Rosmersholm by Henrik Ibsen (1886)

Another beautifully constructed, weighty play about family secrets and lies, involving politics, idealism and conservatism, but focusing more on the mysteries of character and psychology.

Cast

  • John Rosmer, of Rosmersholm, an ex-clergyman
  • Rebecca West, one of his household, originally engaged as a companion to Beata, the late Mrs Rosmer
  • Kroll, headmaster of the local grammar school, Rosmer’s brother-in-law i.e. brother of Beata
  • Ulrik Brendel, a drunken poet
  • Peter Mortensgaard, editor of the left-wing Searchlight newspaper
  • Mrs Helseth, Rosmer’s housekeeper

Act 1

John Rosmer, of Rosmersholm, is the latest representative of the Rosmer family who have been pillars of the community for centuries, ‘the foremost family in the district’, providing it with clergymen, military officers and other officials.

The play opens with Miss Rebecca West, who is his companion, and the housekeepers, Mrs Helseth, looking out the window waiting for Rosmer to return from a walk. He is taking the long way home while they spy another man, Mr Kroll, headmaster of the local grammar school, walking directly to the house.

He enters and in the ensuing dialogue with Rebecca we learn a huge amount. We learn that Rosmer was married to Kroll’s sister, Beata; that it was not a happy marriage; that Beata became unwell and Rebecca was hired to be a companion for her; that she managed this despite the opposition of her father, old Captain West, her crippled foster-father, who was very unpleasant until he, too, passed away; that Rebecca became Beata’s rock and stay as she experienced mental decline and breakdown; that one day 18 months ago Beata walked down to the bridge over the millpool and threw herself in, drowning; that Rebecca has been providing companionship to the widower Rosmer ever since, and tells Kroll she will stay as long as he (Rosmer) needs her.

In passing Kroll determines that Rebecca is 29 and Rosmer is 43. If he should ever want a new wife…but Rebecca tuts and says how can he think of such a thing!

But, leaving the unhappy past, we learn that Kroll has become involved in local politics, in a conflict between the Radicals and the Conservatives which has become so bitter that Kroll refers to it as a civil war.

Rosmer enters and says how relieved he is to see Kroll. He’s always regarded Kroll as a teacher and mentor and was upset that he hasn’t visited for a year. He and Rebecca thought there was some kind of breach.

Now the talk turns to politics. The Radicals have taken power, egged on by a radical newspaper called The Searchlight and edited by one Peter Mortensgaard. Kroll is dismayed that the cleverest boys at his school now read it and that its influence has penetrated into his own family, where his children read it and even his wife blames him for raising them too strictly.

We get an insight into the authoritarian mind when Kroll states that hitherto his family had been of one mind, a place where ‘obedience and order have always ruled’. He therefore sees the rise as the Radicals as the triumph of chaos and disorder. And he sees the current times (1885 or so) as uniquely ruinous and decadent.

KROLL: You have no conception of the state of affairs that is going on all over the country. Every single idea is turned upside down, or very nearly so. It will be a hard fight to get all the errors straightened out again.

And now we get to the reason for Kroll’s visit after such a long absence. Kroll tells Rosmer they want him to join them. It’s all very well living out in the sticks and carrying on historical researches (into family trees) but the world is going to hell and they need Rosmer’s support. He and his party have just recently bought the Country Times paper and now what they need is an editor. Will Rosmer edit it for them? Rosmer says he’s got no feel for politics and is the last man for the job. Kroll reluctantly accedes but then asks if they can use his name, will he lend the renowned Rosmer name to their cause.

As the conversation progresses Rebecca has been pressing Rosmer to say something and he’s refused but the conversation is interrupted by the arrival of Ulrik Brendel. The two men remember that this Brendel was a) Rosmer’s tutor when he was a boy and still has a soft spot for but b) a disreputable waster who Rosmer’s father drove from the house with a horsewhip.

Brendel is an impressive figure of a man though now down on his luck and dressed like a tramp. He speaks grandiloquently of the way he has reached a fork in the road, has many bold and exciting ideas which he has not yet committed to paper all the while experiencing the ‘mysterious bliss of creation’ and expecting the applause of the grateful masses. Presumably he’s intended to be the type of the ineffectual radical.

In a broadly comical scene he says he has no interest in material things but could they possibly loan him a dress shirt. And an overcoat. And some boots. And, say, two ten crown notes. And with much bowing and scraping he exits to continue on h is way into town.

And now Brendel is out of the way Rosmer can get back to what he was about to say which is that he has joined the other party. Well, not joined exactly, but he has thought long and hard and come out on the side of independence and freedom. He aspires to bring all sides in the dispute together in a spirit of democracy.

Kroll is appalled, saying his old friend is a renegade, lending his hand to the corrupting and perverting of this unhappy country. Rosmer calls it a work of liberation, of liberating the minds and purifying the wills of the people. Kroll calls it ‘poisoning our whole social life’ and dragging everyone down into the mud.

This is why, after much thought, he left the church and ceased to be a clergyman and now a ‘great world of truth and freedom’ has been revealed to him. In fact Kroll helped crystallise his decision. Rosmer has read the bitter, sarcastic, sneering articles Kroll has written and this made him realise the country is descending into civil war and anger. Rosmer sees it as his job to restore peace via democracy.

Kroll is disgusted and says he can’t remain in the house a moment longer. He predicts that Rosmer will come round, after all it is hard for a man to hold out by himself. But Rosmer replies he is not alone, there are two of them, just as Rebecca returns to the stage after seeing Brendel off.

Kroll notes this and makes some muttered remarks along the lines of ‘hah! Just as Beata said’ implying that Rosmer’s dead wife, Kroll’s sister, predicted Rosmer and Rebecca were becoming an item … And with that he sweeps out.

So Rosmer confirms that he has finally spilt the beans and taken his stand and gotten it off his chest and thanks Rebecca before saying he’ll turn in for the night. All of which he does in a brotherly way i.e. no declarations of love or kisses or anything. It’s clear that he regards them only as friends, something which will become important later on.

Act 2

This act, as a whole, depicts the wonderful, intricate and appalling entrapment of Rosmer in a number of webs and nets he never imagined. The sense of liberation and release he felt after telling Kroll about his new-found liberation is comprehensively trashed and turned into its opposite, angst-ridden guilt and apprehension.

So: Next morning Rosmer tells Rebecca he feels a huge relief getting the secret of his new allegiance off his chest, he slept like a baby and feels wonderfully light and optimistic. Rebecca disconcerts him by saying she sent Brendel on his way with a short hand-written message for him to give to Mortensgaard. Hmmm. It was done with the best intentions but links his name with both Brendel and Mortensgaard which he didn’t want to do…

To their surprise Kroll is paying them a visit bright and early. In an important detail, he is surprised to discover ‘Miss West’ walking round in her dressing gown and takes this for precisely the kind of disorderly overturning of conventions which is ruining society, in fact he will take it as an indication that Rosmer and Rebecca are living in a state of free love.

Next he informs Rosmer what Brendel got up to the night before, namely he pawned the greatcoat Rosmer lent him and spent all the money Rosmer gave him on booze, getting drunk and then rounding on his low drinking pals as a bunch of lowlife losers at which he was physically thrown out of the tavern. What this is really doing is showing how the Real World turns our best intentions astray. To put it another way, demonstrates how, no matter how pure your intentions, the world always twists and compromises them.

Next Kroll informs Rosmer that Miss West has been corresponding with the editor of The Searchlight. Rosmer knows about this because Rebecca just told him, but still Kroll makes it sound sinister. Also it hugely offends him because – key fact – Mortenson uses the pages of his paper, The Searchlight, to ceaselessly pillory and mock Kroll.

When Rosmer says Rebecca is a free woman and they both cherish their freedom, Kroll makes his next attack. This is the suggestion that Rebecca is deceiving him and he is the innocent dupe of her schemes.

To do this he backtracks a bit to discuss the mental state of the wife who committed suicide, Beata. Rosmer repeats that his wife had mental issues and cites two aspects: one was that she repeatedly had fits when she made sensual advances to him which he quite rightly rebuffed (reminding us that Rosmer is not a romantic revolutionary but a clergyman), second that they discovered she couldn’t bear children and she beat herself up about this, and the two factors helped undermine her reason and led her to suicide while mentally unbalanced.

Now Kroll delivers a killer blow: what if Beata wasn’t unhinged at all but had long suspected Rebecca and Rosmer were having a relationship, saw that she made him happy, knew that she could probably bear him children, and so did away with herself in complete lucidity of mind for Rosmer’s sake, to clear the way for him and Rebecca to marry, to make him happy!

And now Kroll drops his bombshell evidence: Before she killed herself, Beata came to see him – twice. First time Beata told Kroll that Rosmer was losing his faith, something Kroll found so fantastic that he didn’t believe her. Second time she told him to expect White Horses (the local legend associated with death) at Rosmershal and said: ‘I haven’t much time left because now Johannes must marry Rebecca.’ That was on the Thursday and on the Saturday she killed herself.

Kroll is implying Rosmer was having an affair with Rebecca, that Beata realised this and did away with herself to let them be together. Rosmer insists he and Rebecca are nothing but close friends.

Kroll moves on to make the point that, setting aside his own distaste for whatever setup Rosmer’s got going with Rebecca, he’s advising him not to publicise it: not to publicise that he’s apostasised from his faith. Rosmer replies that he wants to tell The Truth but Kroll warns it will have dire consequences for him.

KROLL: You have no idea of the fury of the storm which will break over your head.

Mortensgaard

To both of their surprise, the editor of the Searchlight newspaper, Peter Mortensgaard arrives. Kroll is incensed and says this confirms all his worst fears about Rosmer conspiring with the enemy, pauses just long enough to exchange insults with Mortensgaard, then storms out slamming the door.

Mortensgaard has come to confirm the rumour that Rosmer has joined the progressive party. If so this is big news, a man of his standing, and he’ll publish an article about it next day. Rosmer confirms that he has come down on the side of the radicals and has also abandoned, or been liberated from, his faith.

But Mortensgaard is not pleased to hear this. Rosmer’s entire value to the movement would be that he is Pastor Rosmer. If he’s also abandoned his faith he becomes just one more freethinker, in fact they have too many freethinkers in the movement, plus people will be upset about his apostasy. All things considered, he must hush it up.

Rosmer is, of course, appalled, because his whole idea was to live in truth. He criticises Mortensgaard for being cynical but Mortensgaard replies he has no choice. he is a ‘marked man’ and who marked him? It was Rosmer, back in his fully believing days, who excoriated Mortensgaard for his lapse and was instrumental in having him sacked from his position at the local school. Now Mortensgaard says the tables are turned – it may be Rosmer who becomes the marked man.

Does he understand how Kroll and his pals at Country Times will be after his blood. They will sniff out anything, any black mark, even the slightest transgression in order to drag his name into the mud.

Then Mortensgaard reveals that Rosmer’s wife, Beata, sent him a letter. In it she begged Mortensgaard to be forgiving of her husband, stating there were many people who wished him ill, saying that he was struggling with his faith, and ending by insisting that there was no impropriety going on at Rosmersholm, none at all.

To recap, Mortensgaard tells Rosmer to be very careful. If rumours do spread about his apostasy and his free love with Rebecca it will not only do Rosmer harm, of more concern to Mortensgaard is that it will damage the radical cause. And with that, he exits.

Rebecca

It transpires that Rebecca was hiding in the bedroom off the main room where these two dialogues (with Kroll and Mortensgaard) took place. She heard everything. Rosmer laments that their ‘pure and beautiful friendship’ which he thought he took so much care to hide is turning out to cause so much trouble.

Also he’s beginning to doubt whether Beata was indeed insane. Kroll and Mortensgaard’s accounts suggest she was very much in command of her wits. Rosmer now starts to pace up and down in an agony of guilt. Did Beata think they were having an affair? Did she notice how much they liked to be together, talking about the same books and so on? She must have gone about sick with jealousy and humiliation but bottling it all up.

This morning he felt so happy but now he feels like he is stifling under a crushing weight. He will never again know joy etc. He will always be nagged by this doubt that his wife knew everything and, in her wretchedness, killed herself.

Rebecca tries to cheer him up, reminds him he is a free man who wants to live the free life, his visions of going door to door spreading joy and enlightenment. At which he picks up the idea and says there is one way to blot out the past, by creating a bright present. Which is why he asks her to marry him. He thinks it will help him throw off the nightmare of the past and live ‘in freedom, in joy, in passion’.

Rebecca is ecstatic for about 30 seconds and then masters herself and says, no, she can never be his wife, never. And he must never ask her why! If he proposes again she will be forced to leave and will never come back! And she exits leaving Rosmer utterly confused.

Act 3

Morning of the next day. Mrs Helseth and Rebecca are chatting. We learn that Mortensgaard was dismissed from his post at the school because he made pregnant a married woman who was separated from her husband.

One thing leads to another and Mrs Helseth reveals it was she who took the letter Beata wrote to Mortensgaard. We witness, I think, Rebecca gently coercing Mrs Helseth to agree to the proposition that Beata was mad. She suggests it began when they learned she couldn’t have children. Rebecca comments it’s probably just as well the pastor didn’t have children what with all that crying, and Mrs Helseth points out the spooky fact that children at Rosmersholm never cry and, when they grow up, never laugh.

Enter Rosmer. He asks why Rebecca didn’t come into his bedroom to see him this morning nor brought the paper. This is unusual. She is being friendly but distant.

When he opens the Country Times it is to discover a torrent of abuse aimed at him and Rebecca. He puts it down in disgust and says this kind of thing will ruin mankind; it must be countered with a spirit of love and forgiveness.

But his thoughts now don’t roam far from guilt about Beata. He tells Rebecca that all their fine words about a pure and noble friendship between them, maybe they were fooling themselves, maybe they always were in love and Beata saw it more clearly than them and was so distraught she killed herself. Oh the guilt the guilt! When she reminds him he has a noble cause to fulfil, bringing love and forgiveness etc, he says no cause ever flourished if led by a guilty man. Tiring of this self-pity Rebecca gets his hat and stick and tells him to go for a big walk.

Once Rosmer is out of the way, Rebecca gets Mrs Helseth to let Kroll in. He has been waiting all this time to see her. There is another great revelation which rearranges our understanding of the play. Kroll reveals that he once had feelings for Rebecca, she once bewitched him – and he believes she led him on, she fooled him because all she wanted was an introduction to Rosmer, he was just a stepping stone to her getting the place there.

Rebecca counters that it was Beata who begged for Rebecca to come and be her companion, but Kroll says that’s because she (Rebecca) bewitched her, too, resulting in a kind of desperate infatuation. In a remarkably frank exchange she sits and listens while he accuses her of seeking her ends with cold calculation.

Kroll launches a new attack. He says all her (immoral calculating) behaviour can be traced to her background. And in particular the fact that she is a bastard born out of wedlock. Her mother died when she was a baby and she was taken into the household of Dr West but Kroll is at pains to explain that this is because she was West’s love child with her mother. She counters that Dr West didn’t come to town till after she was born but Kroll has been doing research and has discovered that West made a visit about the time Rebecca was conceived. She was his love child.

Kroll develops his attack. Why is she, an ’emancipated’ woman, so upset about the possibility of her illegitimacy? It just goes to prove one of his premises which is that emancipated ‘freethinkers’ just read fancy books full of big ideas but don’t really absorb them, don’t really change their values.

Kroll is saying all this because he can’t really believe the pastor has abandoned his faith. He can’t believe the scion of such a distinguished family has betrayed his values and his legacy. He thinks it is all book learning and Rosmer will revert.

Above all, Kroll tells Rebecca he must get Rosmer to legalise the relationship. They must be married or a world of fury will fall on Rosmer’s head: he will be hunted and exposed to ruthless attack.

At that moment she sees Rosmer returning from his walk. Kroll wants to skip out the back to avoid seeing his old friend but Rebecca begs and insists he stay. And when Rosmer walks in he is amazed to see Kroll here, especially after the vicious insults he read in that morning’s Country Times (Kroll says he had no part in writing them).

But Rebecca calmly takes control and tells the two men to sit down then she makes a dramatic confession. It was she who drove Beata to commit suicide. When she came down from the North of the country it felt like she was entering a new world of opportunities. She learned from Brendel that his old pupil the famous Johannes Rosmer was struggling with his faith, with new ideas, with intellectual emancipation. She was inspired to cleave to this man and go on a great journey of exploration together. She inveigled her way into the household by bewitching Beata, a weak personality, making the sickly woman utterly dependent on her. And she persuaded Johannes they were soul partners, intellectual mates. Then – and this is the bit that makes both men gasp – she slowly worked on Beata, step by step, using different arguments: the two main ones seem to have been that she was childless and therefore depriving the pastor of heirs; and the most shameful/intense one that Rebecca and Johannes’s relationship was becoming so intense that soon they… and she doesn’t even say it but I think the implication is that risked becoming lovers i.e. having sex.

In other words it was Rebecca’s constant chipping away at Beata’s confidence and morale which eventually pointed her the way to walk down to the millstream and throw herself in. Both the men are horrified. Kroll says, See Johannes? See the kind of woman you’re sharing your home and life with.

Horrified beyond any kind of response Rosmer simply asks whether Kroll is going into town and whether he may accompany him, then both men get up and exit without even looking at her. Rebecca stares out the window for a while and then asks Mrs Helseth to fetch the big trunk. She’s leaving and she will never return.

Act 4

It is the evening and all Rebecca’s bags are packed to go away. Rosmer is still in town. Act 4 opens with a brief dialogue between Rebecca and Mrs Helseth in which the latter declares she thinks it mean of the pastor to get Rebecca in the family way and force her to leave like this. On further questioning Mrs Helseth says she’s prepared to believe this of the pastor, who she’s known for years, ever since the accusations were printed about him in the Country Times. And what can you expect of a man who goes over to Mortensgaard’s side. In other words, she epitomises how easily swayed uneducated population is.

But then Rosmer returns. He is surprised to find Rebecca with her bags packed. She explains that she feels quite broken, all her hopes are crushed. Then Rosmer confesses that he met all his old friends at Kroll’s house and they persuaded him to give up his evangelising about freedom and whatnot. It’s not really him.

And he now thinks Rebecca used him. He was wax in her hands. She agrees that coming to Rosmersholm was part of a plan but then says something new. What wasn’t part of her plan was to find herself swept up in an overwhelming lust for Johannes, something she couldn’t control (obviously she doesn’t use the word ‘lust’, she says ‘wild uncontrollable passion’). It took control of her and it was this which drove her rivalry with Beata, which became ‘a fight to the death’.

What Rosmer doesn’t understand is why she’s leaving at precisely the moment when she has everything she wanted: her rival is out of the way and last night he proposed to her – why the devil did she turn him down?

Because once she was living with him as brother and sister or as very good friends, once he started confiding his thoughts and feelings in her, she found ‘that horrible, sensual passion’ fading away. But what followed was complicated. Because on the one hand she felt a great ennobling love, while at the other…a sense of powerlessness and helplessness which overcame her, weakened her, infected her. Suddenly she feels her compromised past as a barrier she can’t penetrate.

But then it’s Rosmer’s turn to tell her he just doesn’t believe a word she says any more. If only she could prove to him she loves him. Instead he is stricken with doubt and not just about her, about himself. If he gives up his dream of evangelising men for happiness, what does he have left? What is there worth living for?

At which point there’s a knock at the door. Surprisingly, it’s the rambling poet Brendel. He announces that he’s leaving town. he stood up to give a lecture and finally put into words the grand ideas he’s been harbouring for 25 years only to discover that…he had nothing to say, the cupboard was bare.

He asks Rosmer for a loan but then surprises him by saying a loan of any ideals he can spare a man now bereft of ideals or hope. As to Rosmer, he warns him against building any hope on Rebecca, this ‘enchanting little mermaid’, unless – and he goes into weird visionary mode – she chops off her little finger at the joint and then cuts off her ear! And with that he walks out into the night.

Rebecca is still determined to leave. Rosmer calls her to sit by him and explains that he has provided for her future. If he dies she is the legatee of his will. But, she says, you won’t die for a long time. Well, Rosmer hints at taking his own life. After all he has proved a complete failure, abandoning the traditions of his forebears, failing to have any heirs, and then abandoning the brave fight for freedom he crapped on about without even starting to take part in the battle. What a failure!

She rejects this, saying he has made at least one convert, her; he has raised and ennobled her above her sensual passion to a selfless love. He refuses to believe it. She says is there nothing, nothing I can do to convince you?

And this leads to the climax of the play when Rosmer says, If she really believes it, if she has the courage of her convictions, if she truly loves him, then… she will go the same way as Beata!

Rosmer (or Ibsen) twists it into a real challenge: If she kills herself she will prove herself as worthy as Beata, prove that she loves him, prove that such love exists and so reinspire him with the faith to re-undertake his mission, to bring nobility to the minds of men, faith in man’s power etc.

Then Rosmer falters and wonders what he’s said, but Rebecca is calm and focused. Yes, she will do it. She just asks that they drag the stream and bring up her body quickly.

Ibsen loads Rebecca with reasons to do it: to make amends for Beata, to atone for her crime; to prove she is as brave as Beata; to prove to Rosmer she loves him; to restore his faith in nobility; to save what is best in him; otherwise she will be like an anchor weighing him down; and a slave dragging behind herself a crippled existence.

He lays his hand on her head and says they are man and wife. There is no God, no institution has rights over them. They make their own rules and if they choose to be married, they are. He will go with her. He will go as far as her.

I thought he was probably going to watch her from the window walk down the path to the bridge etc but in fact Rosmer intones a lot of pious bunkum – ‘the husband shall go with his wife, as the wife with her husband…We go together, Rebecca, I go with you, you with me…For now we too are one’ – and they exit hand in hand.

Of course someone has to tell us what happens to Mrs Helseth, the housekeeper, conveniently enters at this point, looks around for them both, goes to the window, sees them in the middle of the bridge, leaning against the railing, and throwing themselves in, and screams.

And, interestingly enough, after all this tortuous talk about nobility and freedom and emancipation and so on, she sees events in a completely different light. In a more folk, uneducated way, she sees their double suicide as the revenge of Beata, ‘The dead woman has taken them’!

I don’t know if Ibsen intended it, but I love the idea that the previous four acts of fancy talk and high-falutin’ ideals all have the rug pulled from under them with the revelation that it has been a ghost story all along, and Beata is the unseen ghost who works via the foibles and frailties of the humans who let her die in order to get her macabre revenge!

James McFarlane’s introduction

In his introduction to the World’s Classics edition of the play James McFarlane makes interesting points. He says one of the sources of the play was the deep disappointment Ibsen felt on returning to Norway in 1885 after eleven years in exile. He wanted to settle in h is native land but was sickened and nauseated by what he found. Above all he loathed politicians and journalists of all stripes. Apparently in the notes for ‘The Wild Duck’ he said politicians and journalists would make excellent subjects for vivisectionists i.e. to be cut open while alive.

Hence the portrait of Kroll, a type of the tyrannical and sneering right-wing politician; but the equally negative portrait of Mortensgaard, willing to sacrifice principle for expediency. Hence his contempt for a figure like Brendel, a would-be poet, overflowing with fine sentiments who finds it impossible to put anything down on paper.

He gave a speech to a workers’ meeting in which he said democracy is only as good as the people in it; what was needed was a transformation of character, an ennobling of individuals, very much Rosmer’s prospectus.

The play shows how characters are changed and not for the better. Rosmer represents intellect, the academic personality, conservative by family and tradition, of great personal integrity; Rebecca represents sensual passion, advanced thinking, action and energy and ambition. To some extent they awaken or exchange these qualities in each other, Rosmer becoming roused for action to change society, while Rebecca finds her sensual drive being burned away by a more selfless love.

However, this doesn’t ennoble them as you might expect, but has a wholly negative effect. Rebecca comes to feel paralysed, infected with loss of willpower, while Rosmer’s dreams of social transformation collapse as he realises he’s really not the man for the job. Having abandoned their origins for new lives and then discovered their new lives simply don’t work for them, there’s only one way out.

Rosmersholm is a place which drains everyone of life, where the children never cry and the adults never laugh, where first the wife and then the husband and his lover are driven to suicide, a place where all ideals are drained and stifled and in this way, McFarlane suggests, it is a metaphor for the Norway which Ibsen so hated and despised.


Credit

I read ‘Rosmersholm’ in the 1960 translation by James McFarlane which was packaged up, along with his translations of ‘The Wild Duck’ and ‘An Enemy of the People’, into a World’s Classics paperback in 1988. I read the 2009 reprint.

Related links

Ibsen reviews

Drama reviews

  • Play reviews

Narziss and Goldmund by Hermann Hesse (1930)

He drew himself, as a wanderer, a lover, a fugitive, with reaping death hard at his heels…
(Narziss and Goldmund, page 228)

‘Narziss’ is a direct transliteration of the name in original German title, Narziß und Goldmund, but the word also translates as Narcissus, which is why some modern editions are titled Narcissus and Goldmund. Goldmund translates literally as ‘gold mouth’, though you can see why this wouldn’t work so well as a title. Narcissus and Gold Mouth might begin to sound too much like a fairy tale.

Narziss and Goldmund is longer than its predecessor novel, Steppenwolf (300 pages in the Penguin edition compared to Steppenwolf’s 250 pages). And it’s far more integrated and coherent than Steppenwolf, which is built up from a number of different texts, echoing the fragmented nature of the protagonist’s divided mind. By contrast, Narziss and Goldmund maintains a calm, lyrical and mellifluous sonority throughout, leading some critics to call it Hesse’s ‘most lyrical’ novel.

Narziss and Goldmund is set in the Middle Ages and both narrative and dialogue are couched in an unobtrusive but persistent cod-medieval style which might irritate some modern readers.

‘Mistress Lisbeth,’ he said, in a friendly voice. ‘I am not come to ask you for work. I wanted to give you greeting – you, and the Master. It irks me sore to have to hear you. I can see you have had much sorrow. If your father’s thankful apprentice can do you a service – name it – it would be my recompense.’ (p.224)

But, as mentioned, it is this low-key but persistent ‘medieval’ style which gives the book its distinctive flavour and tone.

Two opposites

The two central figures are ‘types’ – of the dry intellectual, the analyser and categoriser (Narziss) and the passionate lover of life, wine and women (Goldmund).

The first fifty or so pages describe in some detail how the pair first meet, as young novitiates at the ancient monastery of Mariabronn somewhere in North Germany. Narziss is himself a junior monk but already skilled and educated enough to be put in charge of the monastery school. One day young Goldmund is dropped off by  his father, a knight, who asks the monks to educate him. He never sees his father again. It slowly emerges that he’s never known his mother who, his father told him, was a wanton hussy who ran off when Goldmund was a baby.

This will turn out to be centrally important because there is a sense, in everything that follows, right up until his death, that this missing mother, the search for the Absent Mother, is central to his psyche.

Goldmund goes a wandering

Initially Goldmund is a good scholar. He is ragged by the other boys in fights and taunts which are presumably meant to reflect the bullying of schoolboys everywhere, in all times, but he fights back and establishes a place for himself in the hierarchy. There’s a naughty excursion from the monastery when a bunch of older boys sneak out of the premises to a nearby village, where they drink wine and chat up a peasant’s pretty daughter. She takes a shine to Goldmund, who is fiercely attracted to her and fiercely tries to repress the impulse.

Narziss and Goldmund forge a special bond based on Narziss’s uncanny insight into other people. They have many intense conversations. In one of them Narziss dwells on Goldmund’s absent mother and it comes as a revelation to Goldmund that there is this great hole in the centre of his life, and he breaks down in tears. It is that kind of very intense psychological bonding between the pair which gives the book its title.

But fate is fate, or biology is biology, and Goldmund goes out walking, picking flowers and marvelling at the beauty of the world. He falls asleep and is woken in a half-dream, by a beautiful gypsy girl, Lisa, waking in her lap, as she leans down to kiss him and, to cut a long story short, she takes his virginity, which is described in flowery euphemisms appropriate for 1930.

It is a revelation. Goldmund realises he is never going to be a monk, he’s not even that good a scholar. Goldmund returns to the cloister to tell Narziss he’s leaving, there and then. He packs his bags and leaves. He finds Lisa again the next day, but this time she is scared and runs back to the husband who beats her.

Now commences the long central section of the book where Goldmund goes on the tramp, vagabonding across northern Germany, and – this may be the slightly hard bit for a modern reader to swallow – everywhere he goes he is ‘desired and appeased by women’ (p.98). With his blonde hair, good looks and slim figure, Goldmund is a ladykiller, a babe magnet.

He quickly, comprehensively and intuitively becomes an expert at sex, a connoisseur, ready and able to give every woman what she wants, whether hard and fast, or slow and sensual, responding to all moods and needs. If you’d expected a spiritual classic, it certainly has a lot of deep psychology about life and destiny, but you’ll be surprised by the amount highly sensual, soft porn writing.

Drawn and clasped to one another, they lost themselves within the scented night, saw the white, shimmering secrets of its flowers, plucking its fruits, for which they thirsted, with gentle, ever-grateful, hands. Never before had spielmann struck such a lute, or lute known fingers so strong and cunning. (p.234)

The knight and his daughters

Pages 100 to 122 describe his adventures at a castle. He is taken in by an ageing knight who, when he discovers Goldmund is a scholar, hires him to write the life’s long adventurous life story in Latin. But the knight has two daughters, Lydia and Julia, and they are soon competing for his favours. It takes a bit longer than usual but Goldmund persuades Lydia into his bed where, however, she strips and kisses a little but, irritatingly, refuses to give him what so many other gypsy girls and peasant girls and farmers’ wives have already given him.

Worse, they’re lying there one night when the door opens and in comes the jealous younger sister Julia. Lydia is panicking when Goldmund overrides her and invites Julia to join them in bed. There follows a passage where Goldmund is kissing older, stiff Lydia on one side while with his hand he strokes and then begins to masturbate young Julia on his other side, who begins to make moans of pleasure.

See what I mean about a certain soft-porn 1970s feel? That’s one way of looking at it. The other is to see all these sexy passages as extraordinarily open, candid, honest descriptions of sex for their time (1930), and to place them in the wider context of the books and their serious concerns with human psychology and spirituality. In other words to see that Hesse’s books address the entirety of the human condition, sex and death and bereavement and loss and abandonment and friendship and love and art, and that the lyrically porny sequences are just an unashamed, honest inclusion of the role sex does play in many people’s lives.

This soft porn sequence is, alas, interrupted when the older sister leaps out of bed and threatens to tell their father. Both girls go. But Lydia goes to the knight and tells him everything. Goldmund is rudely awakened the next morning by the knight who is too angry to speak, who grabs his stuff in a bundle and marches him half a mile to the bounds of his land and then tells him never to return on pain of death. It is snowing. Goldmund sets off into the freezing cold.

An hour later, Hans a servant rides after him and delivers gifts from Julia – one golden ducat, an undershirt she has woven, and a side of bacon. Well, it’s something.

Goldmund comes to a village where he begs food and then is conscripted to assist as a villager gives birth, quite a traumatic experience for a young, sensitive mind. Typically what strikes Goldmund is the way the sounds of pain are so close to the sounds of a woman’s ecstasy, which triggers characteristic philosophical meditations. He dallies in the village a while i.e. has a brief ‘affair’ with a brawny village wife, Christine.

Murders Victor the vagabond

In this village he meets another vagabond, Victor. Victor is a seasoned, wily survivor, full of impressive stories of life on the road and Goldmund is taken under his spell. They travel on together for a few days but late one night in the forest, Goldmund wakes up to find Victor stealthily rifling through his clothes looking for the precious gold ducat Goldmund had told him about. When he resists, Victor starts to strangle him, in earnest, so Goldmund finds himself with his last breaths fumbling for the small knife he keeps mainly to cut up bread and cheese, and in a final paroxysm, stabbing Victor again and again and again until the grip round his neck loosens, and the man falls away from him, bleeding profusely from multiple wounds and there and then, in the dark early hours, in a forest in winter, Victor breathes his last, leaving Goldmund staggered and appalled. (p.127)

(And this reader thinking, yet again, that these German novels have a special affinity for knife murder.)

Master Nicholas and the nature of art

Goldmund comes to a nearby city, referred to as the Bishop’s City. On the outskirts he had come across an isolated chapel and been entranced by a sculpture inside it of the Mother of God.

In the city he makes enquiries as to who carved it and discovers it is a certain Master Nicholas the sculptor. To cut a long story short, Goldmund asks to be his apprentice. Nicholas tells him to draw something, anything, on a piece of paper he gives him and the result impresses him enough to take him on.

There follow extended passages meditating on the nature of art, on the meaning of reproducing the world and God’s creatures.

Goldmund realises he has within him the faces and personalities of all the women he’s encountered and realises he must make a particular carving, bringing the essence of all these women together to create a Mother of God.

Goldmund stays with Master Nicholas for two years while he works on this figure. During that period he has many many women – the tradesman’s wives and daughters – including the serving wench in a butcher’s house, Katherine, who he calls his ‘pork and sausage maid’ (p.179).

All through this period he is tormented by the contradictions in art between the soul and the physical, despising little people who are happy with decorations, driven by a striving for the unseeable essence of the subject.

Many lengthy discussions of the nature of true art. Goldmund ponders why Master Nicholas is a master sculptor, all right, but also a journeyman craftsman and that ability, facility, doesn’t interest Goldmund. Goldmund sits by the river and realises it is those endless flashes, light off the ripples, sudden glimpses of pebbles on the riverbed, the light through a butterfly’s wings – all the art in the world can’t compete with the beauty of the actual world.

Meanwhile, Master Nicholas has been thinking and offers to make Goldmund his heir, bring him into his workshop and to marry him to his daughter, Lisbeth. Unfortunately he makes Goldmund this offer at just about the moment Goldmund has realised he doesn’t want to be a journeyman like Nicholas. Nicholas goes white with anger when Goldmund embarrassedly turns down his offer, and makes it plain he must leave immediately.

Rather as he was ordered by the angry knight to leave the castle.

So Goldmund sets off on his rambles again, despite there being so many women in the city of whom he might have taken his leave (p.184). Last, and barely noticed, is the 15-year-old lame daughter of the burghers he’s been rooming with him. As he leaves the city, she offers him a drink of fresh milk and a crust of bread and, out of politeness, he leans down and kisses her. She closes her eyes in bliss. She has had a teenage crush on him all this time but, as in an American magazine romance, Goldmund doesn’t know or care. Then he is back on the road.

The plague

Goldmund hooks up with timid young Robert, a younger tramp. We learn it is ten years since Goldmund left the monastery (p.204). He now has a blonde beard (p.209).

The pair come to a plague village, whose villagers aggressively warn them away. But Goldmund goes in and finds a family dead in their beds, prompting characteristic Hesse reflections about Death. And the artist in Goldmund is attracted by their postures and positions…

As they walk on they discover that the whole countryside is ravaged, abandoned. Coming to an empty town, Goldmund notices a beautiful young woman (of course) leaning out a window and, as usual, picks her up. Her name is Lene (p.198) and she succumbs to Goldmund’s invitation to come with them, packs a small bag and off they go. She is ‘a sweet mistress… shy and young and full of love’ (p.201)

After much wandering they come across abandoned farm buildings, decide to settle there, fix them up and make a life, rounding up stray abandoned animals.

One day Lene and Goldmund go hunting, get separated, he hears her screaming, runs and finds her being raped, grab the scrawny rapist, strangles him and dashes his head to a pulp against rocks.

Goldmund carries Lene home, washes her breast where it has been scratched and bitten so hard it is bleeding. But, somewhat inevitably, Lene gets the plague and dies in a matter of days. Robert refuses to come near the hut she’s in, then runs off never to return.

Goldmund tends Lene till she dies and then, characteristically, studies the face of death. Then he sets fire to the hut, as a funeral pyre and to cleanse it, and hits the road again, wandering through a landscape of horror where the deserted villages and towns are surrounded by plague pits, passing processions of flagellants, watching the lynching of people scapegoated for the disaster, not least the burning alive of Jews in their houses in one town. Horror. The Kingdom of Bones (p.212)

But he watches it all with fascination, soaking up the suffering and despair, never tiring of watching the Grim Reaper at work.

Goldmund stumbles across a beautiful young Jewess (isn’t he lucky to come across so many beautiful young women) weeping beside a big burnt-out fire and discovers this is where 15 Jews from the nearby town were murdered and burned to death, including her father.

Goldmund is touched and offers to take her with him and protect her but can’t stop himself also trying to seduce her with honeyed worlds. Well, for once it doesn’t work. Unsurprisingly, she is disgusted, says all Christians are alike, murderers and hypocrites (and she might well have thrown in the accusation that all men are alike) and runs off.

Goldmund’s head is full of all the images he has seen, a medieval panorama. With increasing urgency he wants to return to ‘the Bishop’s city’ where he lived and worked for Master Nicholas. When he finally arrives back there he is overwhelmed by happy nostalgia of re-seeing all the familiar sights, the old churches, the market square, the clear purling river.

But, inevitably, Master Nicholas is dead of the plague… and his beautiful, haughty daughter, Lisbeth? She is now yellow-faced, gaunt and shrivelled. He offers help but Lisbeth (and the raddled old servant Margret) scorn him.

Wandering the town’s streets Goldmund bumps into lame Marie, who had a teenage crush on him, and she invites him modestly back to her parents’ house. They are honestly glad to see him. Inspired, Goldmund starts drawing hundreds of pictures of everything he’s seen in the Landscape of Death.

Lady Agnes

One day Goldmund is struck by the sight of a haughty beautiful rich woman riding by on a horse. He must have her. It is a challenge. He places himself at the town gates every morning as she goes a-riding. He appears under the trees near where she stops the horse for her daily rest.

After a few days she deigns to talk to him. She gives him a token, a gold necklace, which gives him admittance to the castle. He goes there that evening, claiming to have found the lady’s necklace and wanting to return it. He is allowed into the busy castle courtyard, full of horses and bustle.

The lady’s maid takes him up to her ladyship’s luxury rooms and there, amid the fur and incense, on a rich white bed, he strips and makes love to her, as – inevitably – ‘she has never been loved before’!

If you let yourself go along with this mood, it is a scene of exquisite sensitivity; if you are a little more jaded, it is like an extended Flake advert.

But the next very evening, when he returns for some more soft-focus erotic goings-on, he is trapped and caught by the jealous husband, Count Heinrich.

As the big angry knight opens the bedchamber door, Lady Agnes pushes Goldmund into her closet. Here the knight discovers him but Goldmund is quick witted enough to pretend he is a thief who has broken in to steal the precious dresses and furs.

The count believes him and says he will be hanged in the morning. Goldmund’s wrists are tied and he is led down to a pitch-black dungeon and thrown in. As the churls are unlocking the door to the dungeon, two priests visiting the castle pass by, and one stops to ask if the prisoner is to be confessed and shriven, then tells the guards he will come at dawn to perform this service.

Goldmund spends the night trying to reconcile his soul to death, to never more see the sun or feel the wind or hear the birds. He also spends the whole night freeing his wrists from their tight cords, cutting himself badly in the process. When dawn comes, the door opens and a cowled monk descends the stairs into his cell.

Goldmund is fully prepared to whip up hi stool, dash the monk’s brains out, steal his habit and make a getaway. Imagine his amazement when the monk pushes back his cope and reveals the face of… his old, old, deepest friend, Narziss, now thin and gaunt with asceticism and the responsibilities of command. For Narziss has now become the abbot at Mariabronn.

Narziss raises Goldmund to his feet and says he spent a lot of effort the night before pleading with the angry knight for his life. Result: Goldmund will not hang. Instead the other monks dress his wounds, pack their bags, mount their horses, and ride out of the castle courtyard. Even at this late stage, and despite having learned his lesson, Goldmund still looks up at the windows overlooking the courtyard, hoping the beautiful Lady Agnes will be looking out of one at him. But no.

Goldmund rejoices as his horse carries him through the scenery of all his adventures, he reviews them, the many women, murdering Victor, the cold nights lying in the forest and so on.

Then they reach the old monastery and Goldmund is overcome with memories of his youth. Here he is kindly invited to stay as a guest, with no demands on him to become a lay brother let alone a monk, by his wise old friend.

After a spell of feeling a bit lost and bewildered, Goldmund decides on a plan, which is to work as a carver again, and create a wooden relief spiralling up the steps to a lectern where monks read texts to each other in the refectory.

This penultimate section of the book allows for:

  1. an emotional reunion of Narziss and Goldmund and a series of conversations during which they revive their friendship and remember the old times, the old abbot et al
  2. a series of debates between them about the nature of the scholarly intellectual mind and the artistic creative mind. Goldmund comes to realise he has led a chaotic and disorderly life, but when he tells Narziss how much he admires the other’s purity and devotion, Narziss says that’s only because he knows nothing of his (Narziss’s) intellectual doubts and uncertainties. Both envy the other his clarity and conviction, while both reveal they are, in fact, riven by doubts and uncertainties.

Womanising

Almost all of the long middle section of the book describing Goldmund’s wandering is, in my opinion, a little undermined by his endless womanising.

I take the point that it’s designed to show Goldmund’s immersion in ‘the world, the flesh and the devil’ and so point up the basic dichotomy between the Worldly Personality and the Scholarly, Secluded Personality. My criticism is that these worldly scenes describe the same schoolboy fascination with seducing and stripping nubile young women without any attempt to explore the deeper levels a heterosexual relationship can go to, let alone the complicated problems relationships often develop.

Instead it’s just one woman after another, just as in a porn film.

Anyway, this passage at the end of the book discards all the womanising and sensual rhetoric, and returns to much more abstract discussions between the two friends about art and religion.

There’s a lovely passage where, after a good long time of working on it (with a young boy assistant he’s been given, Erich) Goldmund shows his carving to Narziss, and it prompts the older man to a wonderfully insightful speculation about the intellectual and the artistic routes to God.

He mulls over how the intellectual personality strains to clear away all the clutter of the world in order to strive for the simplest, purest, most fundamental truths – while the artist throws him or herself into the things of the world, precisely into all the clutter, and, by dint of his or her passion, reveals beneath it the pattern underlying the world’s profusion.

‘I see you by the opposite way, the way which leads through the sense, reach as deep a knowledge as any that most thinkers achieve, of the essence and secret of our being, and a far more living mode of setting it forth.’ (Narziss addressing Goldmund, p.280)

This passage is worth rereading and savouring, as many passages of the book are, for example the couple of pages where Goldmund sits by the river, watching its ever-changing surface and pondering the nature of manmade beauty contrasted with the ever-fleeting beauty of the natural world.

Briefer but just as full of juice and wisdom is the passage where Narziss instructs Goldmund how to pray.

But, says the younger man, my mind is overwhelmed with doubts, about whether my prayers can ever be heard by a God who probably doesn’t exist and, even if he does, probably doesn’t hear them.

To which Narziss replies, imagine you’re singing a song. You don’t let yourself get swamped with doubts about whether you’re doing a good rendition or whether the composer would be upset by your voice or whether anyone’s listening properly and so on. You abandon yourself to the song. You give it your best shot. Singing is its own justification. Same with prayer.

I can see why Hesse inspires such loyalty among his devotees. He discusses serious problems with seriousness, he isn’t patronising or ironic, and his characters discuss ideas which occur to any educated person clearly and simply, and sometimes, with a depth of feeling or insight which clearly derive from the author’s lifelong engagement with these ideas.

And the depth and seriousness leave their mark on the reader. Some of these passages are really stirring.

Goldmund hits the road again

But all good things come to an end. It takes Goldmund two years to carve the wooden relief and when it is finally done, and installed on the steps and pulpit, he returns to his workshop and feels empty and spent.

He begins another work, a statue of the Mother of God, but goes absent for long walks in the country, feeling increasingly restless. He encounters a young peasant woman, Francisca, but is struck that, although he uses all his old tricks and tells her romantic tales of life on the road etc, she listens politely as to an old man, as to her father. Ah. He is old.

Back in the monastery, Goldmund realises he has grey in his hair and wrinkles round his eyes but more than that, he feels old.

So he leaves the monastery. With Narziss’s blessing he departs, leaving the narrative to describe Narziss’s sudden sense of emptiness. Narziss admires the way Goldmund’s wastrel, vagabond life has made him capable of creating such exquisite carvings which will bespeak the glory of God and his creation long after Narziss and his dry, scholarly theology is forgotten.

Goldmund returns, a broken man

Inevitably, Goldmund returns, in the autumn of the same year, but much changed, transfigured. Now he is an ill old man and Erich his assistant is appalled to see him, help him back into the workshop and put him to bed. After some days, Narziss comes to see him and is also appalled. Now Goldmund is grey-haired and sick, he has broken ribs and internal injuries.

As his health fails, Goldmund tells Narziss what happened. Turns out his real motivation to leave was not a general romantic urge to hit the road, but that he’d heard that Lady Agnes was in the area with Count Heinrich. Improbably, Goldmund had managed to secure an audience with her, but the Lady told him to his face that he is no longer the golden youth, the blonde sex god, that he was – and she turns away, uninterested.

Heartbroken, Goldmund rides off and doesn’t mind when his horse stumbles and throws him down into a gulley. He lands hard in a stream, breaks some ribs and lies all night in the freezing mountain water. Next day he staggers up and on and eventually is found and placed in a hospice, where he stays for months, sells the horse, uses up the money Narziss gave him and eventually realises he had to stagger back to Mariabronn.

Here Goldmund dies. On his deathbed, he says he is not afraid of death. In what we now realise was the great defining conversation of their youths, when Narziss had identified the central pillar of his personality as being the absence of his mother. Goldmund says that Narziss had given back his mother, restored the image of his mother to the central place in his life.

Now the pains in his chest feel not like the broken ribs and infections, but as if his mother, his beloved mother, the earth mother Eve, is putting her fingers between his ribs and pulling out his heart, taking it to her. For only with a mother can you die. ‘How can anyone love without a mother, and how can we die without a mother?’

And on these last words and their rather shocking image, Goldmund dies, leaving Narziss distraught.


I’m caught between two views, as I am with all the Hesse I’ve read.

Against

With my hard hat on, I know it is romantic twaddle. By that I mean that every scene is lit with a sentimental romantic light, and profoundly unrealistic.

1. Painless vagabonding Take the way he survives as a vagabond, with no food or money, and travelling across north Europe in the winter, for not weeks, or months, but years on end. I know people did do this, but a lot of them died of starvation and exposure. After a week sleeping rough in a forest, with no food and no blankets or bedding you would be in very poor shape, more a J.G. Ballard character at the end of their tether than a handsome swain.

2. Women everywhere Whereas Goldmund is always in such tip-top condition that, wherever he goes, every woman that he meets – virgin or housewife – throws themselves at him, and he ploughs his way through hundreds and hundreds of women.

3. The dialogue And then there’s the diction, the sub-Tennysonian melliflous fake medievalism, all palfreys and pilgrims, varlets and churls, like scenes from a thousand pre-Raphaelite paintings. As a tiny instance take the moment when Goldmund speaks to the haughty, high-born lady by the ivy-covered town wall, and offers his devotion:

‘Oh’, he replied, ‘I would as lief make you a gift as take one. It is myself I would offer you fair woman, and then you shall do as you will with me.’ (p.231)

It is all written in this style.

4. Lucky And the way he keeps landing on his feet – in the castle of the knight who needs a Latin scholar, in the household of the Master artist Nicholas – is more like a fable or fairy tale than an adult narrative.

5. Sex And the way there always just happens to be a nubile and beautiful young woman in the offing for him to seduce, fondle, strip and make love to… is more like a 1970s soft porn movie than reality.

Gently he unclasped the white fur at her neck and unsheathed her body. (p.234)

Indeed, the entirety of Goldmund’s adventures could be devastatingly critiqued as a sustained example of male wish-fulfilment, as the most basic sexist fantasy that more or less every women you meet is ready and willing to have sex with you, at no more than a smile and a wink.

None of the women appear to have periods or any other medical problems or difficulties. And nobody in this dreamworld appears to have a sexually transmitted disease.

6. Death as romantic And take the fundamentally romantic notion that Death is somehow romantic, seductive and sensual, a warm loving mother luring you into her bosomy embrace – an image which emerges in the plague scenes and recurs at the end.

‘I’m curious to die because it’s still my belief, or my dream, that I’m on my way back to my mother; because I hope my death will be a great happiness – as great as I had of my first woman. I can never rid myself of the thought that, instead of death with his sickle, it will be my mother who takes me into herself again, and leads me back into nothingness and innocence.’ (Goldmund, p.297)

Twaddle. Having seen death up close, I found absolutely nothing redeeming or good about it at all. It is the grief-stricken cessation of life. The sensual penumbra Hesse casts over it is late-romantic, 1890s sentimentality.

For

On the other hand… although the plots which deliver them up may be questionable, the intensity with which Hesse describes the emotional and sexual entanglements, especially the menage a trois at the knight’s castle, are conceived and described with an intense sensuality which really goes home to your imagination, reminding you of the best and most sensual experiences in your own life.

Similarly, the vagabonding is to be taken with a pinch of salt: it’s a narrative framework, a scaffolding, an age-old narrative trope designed to deliver a steady stream of situations which allow Goldmund/Hesse to meditate on the meaning of life, and death, of art and suffering, as he encounters and observes them.

And although he may not have anything blindingly original to say about these subjects, nonetheless reading a Hesse book means that you engage with these questions in a sustained and serious way for several days, through the medium of his lyrical and measured prose. And this can turn out to be a very moving and thought-provoking experience.

And because the characters in the books cover quite a range of topics, chances are that some, at least, of the subjects will touch a chord. For me it was the entire sequence with the Master carver and in particular the scene where Goldmund sits by the river and mulls over why some art may be technically finished and immaculate but doesn’t move you, whereas other, less finished works, for some reason touch your soul.

Conclusion

The hokiness of the plot, and the often sentimental romanticism of the worldview, and the questionable womanising, are all forgiveable because the book delivers a steady stream of deeply pondered thinking on a range of perennial topics.

Credit

Narziß und Goldmund by Hermann Hesse was published in 1930. It was translated into English by Geoffrey Dunlop in an edition which appeared in 1932, titled Death and the Lover. Penguin Modern Classics republished this translation in 1971, with the different title of Narziss and Goldmund. All references are to this 1971 Penguin paperback edition.


Related links

20th century German literature

  • The Tin Drum by Günter Grass (1959)

The Weimar Republic

German history