Gertrude by Hermann Hesse Read Free Book Online Page A

emptied my glass very quickly, partly through embarrassment, partly from an instinctive need to get warm after the damp, evening walk, she poured out another and ignored my protests. “Take it. It won’t do you any harm. We do not eat until after the music. Have you brought your violin with you—and the sonata?”
    I made reserved replies and felt embarrassed. I did not know what her relationship was to Muoth. She seemed to be the mistress of the house. She was very attractive. I subsequently noted that my new friend went about only with very beautiful women.
    Meantime, everyone came into the music room. Muoth put up a music stand. Everyone sat down and soon I was playing the music with Kranzl. I played mechanically; it seemed poor to me. Only now and then for fleeting moments, like flashes of lightning, was I conscious of the fact that I was playing here with Kranzl and that the evening I had so long waited for with trepidation was here, and that a small gathering of experts and discerning musicians were sitting there listening to my sonata. Only during the rondo did I become aware that Kranzl was playing magnificently, but I was still so shy and distracted from the music that I continually thought about other things and it suddenly occurred to me that I had not even congratulated Muoth on his birthday.
    We finished playing the sonata. The pretty lady rose, held out her hand to Kranzl and me, and opened the door of a smaller room, where a table was set for a meal, with flowers and bottles of wine.
    â€œAt last!” cried one of the men. “I’m nearly starving.”
    â€œYou’re a shocking person,” the lady replied. “What will the composer think?”
    â€œWhich composer? Is he here?”
    She pointed me out. “There he is.”
    He looked at me and laughed. “You should have told me that before. Anyway, the music was very enjoyable. But when a man is hungry—”
    We began the meal, and as soon as the soup was finished and the white wine was poured out, Kranzl rose and proposed a toast to the host on the occasion of his birthday. Immediately after the toast, Muoth rose to his feet. “My dear Kranzl, if you think I am going to make a speech in reply, you are mistaken. I don’t want any more speeches, please. But perhaps the only one that is necessary I will take upon myself. I thank our young friend for his sonata, which I think is splendid. Perhaps our friend Kranzl will someday be glad to receive music of his to play, which he should do, for he played the sonata very sympathetically. I drink a toast to the composer and to our good friendship.”
    They all clinked glasses, laughed, chaffed me a little, and soon the good wine helped to produce an atmosphere of gaiety to which I gave in with relief. It was a long time since I had enjoyed myself and felt at ease in this way, and in fact I had not done so for a whole year. Now the laughter and wine, the clinking of glasses, the intermingling of voices and the sight of a gay, pretty woman opened up closed doors of pleasure to me, and I easily entered into the atmosphere of unrestrained merriment, of light and lively conversation and smiling faces.
    Shortly after the meal, everyone rose and returned to the music room, where wine and cigarettes were handed round. A quiet-looking man who had not spoken much, and whose name I did not know, came up to me and said some kind words about the sonata, I have quite forgotten what. Then the actress drew me into conversation and Muoth sat down beside us. We drank another glass of wine to our friendship, and suddenly his dark, sad eyes sparkled and he said: “I know your story now.” He turned to the lady. “He broke his bones while tobogganing, out of love for a pretty girl.” Then he turned to me again. “That is beautiful—to go head over heels down the hill at the moment when love is at its peak and is quite unsullied. It is worth losing a