Narcissus and Goldmund
Hermann Hesse
Language: English
Pages: 320
ISBN: 0553275860
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Hesse's novel of two medieval men, one quietly content with his religion and monastic life, the other in fervent search of more worldly salvation. This conflict between flesh and spirit, between emotional and contemplative man, was a life study for Hesse. It is a theme that transcends all time. The Hesse Phenomenon "has turned into a vogue, the vogue into a torrent. . .He has appealed both to. . . an underground and to an establishment. . .and to the disenchanted young sharing his contempt for our industrial civilization."--The New York Times Book Review
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was a match for him. Yet, apart from the learned, he had few friends; his distinction surrounded him like a chilling draft. Once, after confession, the Abbot said to him: “Narcissus, I admit that I am guilty of having judged you harshly. Often I have considered you arrogant, and perhaps I have done you an injustice. You are very much alone, my young brother, you have admirers, but no friends. I wish I had reason to scold you from time to time, but I have none. I wish you would misbehave
caught in the rain who stops under any roof, a tree, just to wait, for fear of the inhospitality of the unknown. Goldmund’s life, during this span, was nothing but hesitation and bidding farewell. He visited the different places that had become dear and meaningful to him. He was surprised that there were so few persons and faces it would be hard for him to leave. Brother Narcissus and old Abbot Daniel and good dear Father Anselm, the friendly porter maybe, and their jovial neighbor, the
by the stranger’s voice. She fell in love with the singing undertone, the radiating warmth and gentle wooing in the young man’s voice; it sounded like a caress. She would have liked to go on listening to his voice much longer. After the meal, the farmer busied himself in the stable. Goldmund had gone outside to wash his hands under the well; he was sitting on its low edge, cooling himself and listening to the water. His mind was undecided; there was nothing for him to do here any more, yet he
clump of sturdy old oaks in short grass. He remained there, in their shade, strolling among the thick trunks. How strange it was with women and loving! There really was no need for words. The farmer’s wife had said only a few words, to name the place of their meeting; everything else had been said without words. Then how had she said it? With her eyes, yes, and with a certain intonation in her slightly thick voice, and with something more, a scent perhaps, a subtle, discreet emanation of the
you. I don’t feel like dying, I don’t want to be killed by your count. First I want us to be as happy as we have been today. One more time, many more times.” She lay in silence until he was dressed. Gently he pulled the cover over her and kissed her eyes. “Goldmund,” she said, “oh, I am sorry that you must go! Do come back tomorrow! I’ll let you know if there is danger. Come back, come back tomorrow!” She pulled at a bellrope. The chambermaid received him at the door to the wardrobe and led
