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07 - Siddhartha - Hermann Hesse · Classic Adventure Books - Daily

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  Speaker 1: Chapter seven Sansara. For a long time Saddartha had lived
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  Speaker 1: the life of the world and of lust, though without
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  Speaker 1: being a part of it. His senses, which he had
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  Speaker 1: killed off in hot years as a samana, had awoken again.
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  Speaker 1: He had tasted riches, had tasted lust, had tasted power. Nevertheless,
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  Speaker 1: he had still remained in his heart for a long
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  Speaker 1: time a samana. Kamala, being smart, had realized this quite right.
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  Speaker 1: It was still the art of thinking, of waiting, of
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  Speaker 1: fasting which guided his life. Still, the people of the world,
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  Speaker 1: the childlike people, had remained alien to him, as he
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  Speaker 1: was alien to them. Years passed, surrounded by the good life,
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  Speaker 1: Saddartha hardly felt them fading away. He had become rich
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  Speaker 1: for quite a whey while he possessed a house of
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  Speaker 1: his own and his own servants, and a garden before
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  Speaker 1: the city by the river. The people liked him. They
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  Speaker 1: came to him whenever they needed money or advice. But
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  Speaker 1: there was no one close to him except Kamala, that high,
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  Speaker 1: bright state of being awake which he had experienced that
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  Speaker 1: one time at the height of his youth. In those
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  Speaker 1: days after Gautama's sermon, after the separation from Govinda, that
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  Speaker 1: tense expectation, that proud state of standing alone without teachings
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  Speaker 1: and without teachers, that supple willingness to listen to the
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  Speaker 1: divine voice in his own heart, had slowly become a memory,
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  Speaker 1: had been fleeting, distant and quiet. The holy source murmured,
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  Speaker 1: which used to be near, which used to murmur within himself. Nevertheless,
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  Speaker 1: many things he had learned from the somanas he had
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  Speaker 1: learned from Gautama, he had learned from his father, the Brahman,
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  Speaker 1: had remained within him for a long time afterwards, moderate living,
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  Speaker 1: joy of thinking, hours of meditation, secret knowledge of the
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  Speaker 1: self and of his eternal entity, which is neither body
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  Speaker 1: nor consciousness. Many a part of this he still had,
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  Speaker 1: but one part after another had been submerged and had
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  Speaker 1: gathered dust. Just as a potter's wheel, once it has
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  Speaker 1: been set in motion, will keep on turning for a
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  Speaker 1: long time and only slowly lose its vigor and come
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  Speaker 1: to a stop. Thus, Siddarthur's soul had kept on turning
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  Speaker 1: the wheel of asceticism, the wheel of thinking, the wheel
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  Speaker 1: of differentiation, for a long time, still turning. But it
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  Speaker 1: turned slowly and hesitantly, and was close to coming to
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  Speaker 1: a standstill slowly, like humidity, entering the dying stem of
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  Speaker 1: a tree, filling it slowly and making it rot. The
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  Speaker 1: world and sloth had entered Sir Dartha's soul. Slowly, It
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  Speaker 1: filled his soul, made it heavy, made it tired, put
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  Speaker 1: it to sleep. On the other hand, his senses had
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  Speaker 1: become alive. There was much they had learned, much they
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  Speaker 1: had experienced. Saddartha had learned to trade, to use his
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  Speaker 1: power over people, to enjoy himself with a woman. He
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  Speaker 1: had learned to wear beautiful clothes, to give orders to servants,
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  Speaker 1: to bathe in perfumed waters. He had learned to eat
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  Speaker 1: tenderly and carefully prepared food, even fish, even meat and poultry,
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  Speaker 1: spices and sweets, and to drink wine, which causes sloth
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  Speaker 1: and forgetfulness. He had learned to play with dice and
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  Speaker 1: on a chess board, to watch dancing girls, to have
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  Speaker 1: himself carried about in a sedan chair, to sleep on
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  Speaker 1: a soft bed. But he still had felt different from
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  Speaker 1: and superior to the others. Or was he had watched
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  Speaker 1: them with some mockery, some mocking disdain, with the same
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  Speaker 1: disdain which a samana constantly feels for the people of
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  Speaker 1: the world, when Kamiswami was ailing, when he was annoyed,
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  Speaker 1: when he felt insulted, when he was vexed by his wiries.
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  Speaker 1: As a merchant, Sadarthur had always watched it with mockery,
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  Speaker 1: just slowly and imperceptibly, as the harvest seasons and rainy
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  Speaker 1: seasons passed by, his mockery had become more tired, his
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  Speaker 1: superiority had become more quiet, just slowly. Among his growing riches,
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  Speaker 1: Siddartha had assumed something of the childlike people's ways for himself,
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  Speaker 1: something of their childlikeness and of their fearfulness. And yet
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  Speaker 1: he envied them, envied them just the more, the more
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  Speaker 1: similar he became to them. He envied them for the
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  Speaker 1: one thing that was missing from him, and that they had.
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  Speaker 1: The importance they were able to attach to their lives,
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  Speaker 1: the amount of passion in their joys and fears, the
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  Speaker 1: fearful but sweet happiness of being constantly in love. These
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  Speaker 1: people were all of the time in love with themselves,
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  Speaker 1: with women, with their children, with honors or money, with
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  Speaker 1: plans or hopes. But he did not learn this from them,
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  Speaker 1: this out of all things, this joy of a child,
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  Speaker 1: and this foolishness of a child he learned from them
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  Speaker 1: out of all things, the unpleasant ones which he himself despised.
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  Speaker 1: It happened more and more often that in the morning,
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  Speaker 1: after having had company the night before, he stayed in
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  Speaker 1: bed for a long time, felt unable to think and tired.
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  Speaker 1: It happened that he became angry and impatient when Kamiswami
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  Speaker 1: bored him with his worries. It happened that he laughed
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  Speaker 1: just too loud when he lost a game of dice.
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  Speaker 1: His face was still smarter and more spiritual than others,
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  Speaker 1: but it rarely laughed, and assumed one after another those
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  Speaker 1: features which are so often found in the faces of
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  Speaker 1: rich people, those features of discontent, of sickliness, of ill humor,
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  Speaker 1: of sloth, of a lack of love. Slowly, the disease
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  Speaker 1: of the soul which rich people have grabbed whole of
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  Speaker 1: him like a veil, like a thin mist. Tiredness came over,
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  Speaker 1: said Arthur, slowly, getting a bit denser every day, a
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  Speaker 1: bit murkier every month, a bit heavier every year. As
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  Speaker 1: a new dress becomes old in time, loses its beautiful
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  Speaker 1: color in time, gets stains, gets wrinkles gets worn off
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  Speaker 1: at the seams and starts to show threadbare spots here
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  Speaker 1: and there. Thus said Arthur's new life, which he had
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  Speaker 1: started after his separation from Govinda, had grown old, lost
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  Speaker 1: color and splendor as the years passed by, was gathering
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  Speaker 1: wrinkles and stains, and hidden at bottom, already showing its
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  Speaker 1: ugliness here and there, disappointment and disgust were waiting, and
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  Speaker 1: hidden at bottom, already showing its ugliness here and there,
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  Speaker 1: ointment and disgust were waiting. Sir Arthur did not notice it.
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  Speaker 1: He only noticed that this bright and reliable voice inside
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  Speaker 1: of him, which had awoken in him at that time
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  Speaker 1: and had ever guided him in his best times, had
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  Speaker 1: become silent. He had been captured by the world by lust, covetousness, sloth,
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  Speaker 1: and finally also by that vice which he had used
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  Speaker 1: to despise and mock the most as the most foolish
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  Speaker 1: one of all vices. Greed, property, possessions and riches also
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  Speaker 1: had finally captured him. They were no longer a game,
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  Speaker 1: and trifles to him had become a shackle and a burden.
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  Speaker 1: In a strange and devious way, Siddarthur had gotten into
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  Speaker 1: this final and most base of all dependencies by means
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  Speaker 1: of the game of dice. It was since that time,
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  Speaker 1: when he had stopped being a Samana in his heart,
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  Speaker 1: that Saddarthur began to play the game for money and
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  Speaker 1: precious things, which he at other times only joined with
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  Speaker 1: a smile and casually as a custom of the childlike people.
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  Speaker 1: With an increasing rage and passion, he was a feared gambler.
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  Speaker 1: Few dared to take him on, so high and audacious
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  Speaker 1: were his stakes. He played the game due to a
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  Speaker 1: pain of his heart, losing and wasting his wretched money
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  Speaker 1: in the game that brought him an angry joy. In
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  Speaker 1: no other way could he demonstrate his disdain for wealth,
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  Speaker 1: the merchant's false god, more clearly and more mockingly. Thus
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  Speaker 1: he gambled with high stakes and mercilessly, hating himself, mocking himself.
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  Speaker 1: One thousands threw away, thousands, lost money, lost, jewelry, lost
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  Speaker 1: a house in the country, one again lost again. That fear,
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  Speaker 1: that terrible and petrifying fear which he had felt while
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  Speaker 1: he was rolling the dice, while he was worried about
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  Speaker 1: losing high stakes, that fear he loved and sought to
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  Speaker 1: always renew it always increase, it, always get it to
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  Speaker 1: a slightly higher level. For in this feeling alone, he
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  Speaker 1: still felt something like happiness, something like an intoxication, something
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  Speaker 1: like an elevated form of life in the midst of
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  Speaker 1: his saturated, lukewarm, dull life. And after each big loss,
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  Speaker 1: his mind was set on new riches, pursued the trade
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  Speaker 1: more zealously, forced his debtors more strictly to pay, because
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  Speaker 1: he wanted to continue gambling. He wanted to continue squandering,
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  Speaker 1: continue demonstrating his disdain of wealth. So Darthur lost his
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  Speaker 1: calmness when losses occurred, lost his patience when he was
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  Speaker 1: not paid on time, lost his kindness towards beggars, lost
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  Speaker 1: his disposition for giving away and loaning money to those
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  Speaker 1: who petitioned him. He who gambled away tens of thousands
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  Speaker 1: at one roll of the dice and laughed at it,
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  Speaker 1: became more strict and more petty in his business, occasionally
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  Speaker 1: dreaming at night about money, and whenever he woke up
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  Speaker 1: from this ugly spell, whenever he found his face in
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  Speaker 1: the mirror at the bedroom's wall to have aged and
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  Speaker 1: become more ugly, whenever embarrassment and disgust came over him.
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  Speaker 1: He continued fleeing, fleeing into a new game, fleeing into
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  Speaker 1: a numbing of his mind brought on by sex, by wine,
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  Speaker 1: And from there he fled back into the urge to
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  Speaker 1: pile up and obtain possessions. In this pointless cycle, he ran,
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  Speaker 1: growing tired, growing old, growing ill. Then the time came
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  Speaker 1: when a dream warned him. He had spent the hours
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  Speaker 1: of the evening with Kamala in her beautiful pleasure garden.
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  Speaker 1: They had been sitting under the trees, talking, and Kamala
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  Speaker 1: had said thoughtful words, words behind which a sadness and
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  Speaker 1: a tiredness lay hidden. She had asked him to tell
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  Speaker 1: her about Gautama, and could not hear enough of him,
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  Speaker 1: How clear his eyes, how still and beautiful his mouth,
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  Speaker 1: how kind his smile, how peaceful his walk had been.
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  Speaker 1: For a long time, he had to tell her about
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  Speaker 1: the exalted Buddha, and Kamala had sighed and had said,
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  Speaker 1: one day, perhaps soon I'll also follow that Buddha. I'll
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  Speaker 1: give him my pleasure garden for a gift and take
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  Speaker 1: my refuge in his teachings. But after this she had
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  Speaker 1: aroused him and had tied him to her in the
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  Speaker 1: act of making love, with painful fervor, biting and in tears,
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  Speaker 1: as if once more she wanted to squeeze the last
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  Speaker 1: sweet drop out of this vain, fleeting pleasure. Never before
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  Speaker 1: it had become so strangely clear to Siddartha how closely
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  Speaker 1: lust was akin to death. Then he had lain by
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  Speaker 1: her side, and Kamala's face had been close to him,
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  Speaker 1: and under her eyes, and next to the corners of
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  Speaker 1: her mouth. He had, as clearly as never before, read
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  Speaker 1: a fearful inscription, an inscription of small lines, of slight grooves,
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  Speaker 1: an inscription reminiscent of autumn and old age. Just as
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  Speaker 1: Siddartha himself, who was only in his forties, had already
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  Speaker 1: noticed here and there gray hairs among his black ones.
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  Speaker 1: Tiredness was written on Carmala's beautiful face. Tiredness from walking
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  Speaker 1: a long path which has no happy destination. Tiredness and
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  Speaker 1: the beginning of withering and concealed, still unsaid, perhaps not
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  Speaker 1: even conscious, anxiety, fear of old age, fear of the autumn,
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  Speaker 1: fear of having to die. With a sigh. He had
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  Speaker 1: bid his farewell to her, the soul full of reluctance
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  Speaker 1: and full of concealed anxiety. Then Sir Arthur had spent
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  Speaker 1: the night in his house with dancing girls and wine,
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  Speaker 1: had acted as if he were superior to them towards
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  Speaker 1: the fellow members of his caste, though this was no
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  Speaker 1: longer true, had drunk much wine and gone to bed
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  Speaker 1: a long time after midnight, being tired and yet excited,
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  Speaker 1: close to weeping and despair, and had for a long
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  Speaker 1: time sought to sleep in vain, his heart full of
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  Speaker 1: misery which he thought he could not bear any longer,
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  Speaker 1: full of a disgust which he felt penetrating his entire body,
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  Speaker 1: like the lukewarm, repulsive taste of the wine, the just
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  Speaker 1: too sweet, dull music, the just too soft smile of
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  Speaker 1: the dancing girls, the just too sweet scent of their
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  Speaker 1: hair and breasts. But more than by anything else, he
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  Speaker 1: was disgusted by himself, by his perfumed hair, by the
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  Speaker 1: smell of wine from his mouth, by the flabby, tiredness
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  Speaker 1: and listlessness of his skin, like when someone who has
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  Speaker 1: eaten and drunk far too much vomits it back up
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  Speaker 1: again with agonizing pain, and is nevertheless glad about the relief. Thus,
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  Speaker 1: this sleepless man wished to free himself of these pleasures,
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  Speaker 1: these habits, and all of this pointless life fanned himself
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  Speaker 1: in an immense burst of disgust. Not until the light
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  Speaker 1: of the morning and the beginning of the first activities.
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  Speaker 1: In the street before his city house, he had slightly
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  Speaker 1: fallen asleep, had found for a few moments a half consciousness,
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  Speaker 1: a hint of sleep. In these moments he had a dream.
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  Speaker 1: Kamala owned a small, rare singing bird in a golden cage.
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  Speaker 1: Of this bird, he dreamt. He dreamt this bird had
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  Speaker 1: become mute, who at other times always used to sing
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  Speaker 1: in the morning, And since this arose his attention, he
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  Speaker 1: stepped in front of the cage and looked inside. There
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  Speaker 1: the small bird was dead and lay stiff on them.
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  Speaker 1: He took it out, weighed it for a moment in
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  Speaker 1: his hand, and then threw it away out in the street.
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  Speaker 1: And in the same moment he felt terribly shocked and
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  Speaker 1: his heart hurt, as if he had thrown away from
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  Speaker 1: himself all value and everything good by throwing out this
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  Speaker 1: dead bird. Starting up from this dream, he felt encompassed
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  Speaker 1: by a deep sadness worthless. So it seemed to him
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  Speaker 1: worthless and pointless was the way he had been going
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  Speaker 1: through life. Nothing which was alive, nothing which was in
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  Speaker 1: some way delicious or worth keeping, he had left in
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  Speaker 1: his hands alone. He stood there and empty, like a
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  Speaker 1: cast away on the shore with a gloomy mind, said Arthur.
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  Speaker 1: Went to the pleasure garden he owned, locked the gate,
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  Speaker 1: sat down under a mango tree, fell death in his
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  Speaker 1: heart and horror in his chest. Sat and sensed how
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  Speaker 1: everything died in him, withered in him, came to an
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  Speaker 1: end in him. By and bye. He gathered his thoughts
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  Speaker 1: and in his mind he once again went the entire
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  Speaker 1: path of his life, starting with the first days he
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  Speaker 1: could remember. When was there ever a time when he
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  Speaker 1: had experienced happiness, felt a true bliss? Oh, yes, several
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  Speaker 1: times he had experienced such a thing in his years
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  Speaker 1: as a boy. He has had a taste of it.
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  Speaker 1: When he had obtained praise from the Brahmans. He had
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  Speaker 1: felt it in his heart. There is a path in
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  Speaker 1: front of the one who has distinguished himself in the
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  Speaker 1: recitation of the Holy verses in the dispute with the
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  Speaker 1: learned ones, as an assistant in the offerings. Then he
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  Speaker 1: had felt it in his heart. There is a path
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  Speaker 1: in front of you. You are destined for the gods
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  Speaker 1: are awaiting you. And again as a young man, when
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  Speaker 1: the ever rising upward, fleeing goal of all thinking had
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  Speaker 1: ripped him out of and up from the multitude of
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  Speaker 1: those seeking the same goal, when he wrestled in pain
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  Speaker 1: for the purpose of Brahman, when every obtained knowledge only
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  Speaker 1: kindled new thirst in him. Then again he had, in
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  Speaker 1: the midst of the thirst, in the midst of the pain,
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  Speaker 1: felt this very same thing, go on, go on, you
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  Speaker 1: are called upon. He had heard this voice when he
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  Speaker 1: had left his home and had chosen the life of
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  Speaker 1: a Samana, and again when he had gone away from
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  Speaker 1: the somanas to that perfected one, And also when he
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  Speaker 1: had gone away from him to the uncertain. For how
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  Speaker 1: long had he not heard this voice anymore? For how
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  Speaker 1: long had he reached no height any more? How even
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  Speaker 1: and dull was the manner in which his path had
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  Speaker 1: passed through life for many long years, without a high goal,
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  Speaker 1: without thirst, without elevation, content with small, lustful pleasures, and
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  Speaker 1: yet never satisfied. For all of these many years, without
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  Speaker 1: knowing it himself, he had tried hard and longed to
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  Speaker 1: become a man like those many like those children. And
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  Speaker 1: in all this his life had been much more miserable
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  Speaker 1: and poorer than theirs. And their goals were not his
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  Speaker 1: nor their worries. After all, that entire world of the
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  Speaker 1: Kamaswami people had only been a game to him, a
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  Speaker 1: dance he would watch, a comedy. Only Kamala had been dear,
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  Speaker 1: had been valuable to him. But was she still thus?
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  Speaker 1: Did he still need her? Or she him? Did they
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  Speaker 1: not play a game without ending? Was it necessary to
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  Speaker 1: live for this? No? It was not necessary. The name
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  Speaker 1: of this game was Sansara, a game for children, a
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  Speaker 1: game which was perhaps enjoyable to play once, twice, ten times,
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  Speaker 1: but forever and ever over again. Then Saiddartha knew that
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  Speaker 1: the game was over, that he could not play it anymore.
• 21:35
  Speaker 1: Shivers ran over his body, inside of him, so he
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  Speaker 1: felt something had died. That entire day he sat under
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  Speaker 1: the mango tree, thinking of his father, thinking of Govinda,
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  Speaker 1: thinking of Gotama. Did he have to leave them to
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  Speaker 1: become a Kamaswami. He still sat there when the night
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  Speaker 1: had fallen. When looking up he caught sight of the stars,
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  Speaker 1: he thought, here, I'm sitting under my mango tree in
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  Speaker 1: my pleasure garden. He smiled a little. Was it really necessary?
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  Speaker 1: Was it right? Was it not a foolish game that
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  Speaker 1: he owned a mango tree, that he owned a garden?
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  Speaker 1: He also put an end to this. This also died
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  Speaker 1: in him. He rose, bid his farewell to the mango tree,
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  Speaker 1: his farewell to the pleasure garden. Since he had been
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  Speaker 1: without food this day, he felt strong hunger, and thought
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  Speaker 1: of his house in the city, of his chamber and bed,
• 22:38
  Speaker 1: of the table with the meals on it. He smiled tiredly,
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  Speaker 1: shook himself and bid his farewell to these things. In
• 22:48
  Speaker 1: the same hour of the night, Siddartha left his garden,
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  Speaker 1: left the city, and never came back. For a long time,
• 22:57
  Speaker 1: Kameswami had people look for him, thinking that he had
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  Speaker 1: fallen into the hands of robbers. Caamala had no one
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  Speaker 1: look for him. When she was told that Sir Dartha
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  Speaker 1: had disappeared, she was not astonished. Did she not always
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  Speaker 1: expect it? Was he not a samana, a man who
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  Speaker 1: was at home nowhere, a pilgrim, And most of all,
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  Speaker 1: she had felt this the last time they had been together,
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  Speaker 1: and she was happy in spite of all the pain
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  Speaker 1: of the loss that she had pulled him so affectionately
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  Speaker 1: to her heart for this last time, that she had
• 23:37
  Speaker 1: felt one more time to be so completely possessed and
• 23:41
  Speaker 1: penetrated by him. When she received the first news of
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  Speaker 1: Saddartha's disappearance, she went to the window where she held
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  Speaker 1: a rare singing bird captive in a golden cage. She
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  Speaker 1: opened the door of the cage, took the bird out,
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  Speaker 1: and let it fly. For a long time, she gazed
• 24:02
  Speaker 1: after it, the flying bird. From this day on she
• 24:07
  Speaker 1: received no more visitors and kept her house locked. But
• 24:11
  Speaker 1: after some time she became aware that she was pregnant
• 24:15
  Speaker 1: from the last time she was together with, said Arthur,
• 24:21
  Speaker 1: end of Chapter seven.