Victor Vertunni Audiobook sample + 15' room tone 4

Pictor encounters a tree in Paradise with two crowns, one with a man's face and the other with a woman's face. He continues on and finds another tree with the sun and moon as crowns. Surrounding the tree are unique and colorful flowers. Pictor interacts with the flowers, tasting one and feeling a sense of longing and joy. He then encounters a bird that transforms into a flower, then a butterfly, and finally a gemstone. The serpent tells Pictor that the stone can grant any wish, so he hastily wishes to become a tree. Pictor is content as a tree, but eventually becomes sad when he can see and understand like a tree. PICTOR'S METAMORPHOSES By Herman Hesse Pictor had scarcely set foot in Paradise when he found himself standing before a tree that had two crowns. In the leaves of one was the face of a man, in the leaves of the other the face of a woman. Pictor stood in awe of the tree, and timidly asked, Are you the tree of life? The tree kept silence. Suddenly, coiling itself around the single trunk that joined the tree's two boughs, there appeared a serpent. And because the serpent, and not the tree, was about to reply, Pictor turned around and continued on his way. His eyes widened in wonder and delight at all he beheld. Somehow he knew the source of life was near. Soon enough he came upon another tree, whose two crowns held the sun and the moon. And once again Pictor asked, Are you the tree of life? The sun seemed to nod its ascent. The moon smiled down at him. All around grew clusters of flowers, strange and wonderful, unlike any Pictor had ever seen. From within the circles of their many-hued petals bright faces and eyes peered out at him. Some of the flowers nodded on their stems, smiling and laughing like the sun and the moon. Others were silent, drunken, sunken within themselves, as if drowned in their own perfumes. And their colours sang to him. This one a deep mauve lilac song, that one a dark blue lullaby. Oh, what huge blue eyes this one had! And how much that one resembled his first love! The scent of another sang in his mother's voice, made him recall how they'd walked in the gardens when Pictor was still a little boy. Yet another flower teased him, stuck out its tongue, long, arched, and red. He bent down, put his own tongue to it. The taste was wild and strong, like honey mixed with rosin, and yet like a woman's kiss. Pictor stood alone amid the flowers, filled with longing and timid joy. Just then he saw a bird alight in the grass. The bird's feathers were ablaze with colour, each plume a different colour of the rainbow. And he drew nearer to the bird, and asked, Most lovely bird, tell me, where can one find happiness? Happiness? the bird replied, its golden beak brimming with laughter. Happiness, friend, is in each thing, valley and mountain, flower and gem. Even as it spoke these words, the bird began to dance, ruffling its feathers, flapping its wings, turning its head, beating its tail on the ground, winking, laughing, spinning around in a whirl of colour. When it came to a standstill, what had been a bird was now a many-coloured flower, feathers to petals, claws to roots. The transformation was marvellous. But even as Pictor stood there blinking, it went on changing. Weary of being a flower, it pulled up its roots, set its anthers and filaments in motion. On petal-thin wings it slowly rose aloft and floated in mid-air, a weightless, shimmering butterfly. Pictor could scarcely believe his eyes. And the new butterfly, the radiant bird-flower-butterfly, flew in circles around and around Pictor. More and more amazed, Pictor watched the sunlight glint off its wings. Soon it let itself glide down to the earth, gently as a snowflake. There it rested on the ground, close by Pictor's feet. The luminous wings trembled as it changed once again. It became a gemstone, out of whose facets a red light streamed. But even as it lay there, radiant red in the dark green grass, the precious stone shrank smaller and smaller, as if its homeland, the centre of the earth, was called to it. The gem threatened to be swallowed up. Just as it was about to vanish, scarcely aware of what he was doing, Pictor reached for the stone, picked it up, and clasped it firmly in his hands. Gazing into it, transfixed by its magical light, Pictor could feel its red rays penetrate his heart, warming it with a radiance that promised eternal bliss. Just then, slithering down from the bow of a withered tree, the serpent hissed into Pictor's ear. This crystal can change you into anything you want to be. Quickly tell it your wish before it is too late. Swiftly speak your command before the stone vanishes. Without stopping to think, afraid of losing this one chance for happiness, Pictor rashly uttered his secret word to the stone, and was as soon transformed into a tree. Pictor had always wished to become a tree, because trees seemed so serene, so strong and dignified. He felt himself strike root in the earth, felt his arms branch up into the sky, felt new limbs growing from his trunk, and from the limbs he felt new leaves sprout. Pictor was content. His thirsty roots drank deep in the earth, his leafy crown so near to the clouds rustled in the breeze. Birds nested in his branches, insects lived in his bark, hedgehogs and hares took shelter at his feet. Slowly he learnt to see with the eyes of a tree. Finally he could see and grew sad.