Free Pictor's Metamorphoses by Hermann Hesse

gushing; yes, one could definitely hear the cool rush of its noble waters.
    All eyes were fixed on the splendid curtain, so no one noticed that every lantern in the room, one after another, quickly went out. Everyone was deeply engrossed in the magical play of the artificial lilies; only the poet paid it no mind. Through the darkness he raised his glowing eyes and turned them beseechingly on the lovely Lulu. Her face was bathed in a solemnly beautiful and delicate light; in her magnificent dark hair the white rose shimmered with an unearthly sheen.
    In unspeakable harmony, the slender lilies circled round the fountain in a wonderfully strange ring dance. Their fine movements and delicate interweaving caught the senses of the breathless onlookers in a sweet, dreamy net of wonder and pleasure. Then a clock struck twelve. Quick as a flash, the resplendent curtain went up; a broad stage loomed in deep twilight. The philosopher got up; the movement of his chair could be heard in the darkness. He vanished and in the same instant appeared on the stage, his hair and beard still full of roses. Gradually, the stage filled with a light that grew stronger and stronger, until the curtain’s wellspring and lilies—brilliantly clear—could distinctly be seen plashing and blooming in noble reality.
    In the midst of it all stood the faithful Haderbart, recognizably Turnabout, despite his transfigured mien. In the background, fascinating in its pearl-blue beauty, the Opal Palace towered. Through its broad, vaulted windows you could see the great banquet hall, and there King Sorrowless, in perfect serenity, sat on his throne. While the radiance grew ever stronger, Haderbart, carrying an enormous, fabulous silver harp, made his way through the obeisant lilies to the center of the stage. The splendor was now blinding and broke over the walls of the Opal Palace in feverishly trembling waves, silvery and iridescent.
    Poised to listen, the faithful Haderbart plucked one single deep string of the harp. A clear, kingly tone rang out and swelled. Slowly the lilies in the foreground stepped to the side; a splendid staircase dropped from the stage to the floor. In the dark room, tall and slender, the beautiful Lulu arose, and as she climbed the stairs they vanished behind her. Finally she stood there, the figure of the Princess, beautiful beyond words. Bowing deeply, Haderbart gave the harp into her hands; tears flowed from his clear, old eyes and fell, along with one of the roses loosed from his beard, to the ground.
    Tall and resplendent, the Princess stood at the Harp Silversong. Making a sweeping gesture toward the palace, her right arm drew the harp toward her until it rested against her shoulder. Then her slender fingers swept over all its strings, from which issued a song of unprecedented bliss and harmony. All the tall lilies gathered round their mistress to pay homage. Once again, a pure, full chord sounded on the reverberating magical strings—then with a brief thud the curtain fell. One moment longer it remained wholly lit from within; the passionate dance of the embroidered lilies grew faster and more furious, until all that could be discerned was a single, silver whirlpool, which suddenly and soundlessly foundered in utter darkness.
    The friends remained standing or sitting in the darkness, stupefied and speechless. But soon enough they began to recover their senses. Lights were lit. Inadvertently, the forgotten fireworks were set off and exploded with a horrible din. Screaming and scolding, the innkeeper and his wife rushed in. A nightwatchman in the street battered on the locked shutters with his stick. In the general confusion, questions and screams were volleyed back and forth.
    But no one could find a trace of Lulu or the philosopher. Junior barrister Ripplein grew irritable and began to speak of trickery; but no one listened to him. Hermann Lauscher had escaped to his room and bolted the door from inside.
    When, very