Concealed behind trees in a grey mist of rain stood a little house, bright and homely,
tall flowers stood behind a big glass partition, and behind shining windows were dark room walls with pictures and bookcases.
The front door led immediately into a little hall, and a silent old servant, black, with white apron, showed me in and took my raincoat from me.
She left me alone in the hall. I looked about me. I looked round; and immediately I was in the middle of my dream.
On the dark wood wall above a door, under glass and in a black frame,
hung a picture I knew well, my bird with the golden yellow hawk’s crest, forcing its way out of the sphere. Much moved, I remained standing.
My heart felt glad and sorry, as if in that moment everything I had done and had experienced came back to me as answer and fulfillment.
Like a lightning flash a crowd of pictures passed through my soul: my home, the house of my father,
with the old stone crest over the arch of the door, the boy Demian drawing the crest, myself as a boy,
fearsome under the evil spell of my enemy Kromer, myself, as a youth, at the table in my little room at school
painting the bird of my dream, the soul caught in a web of its own weaving,
and everything, everything up to this moment found echo in me again, and was confined, answered, approved.
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