Hermann Hesse has long been one of my favorite authors. I even wrote my 10th grade thesis on his novel Siddhartha, which has also served as the inspiration for two of my songs. Of all his excellent novels, I prefer only Das Glaspernspiel to Narziss und Goldmund. And while the three existing English translations of Narcissus and Goldmund are under copyright, the German original no longer is. So what we ask today is for you to do us the favor of reading three different versions of the same chapter and telling us in the poll at the end which of the three translations you prefer.
If you wish to explain the reasons for your preference in the comments after you vote in the poll, that’s fine. We would only ask that no one read through the comments until they have a) read each of the translations through in their entirety and b) voted in the poll.
It’s not necessary to read the translations closely, as there is not going to be a test on the details at the end, but please at least skim over each of them from beginning to end in order to get a good sense of which translation you prefer.
TRANSLATION 1
In the light shed by the tiny flame they all settled down, the two girls on wooden stools, the boys round them on the floor. They spoke in whispers and drank from the cider, with Adolf and Konrad doing most of the talking. From time to time one of them would stand up, stroke the skinny one’s hair and neck and whisper in her ear. The younger one was never touched. Probably, Goldmund thought, the older one was the maidservant, the pretty, younger one the daughter of the house. But it didn’t matter anyway and was no concern of his, for he would never come back here. The secret escape and the walk in the dark through the forest: that he had enjoyed, it had been something new, exciting, mysterious yet not dangerous. Although it was forbidden, the infringement did not weigh on his conscience. But this, this nocturnal visiting of the girls, was more than merely forbidden, he felt. It was a sin. To the others, perhaps, even this was no more than a minor escapade, but not to him. To him, knowing himself destined for asceticism and the monastic life, no dallying with girls was permitted. No, he would never come back here, yet he could feel his heart thumping apprehensively in the dim lamplight of the humble kitchen.
His schoolmates acted like heroes in front of the girls, showing off with Latin phrases which they inserted into the conversation. All three evidently found favour with the maidservant as one after another they approached her with clumsy little caresses, of which the most intimate was a shy kiss. They seemed to know exactly how far they could go. And since the whole conversation had to be carried on in whispers, there was actually something comical about the scene, although Goldmund did not find it so. He stayed hunched up on the floor, staring at the little flame and not uttering a word. Sometimes, with an almost lustful glance, he would catch one of the caresses being exchanged among the others. While continuing to stare straight ahead, he longed to fix his gaze on the younger girl, the one with the plaits, but this was the very thing he would not allow himself to do. Yet whenever his will-power weakened and his eyes strayed to that calm, sweet, girlish face, he found her dark eyes riveted on his own face, staring at him as if spellbound.
Perhaps an hour had passed – never had Goldmund known an hour to be so long – before his schoolmates ran out of phrases and caresses. Silence fell, and as they sat there, somewhat embarrassed, Eberhard began to yawn, at which point the maidservant told them it was time for them to leave. They all got to their feet, and each offered his hand to the maidservant, Goldmund last. Then each offered his hand to the young girl, Goldmund last. Konrad was the first to climb out of the window, followed by Eberhard and Adolf. When half-way out Goldmund felt a hand on his shoulder holding him back. He could not stop, but when he was standing on the ground outside he did reluctantly turn round. The young girl with the plaits was leaning out of the window. ‘Goldmund!’ she whispered.
He stood still.
‘Will you come back?’ she asked, her shy voice barely breathing the words.
Goldmund shook his head.
Stretching out both hands she clasped his head; he felt the warmth of her small hands on his temples. She leaned over until her dark eyes were close to his. ‘Come back!’ she whispered, and her lips touched his in a childish kiss.
He quickly ran after the others through the little garden, stumbled across beds, smelling damp earth and manure, scratching his hand on a rose-bush, and finally climbed over the fence to hurry after the others out of the village and towards the forest. ‘Never again!’ commanded his will-power. ‘Tomorrow!’ implored his sobbing heart.
No one encountered the nightbirds; unmolested they found their way back to Mariabronn, across the stream, through the mill, across the linden-tree courtyard, and by devious routes over low roofs and through columned windows into the monastery and finally the dormitory.
TRANSLATION 2
In the light of the tiny lamp they sat down, the girls on rigid little stools and the students around them on the floor. They spoke in whispers, with interruptions for sips of cider, Adolf and Konrad making most of the conversation. From time to time one of them would get up and caress the hair and neck of the older girl, and whisper into her ear; no one touched the younger girl. The big one was probably the maid, Goldmund thought, and the smaller, pretty one the daughter of the house. But what difference did it make. It was none of his business and he would never come back here. The secrecy of the escapade, the walk through the night forest had been beautiful, out of the ordinary, exciting but not dangerous. Forbidden yes, but even so the transgression did not burden one’s conscience. Whereas this, visiting girls at night, was more than just forbidden; he felt it was a sin. Perhaps for the others even this was only a small adventure, but not for him; he knew that he was destined for the ascetic life of a monk, and playing with girls was not permitted him. No, he would never come back here. But his heart pounded with anguish in the flickering half light of the poor kitchen.
The others were showing off in front of the girls and spiking their talk with tidbits of Latin. The servant girl seemed to like all three; they would sidle up to her with their awkward little caresses, a timid kiss at most. They seemed to know exactly how much was permitted. And since the whole conversation had to be held in whispers, there was something rather silly about the scene, but Goldmund did not see it that way. He crouched on the floor and stared into the flickering flame of the lamp, not saying a word. Occasionally a slightly eager side glance would catch one of the caresses the others were exchanging. Stiffly he stared straight ahead again. More than anything else he would have liked to look at the younger girl with the braids, at no one but her, but that especially he forbade himself. And every time his will slackened and his eyes strayed to the sweet quiet face of the girl, he found her dark eyes riveted on his face, staring at him as though she were spellbound.
An hour may have passed—never had Goldmund lived through a longer hour. The students had exhausted their conversation and caresses; they sat in embarrassed silence; Eberhard began to yawn. The servant girl said it was time to leave. They stood up, shook her hand—Goldmund last. Then they shook hands with the younger girl—Goldmund last. Konrad was first to climb out through the window, followed by Eberhard and Adolf. As Goldmund was climbing out, he felt a hand hold him back by a shoulder. He could not stop; once outside on the ground he slowly turned his head. The younger girl with the braids was leaning out of the window.
“Goldmund!” she whispered. He stood and waited.
“Are you coming back?” she asked. Her timid voice was no more than a breath.
Goldmund shook his head. She reached out with both hands, seized his head; her small hands felt warm on his temples. She bent far down, until her dark eyes were close before his.
“Do come back!” she whispered, and her mouth touched his in a child’s kiss.
Quickly he ran through the small garden, toppled across the flower beds, smelled wet earth and dung. A rosebush tore his hand. He climbed over the fence and trotted after the others out of the village toward the forest. “Never again!” commanded his will. “Again! Tomorrow!” begged his heart.
Nobody surprised the night owls. Nothing hindered their return to Mariabronn, across the little stream, through the mill, across the square of linden trees, along secret passageways, over gables, around window columns, into the cloister and the dormitory.
TRANSLATION THREE
In the glow of the tiny lamp flame they settled down, the two girls on small stiff stools, the pupils around them on the floor. They spoke in whispers, and between the whispers they drank cider. Adolf and Konrad did most of the talking. Now and again one of them would stand and stroke the lean girl’s hair and neck, whispering in her ear; the younger one remained untouched. Probably, Goldmund thought, the older was the maid, the pretty younger one the daughter of the house. But it was of no consequence; it was none of his affair, for he would never come here again. The secret escape and the night walk through the forest, that had been fine, that had been unfamiliar, exciting, mysterious, and yet not dangerous. It was forbidden, true, but the transgression did not weigh heavily on his conscience. This, however, this nighttime visit to the girls, was more than merely forbidden; this, he felt, was sin. For the others, perhaps, it was only a small indiscretion, but not for him; for him, who knew himself destined for the asceticism of the monastic life, no dalliance with girls was permitted. No, he would never come again. But his heart beat hard and anxious in the dim lamplight of the humble kitchen.
His companions played the hero before the girls and gave themselves airs with Latin phrases, which they mixed into the conversation. All three seemed to be in the maid’s good graces; one after another they approached her with their small, clumsy caresses, the tenderest of which was a shy kiss. They seemed to know exactly what was permitted them here. And since the whole conversation had to be carried on in whispers, the scene had something rather comic about it, though Goldmund did not feel it so. He crouched silently on the floor and stared into the little lamp flame without saying a word. Now and then, with a somewhat covetous sidelong glance, he caught one of the small tendernesses exchanged among the others. Rigidly he stared straight ahead. What he would most have liked to look at was the young one with the braids, but this was precisely what he forbade himself. Yet whenever his will slackened and his gaze strayed toward that still, sweet girlish face, he found, without fail, her dark eyes fixed upon his own, staring at him as though spellbound.
Perhaps an hour had passed before the pupils’ whispers and caresses were exhausted. Never before had Goldmund lived through so long an hour. It grew quiet; they sat about somewhat awkwardly; Eberhard began to yawn. Then the maid urged them to go. They all rose and they shook the maid’s hand, Goldmund last. Then they all shook hands with the younger girl, Goldmund last again. Then Konrad climbed out through the window first, followed by Eberhard and Adolf. When Goldmund too was climbing out, he felt a hand hold him back by the shoulder. He could not stop; only when he stood outside on the ground did he turn, hesitantly. The young one with the braids was leaning from the window.
“Goldmund!” she whispered. He stood still.
“Will you come again sometime?” she asked. Her shy voice was barely a breath.
Goldmund shook his head. She stretched out both her hands, took hold of his head; he felt the small hands warm against his temples. She leaned far down, until her dark eyes were close before his own.
“Come back!” she whispered, and her mouth touched his in a child’s kiss.
He ran quickly after the others through the little garden, stumbled across the flower beds, smelled damp earth and manure, tore his hand on a rosebush, climbed the fence, and trotted after his companions, out of the village, toward the forest. “Never again!” his will commanded. “Tomorrow!” his heart pleaded, sobbing.
No one met the nightbirds. Unmolested, they made their way back to Mariabron, over the stream, through the mill, across the linden square, and by stealth over eaves and through the mullioned windows into the dormitory of the monastery.