Narziß und Goldmund

Resize Jess
In front of the colonette-supported, arched entrance to the Mariabronn Monastery, close to the path, stood a chestnut tree, a forlorn son of the South, brought by a Roman pilgrim ages ago, a noble chestnut with a strong trunk, his round crown stretching tenderly over the path, he breathed barrel-chested in the Spring’s breeze, when everything around his feet was already green and the monastery trees wore their reddish young foliage, awaiting their promised leaves, from whose tufted clusters during the time of the shortest nights would sprout the matte, white-green iridescence of radiating foreign blossoms, the smell warningly and oppressively bitter, and in October, when fruit and wine were already harvested, from his mushroomed crown prickly fruit fell, that didn’t ripen every year, that the monastery boys scuffled over, and that the Sub-prior Gregor from French Switzerland roasted in the fireplace of his parlor.

Resize Natalie
Hugging the path in front of the double-pillared circular arc of the Mariabronn Abbey entrance stood a chestnut tree, stray son of the south, brought ages ago by a pilgrim returning from Rome; a sweet chestnut with a robust trunk and round crown hanging tenderly over the path, breathing expansively in the wind, kept its leaves waiting in spring when everything all around had already turned green and even the trees of the cloister had donned their red-tinged leaflets, then, in the season of the shortest nights, drove out of the foliage the faint, white-green shoots of its exotic blossoms that emitted such an urgent and oppressively pungent sour smell and, in October, after fruit and wine had been harvested, dropped out of its amber crown, in the autumn wind, the bristled fruits that did not ripen every year, over which the cloister boys tussled and that the Sub-prior Gregor, from Romandy, roasted in his room.

Resize Roman
Facing the round arch and double columns of the entrance to the Mariabronn monastery, close to the road, stood a chestnut tree, a stray son of the South, planted ages ago by a Roman pilgrim; a sweet chestnut with a strong trunk whose round crown hung tenderly over the road, breathed broadly in the wind, and took its time in the spring when everything else was already green and even the cloister trees by now wore their reddish young leaves, then forced, around the time of the shortest nights, its matte, green-white rays of strange looking flowers from its branches, which smelled urgent and oppressively acerbic, and in October, when fruit and wine were already harvested, from its yellow crown fell prickly fruit, which did not ripen every year, for which the cloister boys scuffled, and which the assistant prior Gregor, who came from Romandy, roasted in his room over the fireplace.

Resize Sylke
Close to the way and in front of the circular arc of the cloister entrance of Mariabronn, that was carried by double columnlets, stood a chestnut tree, an isolated son of the south, brought here by a pilgrim from Rome in old times, a sweet chestnut with a strong trunk; its round crown hung tenderly over the way, inhaling the wind with its bright chest. In spring, when all surroundings were green already and even the cloister trees had put on their reddish juvenile leaves, it kept its foliage in waiting, only to sprout out of its greenery at the time of the shortest nights, with flat white-greenish radiant and alien blossoms of a reminding and stark smell, and in October when fruits and grapes were long harvested, it released thorny fruits from its yellowing crown, which didn’t always mellow, for the cloister boys to scramble about, and for the Gallic subprior to fry in the fireplace of his chamber.

Resize Iris
In front of the Cloister of Mariabronn’s rounded entrance, an archway supported by twin colonnettes, stood a chestnut tree, a solitary son of the South, hugging the path, a Spanish chestnut with a formidable trunk, brought here in times past by a pilgrim from Rome; its circular crown hung tenderly over the path, expansively took in a breath of wind, and in the Spring — within surroundings already verdant, even the claustral trees bearing young, blushing foliage — first delayed sprouting leaves, and then, when nights were briefest, pushed forth from leafy clusters the faint, pastel green bursts of its exotic blooms, giving off such a cautionary and oppressively pungent smell, and in October, after the harvest of fruit and wine, let tumble from its yellowing crown in the autumn wind, the prickly fruit that would not ripen every year, over which the boys of the cloister tussled, and which the subprior Gregor from Romandy roasted in his chambers over the fire.