I was 14 and she was a sweet Italian lady spending time in the UK. Today I have been thinking and writing about her while replying to a post on another blog (In My London Shoes - I hope Anna does not mind I linked it).
A few months later I have read "Narziss and Goldmund", a book by Herman Hesse. At some point I have reached a paragraph that strongly reminded me the exact words I said before the first kiss. So, tonite, as a sweet gift to her, I am posting here that part of the book I discovered 17 years ago.
He bent over Lise's face and began to kiss her lips in the darkness. Suddenly he saw her eyes and forehead shine with a gentle light. He looked in surprise, watched the glow grow brighter, more intense. Then he knew and turned his head: the moon was rising over the edge of the long black stretch of forest. He watched the white gentle light miraculously inundate her forehead, her cheeks, slide over 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.
I hope you like it at least a tenth of how I like it.
5 comments:
I am almost crying.
Completely enraptured, he followed the delicate shadows with eyes and lips, looking and kissing;
Why can't someone say these things to me????
And I don't mind of course.
I am officially touched.
Well, don't take this as a reference. If you use what Herman Hesse wrote to set your expectations, you are raising the bar a bit too high! :-)
Have you read this book? The subsequents dialogs are quite interesting... ^_^
Sure I have read this book, I love Herman Hesse... but reading it in another language is always fascinating, as if there is something added...
my expectations are higher maybe because of that exactly. :(
The continuation of that chapter is not that romantic but it is still very *mine*.
It sounds like a deja-vu, something that happened relatively often to me. I think there is something wrong with me but I still need to find out what. I do not think I am meant for a few nights story but this is what I got sometimes.
I might write a post about it when I have the inspiration.
--
When Goldmund awoke, he saw Lise busy with her black hair. He watched her for a while, absent-minded, still half asleep.
"You're awake?" he said finally.
Her head turned with a start.
"I've got to go now," she said, embarrassed and somewhat sad. "I didn't want to wake you."
"Well, I'm awake now. Must we move on so soon? After all, we're homeless."
"I am," said Lise. "But you belong to the cloister."
"I 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.
"You 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.
"I'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?"
"Oh, 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.
"Lise," 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.
"No, 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.
I think there is something wrong with me but I still need to find out what. I do not think I am meant for a few nights story but this is what I got sometimes.
This is also me.
And thank you for reminding me of that passage. (You've got mail, btw)
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