyes turned kindly
toward him. The hair of his Guide was matted and dripping with
water, as were also his beard and his moustache. The locks clung to
his white gleaming forehead, and his eyes glowed with an inner
light. Johannes felt a boundless love and adoration, and at the same
time an inexpressible compassion. "My brother!" thought he. "Oh,
good, good man!"
And he said: "How wet you are! Put my jacket over your head. I do
not need it."
But in the darkness his hand was gently restrained, and they hurried
on while the sweat and the rain were commingled upon their faces.

After a while his Guide said to him:

"Johannes, pay attention to me, for I am going to say something to
you that you must bear in mind. Your true life is only now beginning,
and it is difficult to live a good life. If only you could remember what
I am now telling you, you would never again be unhappy. Neither
life nor people would be able to make you unhappy. And yet it will
not prove thus—because you will forget."
There was silence for a while, broken only by the whistling of the
wind, the flapping of their garments, and their rapid breathing—for
they were walking very fast.
"Train your memory, therefore; for without an exact and retentive
memory nothing good is attained. And mark this well; not the small
and transient must you be mindful of, but the great and the eternal."
Then there was a flash of lightning, and it seemed as if the heavens
were being consumed in the white fire, while a terrific peal of
thunder immediately followed, directly over their heads.
But Johannes' thoughts were dwelling attentively upon the words he
had heard, and he was neither frightened nor disquieted. He raised
his head, proud and glad that he was not afraid, and looked, with
wide-open eyes, into the high, dark dome of the heavens.
"This is the great and the eternal, is it not?" he asked. "This I will
bear in mind."
But his Guide said:
"It is not the thunder and the lightning which you must bear in
mind, for they are temporal and will often recur; but that you were
unafraid, and bravely held up your countenance—that you must
remember, and the reason why you did so. For it will thunder and
lighten at other times, and you will be afraid. But even now—at this
instant—it could strike you dead. Why do you not fear now?"
"Because you are with me," said Johannes.
"Well, then, Johannes, remember this; you always have me with
you."
They were silent for a long while, and Johannes was thinking over
these noble words. But he did not understand their import. If he
were always to have his Leader with him, how could he forget? Then
he asked, although he well knew what the reply would be:
"Are you, then, going to stay with me always?"
"Even as I always have been with you," was the unexpected answer.
"But I did not see you, then."
"And very soon again you will not see me; yet I shall be with you,
just the same. Therefore, you must cultivate your memory, so that it
will remind you when your eyes see not. Who that is forgetful can be
relied on? You have never been faithful, Johannes, and you will
forget me also. But I shall remain faithful, and you will bring me to
mind. Then, when you have learned to bethink yourself, and are
yourself a faithful friend, you shall have a brother and a friend."

The road was firmer now, and in the distance they saw the lights of
the town. Close by, the orange-yellow window-squares were
glimmering through the rain and darkness—the dwellings themselves
being still invisible in the night. They saw the pools glisten, and they
met a man. There was a hurried, heavy footstep—a glowing red
cigar-tip. Johannes breathed the well-known, offensive, human
atmosphere of wet garments and tobacco smoke. By the flashes of
lightning he could see all around him little white and grey cottages.
He saw the gleaming street, far out in front of him—haystacks and
barns—a fence along the way; everything suddenly sharp and livid.
Then a change came over him. At once, he was conscious of
everything, as one, being awakened, is aware of a voice already
heard in his dream.
He clearly felt himself to be an ordinary human being, like every one
else. And his exalted companion was also an ordinary man. He saw
both, just as the passers-by would see them; a man and a boy, wet
with the rain, walking hand in hand. Windekind did not get wet in
the rain.
As they neared the suburbs, it became lighter and more noisy. It
was not the great city where Johannes had lived with Pluizer, but the
small one where he was born and where he had gone to school.
And as the two approached, they heard, through the rushing of the
rain and the rolling of the thunder, a lighter, indistinct sound which
reminded Johannes so well of former times. It was a confused
intermingling of voices, singing, a continual din of organ-grinding,
sharp little sounds of trumpets and flutes, the reports of fire-crackers
and rifle-shots, and now and then a shrill, discordant whistle, or the
sound of a bell. It was the Fair!
"Be careful now, Johannes. Here are people," said his companion.
Johannes gave a start. His task was to begin. He could no longer rail
at human beings, nor disclaim his own human origin. He knew now
that he had been erring, and he resolved to mend his ways. Had not
good Death told him it was well worth while to be a good man? So
now he would live with men, and try to become a good man himself;
to relieve pain, to lighten grief, and to bring beauty and happiness
into the lives of others. Was not that what He was teaching—He at
whose blessed side he should henceforth go?
But he was greatly distressed. He already knew so well what men
were. He shivered in his wet clothing.
"Are you afraid already? Think how brave you were just now. You
must mind, not only the words, but the meaning of them."
"I will be strong and brave. I will be a man among men, a good man
—doing good to men."
So saying, Johannes nerved himself, and with steadfast step entered
the town.
Here things looked truly dismal. Water was spouting out of the
gutters into the streets. Everything was glistening in the wet, and
big streams of water were flowing down the tent canvases.
But the people were out on pleasure bent, and pleasure they would
have. As the shop doors were opened one could see the red faces
within, close to one another in the blue tobacco smoke, and could
hear the uproar of loud singing and the stamping of feet.
Under the projecting canvas of the booths the crowds flocked
together, slowly pushing one past the other into the bright light of
the lamps. Johannes and his Guide pressed in among them to get
out of the rain.
Johannes was fond of fairs. Always he was glad when the boats
arrived in the canal with the timber for the various booths and play-
tents; and he looked on eagerly while the flimsy structures—for that
one week only—were being put together. This onlooking was an
earnest of the strange and fantastic pleasures in store for him.
He liked the gay and merry pageantry, the foolish inscriptions on the
merry-go-rounds, the mysterious places behind and between the
tents, where the performers lodged; and above all, the tiny, out-of-
the-way tents with their natural curiosities, and the strange animals,
which seemed so sadly out of place in this Dutch world, in their
tedious, unvarying captivity, with the reveling crowd around them.
And every summer he found it just as hard to see the breaking up of
this variegated medley.
Not that he ever had longed for the Fair when with Windekind, but,
of all that he had experienced while among human beings, the Fair
seemed to him the most delightful.
And now he was rejoiced at the familiar scene of the booths with
their toys; the cakes, layered with rose-colored sugar and inscribed
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