Young Torless by Robert Musil Read Free Book Online Page A

would overwhelm him just when he believed himself to be most serious and most pure. It happened, perhaps, as a reaction to those moments when he had an inkling of another emotional awareness, which, though it was already implicit in him, was as yet beyond his years. For there is, in the development of every fine moral energy, such an early point where it weakens the soul whose most daring experience it will perhaps be some day-just as if it had first to send down its roots, gropingly, to disturb the ground that they will afterwards hold together; and it is for this reason that boys with a
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    Törless suddenly proposed that they should pay and go. A look of understanding gleamed in Beineberg's eyes: he knew and shared the mood. Törless was revolted by this concord, and his dislike of Beineberg quickened again; he felt himself degraded by their having anything in common.
    But that had by now practically become part of it all. Degradation is but one solitude more and yet another dark wall.
    And so, without speaking to each other, they set out on a certain road.
    There must have been a light shower of rain a few minutes earlier-the air was moist and heavy, a misty halo trembled round the street-lamps, and here and there the pavement glimmered.
    Törless's sword clattered on the stones, and he drew it closer to his side. But there was still the sound of his heels on the pavement, and even that sent a queer shiver through him. After a while, leaving the pavements of the town behind them, they had soft ground underfoot and were walking along wide village streets towards the river. The water rolled along, black and sluggish, and with deep gurgling sounds under the wooden bridge. There was a single lamp there, with broken, dusty glass. Now and then the gleam of the light, which was blown uneasily hither and thither by the gusts of wind, would fall on a rippling wave below and dissolve on its crept. The rounded foot-planks of the bridge yielded under every step . . . revolving forward, then back again. .
    Beineberg stopped. The farther bank was thickly wooded, and along the road, which turned at a right-angle on the other side and continued along the river, the trees had the menacing look of a black, impenetrable wall. Only if one looked carefully did one discover a narrow, hidden path leading straight on and i nto it. As they went on their way through the thick, rank undergrowth, which brushed against their clothes, they were continually showered with drops. After a while they had to stop again and strike a match. It was very quiet now; even the gurgling of the river could not be heard. Suddenly from the distance there came a vague, broken sound. It was like a cry or a warning. Or perhaps it was merely like a call from some inarticulate creature that, somewhere ahead, was breaking its way through the bushes, like themselves. They walked on towards this sound, stopped again, and again walked on. All in all it was perhaps a quarter of an hour before, with a long breath of relief, they recognized loud voices and the notes of a concertina.
    Now the trees grew more sparsely, and a few paces further they found themselves standing on the edge of a clearing, in the midst of which there was a squat, square building, two storeys high.
    It was the old pump-room. In former times it had been used by the people of the little town and peasants from the neighbouring countryside for taking the waters; but for years now it had been almost empty. Only the ground floor was still used, as a tavern, and one that was of ill repute.
    The two boys stopped for a moment, listening.
    Törless was just taking a step forward, about to issue forth from the thicket, when there was a sound of heavy boots tramping on the floor-boards inside the house and a drunken man came staggering out of the door. Behind him, in the shadow of the doorway, stood a woman, and they could hear her whispering hurriedly and angrily, as though demanding something from the man. He