Read Online Narcissus and Goldmund by Hermann Hesse - Free Book Online

matter. But where had he been? From what strange land of experience had he returned? He had been to some far-away place. He had seen something there, something extraordinary, something sublime, but also frightful, and unforgettable—and yet he had forgotten it. Where had it been? What was it that had appeared to him, huge, painful, blissful? That had vanished again?
    He listened deeply inside him, to that place from which something had erupted today, where something had happened—what had it been? Wild tangles of images rose before him, he saw dogs’ heads, the heads of three dogs, and he sniffed the scent of roses. The pain he had felt! He closed his eyes. The dreadful pain he had felt! Again he fell asleep.
    As he awoke from the rapidly vanishing dream world that was sliding away from him, he saw it. He rediscovered the image, and trembled with pain and joy. His eyes had been opened: he saw Her. He saw the tall, radiant woman with the full mouth and glowing hair—his mother. And at the same time he thought he heard a voice: “You have forgotten your childhood.” But whose voice was that? He listened, thought, found it. Narcissus’s voice. Narcissus? In a flash everything came back: he remembered. O mother, mother! Mountains of rubbish collapsed, oceans of forgetfulness vanished. The lost woman, the indescribably beloved, was again looking at him with her regal light-blue eyes.
    Father Anselm had dozed off in the armchair beside the bed; he awoke. He heard the sick boy stir, he heard him breathe. Gently he stood up.
    â€œIs someone in the room?” Goldmund asked.
    â€œIt is I, have no fear. I’ll put the light on.”
    He lighted the lamp, its glow fell over his well-meaning, wrinkled face.
    â€œBut am I ill?” asked the boy.
    â€œYou fainted, son. Hold out your hand, let’s take a look at your pulse. How do you feel?”
    â€œFine. Thank you, Father Anselm, you’re very kind. Nothing’s wrong with me now. I’m just tired.”
    â€œI bet you are. And you’ll go right back to sleep. But first you’ll have a sip of hot wine; it’s all made and ready. Let’s drain a mug together, my boy, to good fellowship.”
    He had kept a small pitcher of hot wine in readiness.
    â€œSo we both had a nice nap,” laughed the physician. “A fine night nurse, huh, who can’t keep awake. Well, we’re all human. Now we’ll take a sip of this magic potion, my boy. Nothing’s more pleasant than a little secret drinking in the middle of the night. Prosit. ”
    Goldmund laughed, clinked cups, and tasted the warm wine. It was spiced with cinnamon and cloves and sweetened; he had never tasted such a drink before. He remembered his previous illness, when Narcissus had taken care of him. Now it was Father Anselm who was caring for him. It was all so pleasant and strange to be lying there in the lamplight, drinking a mug of sweet warm wine with the old father in the middle of the night.
    â€œHave you a pain in your stomach?” the old man asked.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œI thought you probably had the colic, Goldmund. You don’t then. Let’s see your tongue. Well, fine, your old Anselm’s proved his ignorance once again. Tomorrow you’ll stay in bed and I’ll come and take a look at you. Already through with your wine? Fine, may it do you good. Let’s see if there is more. Half a mug each, if we share and share alike. —You really gave us a scare, Goldmund! Lying in the court like a child’s corpse. And you really have no stomach ache?”
    They laughed together and shared what was left of the convalescent wine. The father joked; gratefully, delightedly Goldmund looked at him. His eyes were clear again. Then the old man went off to bed.
    Goldmund lay awake awhile longer. Again the images rose up inside him; his friend’s words flamed up again. The blond radiant woman, his mother, appeared again in