Pictor's Metamorphoses by Hermann Hesse Read Free Book Online

which you must truthfully reply either yes or no. Even if we don’t guess your dream, well have had fun trying.”
    Everyone agreed to play the game, and questions came flying from all sides. The best questions were always those asked by the philosopher. When his turn came again, he asked, after some deliberation, “Was there water in your dream?”
    â€œYes.”
    Because the question had been answered in the affirmative, the old man was entitled to another turn.
    â€œSpringwater?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWater from a magic fountain?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWas the water scooped out?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œBy a girl?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œNo!” shouted Turnabout. “Think again!”
    â€œBut it was!”
    â€œSo you say a girl scooped out the water?”
    â€œYes.”
    Turnabout shook his head furiously. “Impossible!” he reiterated. “Did the girl scoop the water out of the fountain with her own hands?”
    â€œOh, no!” Karl exclaimed in confusion. “It was the faithful servant Haderbart who put his hands into the water.”
    â€œAh, now we’ve got you!” the others exulted. And then Karl told the whole story of his dream of the Laskian Spring, to which everyone listened amazed and deeply moved.
    â€œPrincess Lilia!” Lauscher exclaimed. “And Silversong? Why are these names so familiar to me?”
    â€œIndeed,” said the old man, “both those names are in the Askian manuscript you showed me yesterday.”
    â€œIn my song!” the poet sighed.
    â€œIn the picture of the beautiful Lulu,” whispered Karl and Erich.
    Meantime, the philosopher had lit another cigar and puffed hard on it, until he was almost entirely enveloped in a cloud of blue tobacco smoke.
    â€œYou smoke like a chimney,” said Oscar Ripplein, extricating himself from the cloud. “And what a stinking weed!”
    â€œGenuine Mexican!” the old man replied from inside his cloud. Then he stopped puffing, and presently a gust of wind blew up from behind, carrying off the redolent cloud and Turnabout with it.
    Karl and Hermann pursued the vanishing smoke cloud into the woods. “What garbage!” growled the junior barrister, suddenly aware of an unpleasant feeling that he had fallen into dubious company. Erich and Ludwig had already made themselves scarce, and in the golden clarity of the late afternoon they strolled back toward Kirchheim and the Crown.
    Karl and Hermann overtook the last fluttering wisps of tobacco smoke deep in the woods, and stood silent and perplexed before a large beech tree. They were about to sit down on a patch of moss, to catch their breath, when the voice of Turnabout spoke out from behind a tree. “Don’t sit there, gentlemen, it’s still damp! Come join me over here!”
    They found the old man sitting on a huge, withered bough that sprawled on the ground like a shapeless dragon. “I’m glad you’ve come!” he said. “Please do take a seat near me! Your dream, Herr Hamelt, and your manuscript, Herr Lauscher, interest me.”
    â€œFirst,” Hamelt stormed at him, “first, for heaven’s sake, you must tell me how you managed to guess my dream!”
    â€œAnd read my paper!” Lauscher added.
    â€œIndeed!” said the old man. “What’s to wonder about? You can guess anything if you ask the right questions. Besides, the story of Princess Lilia is so close to my heart it was only natural that I should recognize it.”
    â€œSo that’s it!” cried the student. “How do you happen to know this story, and how do you explain the sudden and conspicuous appearance of my dream—about which I had spoken to no one—in Lauscher’s enigmatic song?”
    The philosopher smiled and replied in a gentle voice: “When one has devoted oneself to the story of the Soul and its Salvation, as I have, one