名著阅读

Deep was his sleep and without dreams, for a long time he had not known such a sleep any more. When he woke up after many hours, he felt as if ten years had passed, he heard the water quietly flowing, did not know where he was and who had brought him here, opened his eyes, saw with astonishment that there were trees and the sky above him, and he remembered where he was and how he got here. But it took him a long while for this, and the past seemed to him as if it had been covered by a veil, infinitely distant, infinitely far away, infinitely meaningless. He only knew that his previous life (in the first moment when he thought about it, this past life seemed to him like a very old, previous incarnation, like an early pre-birth of his present self)--that his previous life had been abandoned by him, that, full of disgust and wretchedness, he had even intended to throw his life away, but that by a river, under a coconut-tree, he has come to his senses, the holy word Om on his lips, that then he had fallen asleepand had now woken up and was looking at the world as a new man. Quietly, he spoke the word Om to himself, speaking which he had fallen asleep, and it seemed to him as if his entire long sleep had been nothing but a long meditative recitation of Om, a thinking of Om, a submergence and complete entering into Om, into the nameless, the perfected.
What a wonderful sleep had this been! Never before by sleep, he had been thus refreshed, thus renewed, thus rejuvenated! Perhaps, he had really died, had drowned and was reborn in a new body? But no, he knew himself, he knew his hand and his feet, knew the place where he lay, knew this self in his chest, this Siddhartha, the eccentric, the weird one, but this Siddhartha was nevertheless transformed, was renewed, was strangely well rested, strangely awake, joyful and curious.
Siddhartha straightened up, then he saw a person sitting opposite to him, an unknown man, a monk in a yellow robe with a shaven head, sitting in the position of pondering. He observed the man, who had neither hair on his head nor a beard, and he had not observed him for long when he recognised this monk as Govinda, the friend of his youth, Govinda who had taken his refuge with the exalted Buddha. Govinda had aged, he too, but still his face bore the same features, expressed zeal, faithfulness, searching, timidness. But when Govinda now, sensing his gaze, opened his eyes and looked at him, Siddhartha saw that Govinda did not recognise him. Govinda was happy to find him awake; apparently, he had been sitting here for a long time and been waiting for him to wake up, though he did not know him.
"I have been sleeping," said Siddhartha. "However did you get here?"
"You have been sleeping," answered Govinda. "It is not good to be sleeping in such places, where snakes often are and the animals of the forest have their paths. I, oh sir, am a follower of the exalted Gotama, the Buddha, the Sakyamuni, and have been on a pilgrimage together with several of us on this path, when I saw you lying and sleeping in a place where it is dangerous to sleep. Therefore, I sought to wake you up, oh sir, and since I saw that your sleep was very deep, I stayed behind from my group and sat with you. And then, so it seems, I have fallen asleep myself, I who wanted to guard your sleep. Badly, I have served you, tiredness has overwhelmed me. But now that you're awake, let me go to catch up with my brothers."
"I thank you, Samana, for watching out over my sleep," spoke Siddhartha. "You're friendly, you followers of the exalted one. Now you may go then."
"I'm going, sir. May you, sir, always be in good health."
"I thank you, Samana."
Govinda made the gesture of a salutation and said: "Farewell."
"Farewell, Govinda," said Siddhartha.
The monk stopped.
"Permit me to ask, sir, from where do you know my name?"
Now, Siddhartha smiled.
"I know you, oh Govinda, from your father's hut, and from the school of the Brahmans, and from the offerings, and from our walk to the Samanas, and from that hour when you took your refuge with the exalted one in the grove Jetavana."
"You're Siddhartha," Govinda exclaimed loudly. Now, I'm recognising you, and don't comprehend any more how I couldn't recognise you right away. Be welcome, Siddhartha, my joy is great, to see you again."
"It also gives me joy, to see you again. You've been the guard of my sleep, again I thank you for this, though I wouldn't have required any guard. Where are you going to, oh friend?"
"I'm going nowhere. We monks are always travelling, whenever it is not the rainy season, we always move from one place to another, live according to the rules if the teachings passed on to us, accept alms, move on. It is always like this. But you, Siddhartha, where are you going to?"
Quoth Siddhartha: "With me too, friend, it is as it is with you. I'm going nowhere. I'm just travelling. I'm on a pilgrimage."
Govinda spoke: "You're saying: you're on a pilgrimage, and I believe in you. But, forgive me, oh Siddhartha, you do not look like a pilgrim. You're wearing a rich man's garments, you're wearing the shoes of a distinguished gentleman, and your hair, with the fragrance of perfume, is not a pilgrim's hair, not the hair of a Samana."
"Right so, my dear, you have observed well, your keen eyes see everything. But I haven't said to you that I was a Samana. I said: I'm on a pilgrimage. And so it is: I'm on a pilgrimage."
"You're on a pilgrimage," said Govinda. "But few would go on a pilgrimage in such clothes, few in such shoes, few with such hair. Never I have met such a pilgrim, being a pilgrim myself for many years."
"I believe you, my dear Govinda. But now, today, you've met a pilgrim just like this, wearing such shoes, such a garment. Remember, my dear: Not eternal is the world of appearances, not eternal, anything but eternal are our garments and the style of our hair, and our hair and bodies themselves. I'm wearing a rich man's clothes, you've seen this quite right. I'm wearing them, because I have been a rich man, and I'm wearing my hair like the worldly and lustful people, for I have been one of them."
"And now, Siddhartha, what are you now?"
"I don't know it, I don't know it just like you. I'm travelling. I was a rich man and am no rich man any more, and what I'll be tomorrow, I don't know."
"You've lost your riches?"

"I've lost them or they me. They somehow happened to slip away from me. The wheel of physical manifestations is turning quickly, Govinda. Where is Siddhartha the Brahman? Where is Siddhartha the Samana? Where is Siddhartha the rich man? Non-eternal things change quickly, Govinda, you know it."
他睡得很香，没有做梦，他已经很久没有这么酣睡过了。几个小时之后，他醒来了，觉得仿佛已过去了十年。他听见河水的潺潺流淌声，不明白自己身在何处，是谁把他弄到了这儿。他睁开眼睛，看见头顶的树林和天空十分尺度，回想自己是在哪儿，自己是怎么来的。他想了好长一会儿，往事就像被一层薄纱遮着，显得很远很远，无比遥远，完全无关紧要。他只知道自己已抛弃了过去的生活（在他回忆的最初一瞬间，他觉得过去的生活就像是一个遥远过去的化身，就像是他现在这个自我的一个早产儿）——他满怀厌恶与愁闷，甚至想抛弃自己的生命，但是在一条河边，在一棵椰子树下，他口中念育着神圣的“唵”字，回归了自我，然后便沉沉睡去，而现在又醒来了，作为一个新人观看这世界。他低声念诵着曾使他沉沉睡去的“唵”字，觉得他的沉睡只是一声悠长而专注的“唵”的念诵，一次“唵”的思索，是沉入和彻底到达“唵”之中，到达无可名状的完美境界。
这是一次多么惬意的酣睡啊！从来没有哪次睡眠能使他这么精神焕发，这么神采奕奕，这么年轻活泼！也许他真的已经死掉了，已经消亡，而现在又重新托生为一个新年的躯体？不，他认得自己，认得自己的手和脚，认得他躺在这个地方， 认得他胸中的这个自我，这个席特哈尔塔，这个执拗的家伙，这个怪人。不过，这个席特哈尔塔也确实变了，精神抖擞了，令人奇怪地睡足了，显得格外清醒、愉快和好奇。
席特哈尔塔直起身，忽然看见对面坐着一个人，一个陌生人，一个穿黄僧衣、剃光头的和尚，摆出打坐静修的姿势。他细细打量这个既无头发也无胡子的人，看了一会儿，忽然认出这个和尚就是戈文达，他年轻时的好友，那个扳依了活佛的戈文达。戈文达老了，跟他一样，但脸上的神色依然如故，显露出热情、忠诚、探求和忧心忡忡。戈文达这时也觉察到了他的目光，睁开眼看他，但席特哈尔塔发现他并没有认出自己。戈文达见他已醒过来很高兴。显然戈文达已在这儿坐了很久，等着他醒来，尽管并没有认出他。
“我刚才睡着了。”席特哈尔塔说，“你是怎么来到这儿的？”
“你睡着了。”戈文达答道，“在这样的地方睡觉可不好，这里常有蛇，是森林中野兽出没之处。哦，先生，我是戈塔马活佛的一名弟子，释迦牟尼的信徒，跟一伙同伴走这条路去朝圣，看见你躺在这儿，睡在一个不宜睡觉的危险地方。因此我试图叫醒你，先生，见你睡得很熟，我便单独留下来守护你。显然是我自己也睡着了，而我本来是想守护你的。我失职了，疲劳控制了我。现在你已经醒了，让我走吧，去追赶我的弟兄们吧。”
“谢谢你，沙门，谢谢你守护我睡觉。”席特哈尔塔说，“你们这些活佛的弟子真好。你可以走啦。”
“我走了，先生，祝你永远健康。”
“谢谢你，沙门。”
戈文达行了个礼，说道：“再会！”
“再会，戈文达。”席特哈尔塔说。
和尚愣住了。
“请问，先生，你怎么会知道我的名字？”
席特哈尔塔微微一笑。
“我认得你，戈文达。从你父亲的小屋，从那所婆罗门学校，从参加祭祀仪式，从咱们一起去找沙门，从你在耶塔瓦纳林苑皈依了活佛时，我就认得你！”
“你是席特哈尔塔！”戈文达大声叫道，“现在我认出你了，我不明白怎么竟没能马上认出你！欢迎你，席特哈尔塔，与你重逢我十分高兴。”
“我也很高兴再见到你。你刚才守护我睡觉，我要再一次感谢你，尽管我并不需要人守护。你去哪儿，朋友？”
“我不去哪儿。我们和尚总是云游四方，只要不是雨季，我们总是从一处赶到另一处，按照规矩生活，讲经，化缘，又动身上路。总是如此。而你呢，席特哈尔塔，你要去何处？”
席特哈尔塔说：“我的情况跟你一样，朋友。我不去哪儿。我仅仅是在路上。我去朝圣。”
戈文达说：“你说去朝圣，我相信你。可是请原谅，席特哈尔塔，你的样子可不像个朝圣者哇。你身穿富人的衣服，脚穿贵人的鞋子，头发飘散出香水味儿。这可不是一个朝圣者的头发，也不是一个沙门的头发呀！”
“不错，亲爱的，你观察得真仔细，你的锐利眼睛看出了一切。可我并没跟你说我是个沙门呀，我只是说去朝圣。事实上我正是去朝圣。”
“你去朝圣，”戈文达说，“但是，很少有人穿着这样的衣服、鞋子，留着这样的头发去朝圣。我已经朝圣多年，从来没见过一个这样的朝圣者。”
“我相信你说的话，戈文达。可是现在，今天，你偏偏遇上了这么个朝圣者，穿这样的鞋子，穿这样的衣服。请记住，亲爱的：万物的世界是短暂的，多变的，而最为短暂多变的是我们的衣服，我们的发式，以及我们的头发和身体。我身穿一个富人的衣服 ，这你没看错。我这样穿戴是因为我曾经是个富人，而我的头发像花花公子，也因为我曾经是他们当中的一员。”
“现在呢，席特哈尔塔，现在你是什么人？”
“我不清楚，我知道得跟你一样少。我正在半路上。我曾经是富人，但现在不是了，而明天我将是什么，我自己了不清楚。”
“你失去了你的财产？”

“我失去了财产，或者说是它失去了我。反正是没了。造化之轮飞转，戈文达。婆罗门席特哈尔塔如今安在？沙门席特哈尔塔如今安在？富商席特哈尔塔如今安在？短暂的东西在迅速地变换，戈文达，这你明白。”
背景阅读

本书简介：
古印度贵族青年悉达多英俊聪慧，拥有人们羡慕的一切。为了追求心灵的安宁，他孤身一人展开了求道之旅。他在舍卫城聆听佛陀乔答摩宣讲教义，在繁华的大城中结识了名妓伽摩拉，并成为一名富商。心灵与肉体的享受达到顶峰，却让他对自己厌倦、鄙弃到极点。在与伽摩拉最后一次欢爱之后，他抛弃了自己所有世俗的一切，来到那河边，想结束自己的生命。在那最绝望的一刹那，他突然听到了生命之河永恒的声音……经过几乎一生的追求，悉达多终于体验到万事万物的圆融统一，所有生命的不可摧毁的本性，并最终将自我融入了瞬间的永恒之中。

作者简介：
赫尔曼·黑塞（Hermann Hesse，1877.7.2-1962.8.9）德国作家。1923年46岁入瑞士籍。1946年获诺贝尔文学奖。1962年于瑞士家中去世。爱好音乐与绘画，是一位漂泊、孤独、隐逸的诗人。黑塞的诗有很多充满了浪漫气息，从他的最初诗集《浪漫之歌》的书名，也可以看出他深受德国浪漫主义诗人的影响，以致后来被人称为“德国浪漫派最后的一个骑士”。主要作品有《彼得·卡门青》、《荒原狼》、《东方之行》、《玻璃球游戏》等。

主要生平及创作
出生于德国西南部的小城卡尔夫的一个牧师家庭。自幼在浓重的宗教气氛中长大，1891年，他通过“邦试”，考入毛尔布隆神学校。由于不堪忍受经院教育的摧残，半年后逃离学校。这期间他游历许多城市，从事过多种职业。
　　
在比较广泛地接受东西方文化熏陶之后，1904年，黑塞发表了长篇小说《彼得·卡门青特》，一举成名，从此成为专业作家。这一年他与玛丽结婚，移居巴登湖畔，埋头写作，1906年发表了长篇小说《在轮下》。这一时期的创作以浪漫主义诗歌、田园诗风格的抒情小说和流浪汉小说为主，作品洋溢着对童年和乡土的思念之情，充满对广大自然和人类的爱，同时也表现了青年人的精神苦闷与追求。
　　
第一次世界大战后，黑塞的创作发生了明显的变化，他醉心于尼采哲学，求助于印度佛教和中国的老庄哲学，并对荣格的精神分析产生了深厚的兴趣。他试图从宗教、哲学和心理学方面探索人类精神解放的途径。这时期的长篇小说有《克努尔普》（1916）、《德米安》（1919）、《席特哈尔塔》（1922）、《荒原狼》（1927）和《纳尔齐斯与歌尔德蒙》（1930）等。这些书深受西方读者的喜爱，得到极高的评价，其中《荒原狼》曾轰动欧美，被托马斯·曼誉为德国的《尤利西斯》。
　　
30年代后，法西斯在德国猖獗，黑塞对社会前途陷入深深的怀疑与绝望之中，但他仍不倦地从东西方宗教与哲学中寻求理想世界，《东方之行》（1932）、《玻璃球游戏》（1943）正是这一时期追求与探索的结晶。
　　
黑塞被雨果·巴尔称为德国浪漫派最后一位骑士，这说明他在艺术上深受浪漫主义诗歌的影响。他热爱大自然，厌倦都市文明，作品多采用象征手法，文笔优美细腻；由于受精神分析影响，他的作品着重在精神领域里进行挖掘探索，无畏而诚实地剖析内心，因此他的小说具有心理的深度。1946年，"由于他的富于灵感的作品具有遒劲的气势和洞察力，也为崇高的人道主义理想和高尚风格提供一个范例"，黑塞获诺贝尔文学奖。