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The summer passed. Poppies and flowers, cockles and starwort wilted and vahe frogs grew silent in the pond and the storks flew high and prepared for departure. Thats when Goldmuurned.He arrived oernoon, during a light rain, and did not go into the cloister; from the portal he went immediately to his workshop. He had e on foot, without the horse.
Erich felt a shock when he saw him e in. Although he reized him at first glance, and his heart went out to greet him, the man who had e back seemed pletely different: a false Goldmund, many years older, with a half-spent, dusty, gray face, sunken cheeks, and sick, suffering eyes, although there was no pain in them, but a smile rather, a kied, old, patient smile. He walked painfully; he dragged himself, and he seemed to be ill aired.
This ged, hardly reizable Goldmund peered strangely at his assistant. He made no fuss about his retured as though he had merely e in from another room, as though he had never left even for a minute. He shook hands and said nothing, no greeting, no question, no story. He merely said: "I must sleep," he seemed to be terribly tired. He sent Erich away a into his room o the workshop. There he pulled off his cap a drop, took off his shoes and walked over to the bed. Farther ba the room he saw his madonna standing under a cloth; he nodded but did not go up to her to take off the cloth and greet her. Instead he crept to the little window, saw Erich waiting uneasily outside, and called down to him: "Erich, you tell anybody that Im back. Im very tired. It wait until tomorrow."
Then he lay down on the bed in his clothes. After a while, since he could not fall asleep, he got up and walked heavily to the wall to look into a small mirror that hung there. Attentively he looked at the Goldmund who stared back at him out of the mirror, a weary Goldmund, a man who had grown tired and old and wilted, with much gray in his beard. It was an old, somewhat u man who looked back at him from the little mirrors dull surface—but strangely unfamiliar. It did not seem to be properly present; it did not seem to be of much to him. It reminded him of other faces he had known, a little of Master Niklaus, a little of the old knight who had once had a pages outfit made for him, and also a little of St. Jacob in the church, of old bearded St. Jacob who looked so a and gray under his pilgrims hat, aill joyous and good.
Carefully he read the mirror face, as though he were ied in finding out about this stranger. He o him and knew him again: yes, it was he; it correspoo the feeling he had about himself. Aremely tired old man, who had grown slightly numb, who had returned from a journey, an ordinary man in whom one could not take much pride. A he had nothing against him. He still liked him; there was something in his face that the earlier, pretty Goldmund had not had. In all the fatigue and disiion there was a trace of te, or at least of detat. He laughed softly to himself and saw the mirror image join him: a fine fellow he had brought home from his trip! Pretty much torn and burned out, he was returning from his little excursion. He had not only sacrificed his horse, his satchel, and his gold pieces; other things, too, had gotten lost or deserted him: youth, health, self-fidehe color in his cheeks and the for his eyes. Yet he liked the image: this weak old fellow in the mirror was dearer to him than the Goldmund he had been for so long. He was older, weaker, more pitiable, but he was more harmless, he was more tent, it was easier to get along with him. He laughed and pulled down one of the eyelids that had bee wrihen he went back to bed and this time fell asleep.
The day he sat hunched over the table in his room and tried to draw a little. Narcissus came to visit him. He stood in the doorway and said: "Ive been told that you were back. Thank God, Im very glad. Since you did not e to see me, Ive e to you. Am I disturbing you in your work?"
He came cloldmund looked up from his paper and held out his hand. Although Erich had prepared him, the sight of his friend shocked Narcissus to the heart. Goldmund gave him a friendly smile.
"Yes, Im back. Wele, Narcissus, we havent seen each other for a while. Five me for not ing to you."
Narcissus looked into his eyes. He too saw not only the exhaustion, the pitiful wilting of this face; he saw other things besides, strangely pleasing signs of acceptance, of detat even, of surrender and<cite></cite> old mans good humor. Experienced in reading human faces, Narcissus also saw that this ged, different Goldmund was not altogether there any more, that either his soul was far withdrawn from reality and wandering dream roads or already standing at the gates that lead to the beyond.
"Are you ill?" he asked cautiously.
"Yes. I am also ill. I fell ill at the very start of my journey, during the very first days. But youll uand that I didnt want to e home again right away. Youd all have had a good laugh if I had e back so quickly and taken off my traveling boots. No, I didnt feel like it. I went on to roam about a bit; I felt ashamed because my journey was not w out. I had promised myself too much. Yes, I felt ashamed. Surely you uand that, youre an intelligent man. Five me, was that what you asked? Its like a curse; I keep fetting what were talking about. But that thing with my mother, you did that well. It hurt a lot, but …"
His murmuring ended in a smile.
"Well make you well again, Goldmund, well take care of you. If only you had turned right around when you began feeling sick! You really dont have to feel ashamed in front of us. You should have e right back."
Goldmund laughed.
"Yes, now I remember. I didnt dare e back. It would have been shameful. But now I have e. Now I feel well again."
"Have you had great pain?"
"Pain? Yes, I have had pains enough. But you see, pains are not so bad; theyve brought me to reason. Now I no longer feel ashamed, not even in front of you. The day you came to see me in prison, to save my life, I had to ch my teeth very hard, because I felt ashamed in front of you. But that is pletely over now."
Narcissus put his hand on Goldmunds arm and immediately Goldmund stopped speaking and closed his eyes with a smile. He fell peacefully asleep. Disturbed, the Abbot ran to fetch the house physi, Father Anton, to look after the sick man. When they came back, Goldmund was still sitting fast asleep at his drawing table. They put him to bed and the physi stayed to examine him.
He found him hopelessly ill. He was carried into one of the sis, where Erich kept a stant watch.
The whole story of his last journey was never knowold a few details; others could be guessed. Often he lay listlessly. Sometimes he had a fever and was delirious; sometimes he was lucid, and then Narcissus was sent for each time. These last versations with Goldmund became extremely important to him.
Narcissus set down a few fragments of Goldmunds reports and fessions. Others were told by Erich.
"When did the pain start? At the very beginning of my journey. I was riding in the forest and fell with my horse into a brook, where I lay the whole night in cold water. I must have broken several ribs; ever since, Ive had pains in my chest. At that time I was not very far from here, but I didnt want to turn back. That was childish, I know, but I thought it would look foolish. So I rode on, and when I could ride no longer, because it hurt too much, I sold the horse, and then I was in a hospital for a long time.
"Ill stay here now, Narcissus. Ill never ride off again. No more wandering. No more dang, no more women. Oh, otherwise Id have stayed away much longer, years longer. But when I saw that there was no joy out there for me any more, I thought: before I go under, I want to draw a bit more, and make a few more figures. One does want to have some pleasure after all."
Narcissus said to him: "Im very glad youve e back. I missed you very much. I thought of you every day, and I was often afraid that you would never want to e back."
Goldmund shook his head: "Well, the loss would not have bee."
Narcissus, his heart burning with grief and love, slowly bent down to him, and now he did what he had never done in the many years of their friendship. He touched Goldmunds hair and forehead with his lips. Asto first, and then moved, Goldmund knew what had happened.
"Goldmund," the Abbot whispered into his ear, "five me for not being able to tell you earlier. I should have said it to you the day I came to see you in your prison in the bishops residence, or when I was shown your first statues, or at so many other times. Let me tell you today how much I love you, how much you have always meant to me, how rich you have made my life. It will not mean very much to you. You are used to love; it is not rare for you; so many women have loved and spoiled you. For me it is different. My life has been poor in love; I have lacked the best of life. Our Abbot Daniel oold me that he thought I was arrogant; he robably right. I am not unjust toeople. I make efforts to be just and patient with them, but I have never loved them. Of two scholars in the cloister, I prefer the one who is more learned; Ive never loved a weak scholar in spite of his weakness. If I know heless what love is, it is because of you. I have been able to love you, you alone among all men. You agine what that means. It means a well in a desert, a blossoming tree in the wilderness. It is thanks to you alohat my heart has not dried up, that a place within me has remained open to grace."
Goldmund smiled happily; he was slightly embarrassed. With the soft, cal<bdo></bdo>m voice he had during his lucid hours, he said: "When you saved me from the gallows that day and we were riding home, I asked you about my horse Bless and you knew what had happeo him. That day I saw that you, who had never known one horse from another, had taken care of my little Bless. I uood that you had do because of me, and I was very happy about it. Now I see that it was really so, that you really do love me. But I have always loved you, Narcissus. Half of my life ent c you. I khat you, too, were fond of me, but I never dared hope that you would tell me some day, youre such a proud man. You give me your love in this moment when I have nothi, when wandering and freedom, world and women have abandoned me. I accept it and I thank you for it."
The Lydia-madonna stood in the room, watg.
"Do you think stantly of death?" asked Narcissus.
"Yes, I think of it and of what has bee of my life. As a young man, when I was still your pupil, I wished to bee as spiritual as you were. You showed me that I had no calling for it. Then I threw myself into the other side of life, into the world of the senses, and women made it easy for me to find my joys there, they are so greedy and willing. But I dont wish to speak disdainfully of them, or of the joys of the senses; I have often beeremely happy. And I was also fortunate enough in my experieo learn that sensuality be given a soul. Of it art is born. But now both flames have died out in me. I no longer have the animal happiness of ecstasy, and I wouldnt want it now even if women were still running after me. And to create works of art is no longer my wish either. Ive made enough statues; the number does not matter. Therefore it is time for me to die. I am ready, and Im curious about it."
"Why curious?" asked Narcissus.
"Well, it may be a bit stupid of me. But Im really curious about it. Not of the beyond, Narcissus. I think about that very little, and if I may say so openly, I no longer believe in it. There is no beyond. The dried-up tree is dead forever; the frozen bird does not e back to life, nor does a man after he has died. One may tio think of him for a while after hes gone, but that doesnt last loher. No, Im curious about dying only because it is still my belief or my dream that I am on the road toward my mother. I hope death will be a great happiness, a happiness as great as that of love, fulfilled love. I ot give up the thought that, instead of death with his scythe, it will be my mother who will e to take me back to her, who will lead me back to nonbeing and innoce."
During one of his last visits, after Goldmund had not said anything for several days, Narcissus again found him awake and talkative.
"Father Anton thinks you must often be i pain. How do you bear it so calmly, Goldmund? It seems to me you have found peaow."
"Do you mean peace with God? No, that peace I have not found. I dont want any peace with Him. He has made the world badly; we doo praise it, and Hell care little whether I praise Him or not. He has made the world badly. But I have made peace with the pain in my chest, yes. In former days I was not good at bearing pain, and although I sometimes thought dying would e easily to me, I was wrong. Wheh was so near me that night in t Heinrichs prison, I saw that I simply could not face it. I was still much to and too wild to die; they would have had to break eae of my bowice. But now it is different."
Speaking tired him. His voice grew weaker. Narcissus asked him to spare himself.
"No," he said, "I want to tell you. Before this I would have been ashamed to tell you. Itll make you laugh. When I mounted my horse that day and rode away, I was not just riding off into the blue. I had heard a rumor that t Heinrich had returo this region and that his mistress Agnes was with him. Well, all right, that does not seem important to you, and today it does not seem important to me either. But at that time the news burself into me, and I thought of nothing but Agnes. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever known and loved: I wao see her again, I wao be happy with her again. I rode off, and after a week I found her. And there, during that hour, the ge iook place. As I said, I found her. She had not grown less beautiful. I found her and found as well the opportunity to show myself to her and to speak to her. And just think, Narcissus: she no longer wao have anything to do with me. I was too old for her; I was no longer pretty enough, amusing enough; she no longer wanted anything from me. That, actually, was the end of my journey. But I rode on. I didnt want to e back to you so disappointed and ridiculous, and as I rode along, ford youth and intelligence had already pletely abandoned me, because I stumbled into a gully with my horse and fell into a stream and broke several ribs and lay there helpless ier. Thats when I first learned about real pain. As I fell I felt something break inside my chest, and the breaking pleased me, I was glad to hear it, I was tent with it. I lay there ier and khat I was about to die, but everything was pletely different from that night in the ts prison. I had nothing against it; dying no longer seeme.errible to me. I felt those violent pains which Ive often had sihen, and with them I had a dream, or a vision, whatever you want to call it. I lay there and had burning pains in my chest and I was defending myself against them and screaming when I heard a laughing voice, a voice I had not heard since childhood. It was my mothers voice, a deep womanly voice, full of ecstasy and love. And then I saw that it was she, that she was with me, holding me in her lap, and that she had opened my breast and put her fingers between my ribs to pluy heart. When I saw and uood that, it no longer hurt. And now, when the pains e back, they are not pains, they are not ehey are my mothers fiaking my heart out. She works hard at it. Sometimes she presses down and moans as though iasy. Sometimes she laughs and hums tender sounds. Sometimes she is not with me, but high above in heaven, and I see her face among the clouds, as large as a cloud. She floats there, smiling sadly, and her sad smile pulls at me and draws my heart out of my chest."
Again and again he spoke of her, of his mother. "Do you remember?" he murmured on one of the last days. "I had pletely fotten my mother until you jured her up again. That day, too, it hurt very much, as though animal jaws were tearing at my iines. We were still young then, pretty young boys. But even then my mother called me and I had to follow. She is everywhere. She was Lise, the gypsy; she was Master Niklauss beautiful madonna; she was life, love, ecstasy. She also was fear, hunger, instinow she is death; she has her fingers in my chest."
"Dont speak so much, my dear friend," said Narcissus. "Wait until tomorrow."
With his new smile Goldmund looked into Narcissuss eyes, with the smile that he had brought back from his jourhe smile that looked at times so old and fragile, a little senile perhaps, and then again like pure kindness and wisdom.
"My dear friend," he whispered, "I ot wait until tomorrow. I must say farewell to you now, and as we part I must tell you everything. Listen to me another moment. I wao tell you about my mother, and how she keeps her fingers clasped around my heart. For many years it has been my most cherished, my secret dream to make a statue of the mother. She was to me the most sacred of all my images; I have carried her always inside me, a figure of love and mystery. Only a short while ago it would have been unbearable to me to think that I might die without having carved her statue; my life would have seemed useless to me. And now see how strahings have turned out: it is not my hands that shape and form her; it is her hands that shape and form me. She is closing her fingers around my heart, she is loosening it, she is emptying me; she is sedug me into dying and with me dies my dream, the beautiful statue, the image of the great mother-Eve. I still see it, and if I had for my hands, I could carve it. But she doesnt want that; she doesnt wao make hebbr>..</abbr>r secret visible. She rather wants me to die. Im glad to die; she is making it easy for me."
Deeply shaken, Narcissus listeo his words. He had to bend close to his friends lips to be able to uand what they were saying. Some words he heard only indistinctly; others he heard clearly, but their meaning escaped him.
And now the sick man opened his eyes again and looked for a long while into his friends face. He said farewell with his eyes. And with a sudden movement, as though he were trying to shake his head, he whispered: "But how will you die when your time es, Narcissus<dfn>藏书网</dfn>, since you have no mother? Without a mother, one ot love. Without a mother, one ot die."
What he murmured after that could not be uood. Those last two days Narcissus sat by his bed day and night, watg his life ebb away. Goldmunds last words burned like fire in his heart.
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