I had been restless throughout the whole of that day, troubled by cares which I could not precisely define.
Now, at my dark post, I thought with fervor of the picture of my life up to that time, of Mother Eve, of Demian.
I stood leaning against a poplar, staring into the agitated sky,
the mysterious quivering brightness of which soon resolved itself into a series of pictures.
I felt by the odd slowness of my pulse, by the insensibility of my skin to wind and rain,
by the lively wakefulness of my inner being, that a guide was near me.
In the clouds a large city could be seen, out of which millions of men were streaming, spreading in swarms over the broad countryside.
In their very midst there appeared the mighty figure of a god, as big as a mountain,
with glittering stars in its hair, and with the features of Mother Eve.
Into it disappeared the processions of men, as into a gigantic cave, and were lost to view.
The goddess shrank down on the ground, the sign on her forehead glittered brightly.
She seemed to be under the influence of a dream. She closed her eyes and her large features were twisted in pain.
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