2
Although he was on good terms with everyone, he had not made a real friend. There was no one among his classmates for whom he felt any particular affinity, let alone fondness. And to their amazement, the others discovered in the fistfighter they had first taken for a roeace-loving panion, a model student who seemed to be striving for scholarly laurels.
There were two men in the cloister to whom Goldmunds heart reached out, who filled his thoughts, whom he admired and revered: Abbot Daniel and the assistant teacher, Brother Narcissus. He felt that the Abbot was a saint. He was immensely attracted by his kind simplicity, his clear, ed eyes, by the way he gave orders and made decisions, humbly, as though it were a task, by his good, quiet gestures. He would have liked to bee the personal servant of this pious man, to be in his presence stantly, obedient and serving, t him the sacrifice of all his youthful need for devotion and dedication, to learn a pure, noble, saintly life from him. Goldmund wished not only to finish the cloister school but to remain in the cloister, indefinitely perhaps, dedig his life to God. This was his iion, as it was his fathers wish and and and, most likely, Gods own decision and and. Nobody seemed aware of the burden that lay upon the handsome radiant boy, an inal burden, a secret destiny of ato and sacrifice. Even the Abbot was not aware of it, although Goldmunds father had dropped several hints and clearly expressed the wish that his son remain in the cloister forever. Some secret flaw seemed attached to Goldmunds birth, something unspoken that sought expiation. But the Abbot felt little sympathy for the father, whose words and air of self-importance he had tered with polite reserve, dismissing the hints as not particularly important.
The other man who had aroused Goldmunds admiration had sharper eyes and a keener intuition, but he did not e forward. Narcissus knew only too well what a charming golden bird had flown to him. This hermit soon sensed a kindred soul in Goldmund, in spite of their apparent trasts. Narcissus was dark and spare; Goldmund, a radiant youth. Narcissus was analytical, a thinker; Goldmund, a dreamer with the soul of a child. But something they had in ed these trasts: both were refined; both were different from the others because of obvious gifts and signs; both bore the special mark of fate.
Narcissus took an ardent i in this young soul, whose character ainy he had been quick tnize. Fervently Goldmund admired his beautiful, outstandingly intelligent teacher. But Goldmund was timid; the only way he ko court Narcissus was to exhaust himself in being an attentive, eager student. But more than timidity held him back. He sensed a dao himself in Narcissus. It was impossible to emulate simultaneously the kindly humble Abbot and the extremely intelligent, learned, brilliant Brother Narcissus. Yet every fiber of his youthful soul strove to attaiwo inpatible ideals. It caused him much suffering. There were days during his first months at the cloister school when Goldmunds heart was so torn, so fused, he felt strongly tempted to run away or to take his anguish and anger out on his classmates. Sometimes a bit of ieasing or a prank would stir such a wild rage ihis warm-hearted boy that the utmost trol was required to hold it in; he would close his eyes and turn away, silent ahly pale. Then he would go to the stable to find Bless, lean his head against the horses neck, kiss