Narcissus and Goldmund by Hermann Hesse Page B

her round, limpid throat. Softly, delighted, he said: “How beautiful you are!”
    She smiled as though a present had been made her. He sat up; gently he pulled the gown off her shoulders, helped her out of it, peeled her until her shoulders and breasts shone in the cool light of the moon. Completely enraptured, he followed the delicate shadows with eyes and lips, looking and kissing; she held still as though under a spell, with eyes cast down and a solemn expression as though, even to her, her beauty was being discovered and revealed for the first time.

7
    I T grew cool over the fields. The moon climbed higher by the hour. The lovers lay on their softly lighted bed, absorbed in their games, dozing off together, turning toward each other anew upon awakening, kindling each other, entangled once more, falling asleep once more. They lay exhausted after their last embrace. Lise had nestled deep into the hay, breathing heavily. Goldmund was stretched out on his back, motionless; for a long time he stared into the moon-pale sky; a deep sadness rose in both, which they escaped in sleep. They slept profoundly, desperately, greedily, as though for the last time, as though they had been condemned to stay awake forever and had to drink in all the sleep in the world during these last hours.
    When Goldmund awoke, he saw Lise busy with her black hair. He watched her for a while, absent-minded, still half asleep.
    â€œYou’re awake?” he said finally.
    Her head turned with a start.
    â€œI’ve got to go now,” she said, embarrassed and somewhat sad. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
    â€œWell, I’m awake now. Must we move on so soon? After all, we’re homeless.”
    â€œI am,” said Lise. “But you belong to the cloister.”
    â€œI no longer belong to the cloister. I’m like you, completely alone, with nowhere to go. But I’ll go with you, of course.”
    Lise looked away.
    â€œYou can’t come with me, Goldmund. I must go to my husband; he’ll beat me, because I stayed out all night. I’ll say I lost my way. But he won’t believe me.”
    Goldmund remembered Narcissus’s prediction. So that’s how it was.
    â€œI’ve made a mistake then,” he said. “I had thought that you and I would stay together. —Did you really want to let me sleep and run off without saying farewell?”
    â€œOh, I was afraid you might get angry and beat me, perhaps. That my husband beats me, well, that’s how things are, that’s normal. But I didn’t want you to beat me, too.”
    He held on to her hand.
    â€œLise,” he said, “I won’t beat you, not now, not ever. Wouldn’t you rather stay with me than with your husband, since he beats you?”
    She tugged to get her hand free.
    â€œNo, no, no,” she said with tears in her voice. And since he could feel that her heart was pulling away from him, that she preferred the other man’s blows to his good words, he let go of her hand, and now she really began to cry. At the same time she started to run. Clasping both hands over her streaming eyes, she ran off. He stood silently and watched her go. He felt sorry for her, running off across the mowed meadows, summoned and drawn by who knew what power, an unknown power that set him thinking. He felt sorry for her, and a little sorry for himself as well; he had not been lucky apparently; alone and a little stunned, he sat in the hay, abandoned, deserted. But he was still tired and eager for sleep; never had he felt so exhausted. There was time to be unhappy later. Immediately he went back to sleep and woke only when the sun stood high and made the air hot around him.
    He felt rested now; quickly he got up, ran to the brook, washed, and drank. Memories came gushing forth; love images from the night exhaled their perfume like unknown flowers, evoked many gentle, tender feelings. His thoughts ran after them as he