Free Narcissus and Goldmund by Hermann Hesse Page A

be exorcised with them. But for the pursuit of science they are, of course, unsuitable. The mind favors the definite, the solid shape, it wants its symbols to be reliable, it loves what is, not what will be, what is real and not what is possible. It does not permit an omega to change to a serpent or a bird. The mind cannot live in nature, only against nature, only as its counterpart. Do you believe now that you’ll never be a scholar, Goldmund?”
    Yes, Goldmund had long since begun to believe it, resigned himself to it.
    â€œI’m no longer intent on striving for a mind like yours,” he said, half jokingly. “I feel about mind and learning the way I did about my father: I thought I loved him very much and wanted to become like him and swore by everything he did. But as soon as my mother reappeared, I knew the meaning of love again and my father’s image had suddenly shrunk next to hers and become joyless, almost repugnant. And now I’m inclined to regard all things of the mind as father-things, as unmotherly, and mother-hostile, and to feel a slight contempt for them.”
    He spoke in a joking tone, and yet he was not able to bring a happy expression to his friend’s face. Narcissus looked at him in silence; his look was like a caress. Then he said: “I understand you very well. There’s no need for us to quarrel ever again; you are awakened, and now you recognize the difference between us, between mother-heritage and father-heritage, the difference between soul and mind. Soon you’ll probably also realize that cloister life and striving for monkhood were a mistake for you, an invention of your father’s. He wanted you to atone for your mother’s memory, or perhaps avenge himself on her in this way. Or do you still believe that it’s your destiny to remain in the cloister all your life?”
    Goldmund looked pensively at his friend’s hands. How distinguished they were, severe as well as delicate, bony and white. No one could doubt that they were the hands of an ascetic and a scholar.
    â€œI don’t know,” he said in the lilting, slightly hesitant voice he had recently acquired and that seemed to dwell lengthily on every sound. “I really don’t know. You judge my father somewhat harshly. He has not had an easy life. But perhaps you’re right in this too. I’ve been in the cloister school for over three years, and he’s never come to see me. He wants me to stay here forever. Perhaps that would be best, I thought I wanted it myself. But today I’m no longer sure what I really want and desire. Before, everything was simple, as simple as the letters in my textbook. Now nothing is simple any more, not even the letters. Everything has taken on many meanings and faces. I don’t know what will become of me, I can’t think about that now.”
    â€œNor need you,” said Narcissus. “You’ll find out where your road will lead you. It began by leading you back to your mother, and it will bring you closer to her still. As for your father, I’m not judging him too harshly. Would you want to go back to him?”
    â€œNo, Narcissus, certainly not. If I did, it would have to be as soon as I finished school; right now perhaps. Since I’m not going to be a scholar anyhow, I’ve learned enough Latin and Greek and mathematics. No, I don’t want to go back to my father…”
    Deep in thought, he stared ahead of him. Suddenly he cried out to Narcissus: “How on earth do you do it? Again and again you say words to me, or pose questions that shine a light into me and make me clear to myself. You merely asked if I wanted to go back to my father, and suddenly I knew that I didn’t want to. How do you do it? You seem to know everything. You’ve said so many words that I didn’t quite grasp when I heard them but that became so important to me afterwards! It was you who said that I take my being