The Confusions of Young Master Törless (Alma Classics)

by Robert Musil

  Still half-asleep, Törless contentedly let the warm, fragrant, golden-ochre fluid course its way through his body. Curled up in a corner, he was looking forward to being astonished.

  Eventually Beineberg said: “Reiting is betraying us.”

  Törless wasn’t remotely surprised; it was obvious that the situation was going to take a turn of this kind; it was almost as if he had been waiting for it to happen. Instinctively he burst out: “Just as I thought!”

  “Oh, you thought, did you? But of course you didn’t actually see anything? That’s you all over.”

  “I admit I didn’t notice anything in particular; but then it wasn’t exactly at the front of my mind.”

  “Meanwhile I was keeping my eyes open: I never trusted Reiting from day one. You know Basini gave me my money back, of course. And where do you think it came from? Him? No.”

  “And you think Reiting had something to do with it?”

  “Definitely.”

  At first Törless assumed that Reiting was involved in the same sort of thing as Basini.

  “So you think Reiting was… doing the same as Basini?…”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! Reiting gave Basini just enough money out of his own pocket so he could pay his debts to me.”

  “But I don’t see what reason he would have for doing that.”

  “Neither did I for a while. But you must have noticed, as I did, how from the very beginning Reiting was so keen to stand up for Basini. And you were absolutely right: the proper thing would have been for him to be thrown out immediately. But I made a point of not supporting you at the time, because I was thinking to myself: ‘I want to see what his little game is.’ To be honest I wasn’t sure if Reiting had any precise intentions at that point, or if he simply wanted to wait till he could be totally sure about Basini. But I know now exactly how things stand.”

  “And?”

  “Don’t be in such a hurry, I’ll come to that in a minute. Do you remember that business at the school four years ago?”

  “What business?”

  “You know, that one.”

  “Only vaguely. All I remember is there was a big scandal because of some disgusting behaviour or other, and that quite a few people were expelled.”

  “That’s it. During one holiday I found out more details from someone who used to be in that class. There was a pretty boy who a lot of them were in love with. You know what I mean; it happens every year. Only this time they went a bit too far.”

  “In what way?”

  “In what way? Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about! And that’s what Reiting is doing with Basini!”

  Törless knew exactly what Beineberg meant. He thought he was going to choke, as if he had swallowed a mouthful of sand.

  “I’d never have believed it of Reiting.” He wasn’t sure what else to say. Beineberg shrugged.

  “He thinks he can deceive us.”

  “Is he in love with him?”

  “Not in the least. He’s no fool. It just amuses him, or gives him a thrill, nothing more than that.”

  “What about Basini?”

  “Him?… Haven’t you noticed how cheeky he’s been getting? He hardly takes any notice of a word I say. It’s always Reiting this and Reiting that – anyone would think he was his patron saint. He probably came to the conclusion that it’s better to put up with everything from one person than a little bit from each of us. And Reiting will have promised to protect him as long as he lets him do whatever he likes. But they’re making a mistake, because I’m going to settle Basini’s hash once and for all!”

  “How did you find out?”

  “I followed them.”

  “Where?”

  “To the attic next door. Reiting had my key for the other entrance. I came up here, carefully opened up the hole and crept through to where they were.”

  An opening had been made in the thin partition wall that separated the little room from the main attic, just wide enough for someone to squeeze through. It acted as an emergency exit in case they were taken by surprise, and was usually filled in with bricks.

  There was a long pause during which all that could be heard was them drawing on their glowing cigarettes.

  Törless was unable to think, but he could see… all of a sudden behind his closed eyelids he saw a wild, swirling scene… people: people lit up by a dazzling light, pools of brightness, pools of deep, almost etched-out, constantly moving shadow; faces… a face, a smile… staring eyes… trembling flesh. He saw people as he had never seen or experienced them before, and yet he saw without seeing, without imagining or summoning up their images, as if he were seeing them with the eyes of his soul; they were so clear that he was pierced by their vividness as if by a thousand arrows, but as soon as he tried to find the words that would give him mastery over them they stopped, as if they had come to a threshold that they were unable to cross, and shrunk back.

  He had to know more. His voice was shaking as he asked. “And… you saw?”

  “Yes.”

  “And… Basini… what was he like?”

  Beineberg didn’t reply, and soon the only sound was the same faint sputtering of their cigarettes. There was another long pause, and then he began to speak again.

  “I’ve turned the matter over in my mind, looked at it from every angle, and you know I have my own particular ideas about this. As for Basini, in my opinion he’s not worth losing any sleep over. We could report him, beat him senseless or torture him half to death just for the fun of it; it doesn’t really matter. Because I find it impossible to imagine where an individual like him fits in with the whole incredible mechanism of the universe. To my mind he must have been created by accident, outside the usual order of things. What I mean to say is that he must have some purpose or other, but only something vague and undecided, like a worm or a stone that you come across on the road, and you don’t know whether to step over it or crush it underfoot. It’s not worth mentioning. When the World Soul wants one of its individual parts to be preserved then it makes this known, clearly and unambiguously. It says no, then creates an obstacle, causes us to step over the worm and makes the stone so hard that we are unable to shatter it without using tools. But before we can go and fetch them it produces another obstacle, made up of a host of small but unshakeable doubts, and even if we manage to overcome them it’s only because, right from the beginning, the obstruction had meant something completely different.

  “In the case of humanity, it places this hard quality within our consciousness of being human, our innate sense of responsibility that comes from knowing that we are part of the World Soul. If a person loses this consciousness, then it is himself that he has lost. But when a human being loses himself and capitulates, he also loses those unique and special qualities for which Nature made him human. And we can never be more certain of this than when we are confronted with something that has no purpose, an empty shape that the World Soul abandoned a long time ago.”

  Törless had no wish to contradict him. In fact he had hardly been paying attention. Not once had he had cause to turn to metaphysical musings of this kind; nor had he ever wondered why a sensible individual like Beineberg could dream up such things. None of these questions had ever played a part in his life.

  So he didn’t bother to try to work out if Beineberg’s arguments made sense; he was only half listening.

  He couldn’t understand how anyone could go back over ancient history like this. Inwardly he was all aquiver, and found the circumspect way in which Beineberg expressed thoughts that he had dug up God knows where to be utterly absurd, uncalled for and infuriating. Yet Beineberg carried on, unperturbed: “With Reiting it’s another matter, of course. By doing what he’s done he’s played into my hands too, although naturally I’m far from indifferent to his fate, as I am to Basini’s. You know that his mother doesn’t have a great fortune; if he were expelled then all his plans would come to nothing. If he stays he might be able to make something of himsel
f, but otherwise the opportunities will be few and far between. Reiting has never really liked me… you realize that, don’t you?… In fact he’s always hated me… in the past he’s done his utmost to harm me in whatever way he can… even today I think he’d be glad to get rid of me. So don’t you see what an advantage it is for me to possess this secret?…”

  Törless was scared. Yet in a most peculiar way, as if what happened to Reiting affected him personally. He gave Beineberg a frightened glance. The other boy’s eyes were just slits, he looked like an enormous, sinister spider sitting calmly on its web, ready to pounce. His last remarks echoed with ice-cold clarity in Törless’s ears like a decree.

  He hadn’t been following what his friend was saying, and had simply thought: “Beineberg is just going on about his ideas again, which have nothing to do with the facts”… so he had no idea how things had reached this point.

  The strands of the web, which as far as he could remember had been part of some distant abstract realm, must have drawn themselves together with astonishing speed. Because all at once it was concrete, real, alive, and a head was wriggling around inside it… its throat choked off.

  He didn’t have a high opinion of Reiting, but remembered the delightfully brazen, blasé manner in which he went about his many intrigues, while in comparison Beineberg disgusted him, the way he calmly and smirkingly spun this loathsome, grey, many-stranded web of thoughts around his opponent.

  Without thinking, Törless burst out: “You have no right to use that against him.” The secret aversion that he had always felt for Beineberg probably played a part in his reaction.

  After a moment’s reflection, Beineberg replied: “Yes, what would be the point? It would be a shame for him, actually. One way or another I’ve got nothing to fear from him now, and he doesn’t deserve to come to grief over some minor act of stupidity.” This dealt with one part of the problem. But then Beineberg stopped, and returned to what they ought to do with Basini.

  “Do you still think we should report him?” he asked. Törless didn’t reply. He just wanted to listen to Beineberg talking, the words ringing out in his head like footsteps on hollow ground; he wanted to enjoy the situation to the full.

  Beineberg pursued his train of thought: “For the time being I think we should keep him here and punish him ourselves. Because he must be punished – if only for his impudence. The school would be content to expel him and write a long letter to his uncle – you know how such things generally read: ‘Excellency, your nephew has had a slight lapse… went astray… we are sending him back… in the hope that you will be successful in… mend his ways… not a good influence on the other pupils at the moment… etc.’ Does a case like this have the slightest interest or value for them?”

  “And what value does it have for us?”

  “What value? For you possibly none, since you’re going to be a court counsellor or write verse; things like that aren’t of any use to you; perhaps they even frighten you. But I have other plans in life!”

  This time Törless pricked up his ears.

  “Basini has value for me – a great one even. Of course you would simply let him go, and comfort yourself with the thought that he was a bad lot.” Törless had to stop himself from smiling. “As far as you’re concerned that’s the end of the matter, because you have neither the talent nor the interest to learn lessons from a case like this. But me, I am interested. When you’re intending to take the direction in life that I am, you have to have a quite different view of people. Which is why I intend to keep Basini for myself, to learn from him.”

  “But how are you going to punish him?”

  Beineberg didn’t reply immediately, as if he were weighing up the likely impact of what he was about to say. Then, cautiously and a little hesitantly, he said: “If you think I’m eager to punish him then you’re mistaken. Of course, you could regard what I’m proposing as a form of punishment… but, to cut a long story short, I have something else in mind, I want to… how shall we say… torment him…”

  Törless was careful not to say anything. Although it wasn’t yet clear to him, he sensed that events were unfolding as they were meant to for him, for the person deep down inside him. Unable to appreciate the effect that his remarks had had, Beineberg went on: “There’s no need to be alarmed, it’s not as terrible as all that. In the first place, as I’ve already explained, we don’t have to take Basini into consideration at all. Any decision to torment or spare him depends only on the need we might feel to do one or the other of those things: on our inner motives. Do you follow? As for what you were saying the other day about morality, society and so forth, none of that matters of course; I hope you never actually believed it yourself. So presumably such things are a matter of indifference to you. All the same, there’s still time to pull out if you’re not prepared to take the risk.

  “For me there’s no going back or sidestepping, the path leads straight ahead. Which is how it has to be. Reiting isn’t going to give up either: it’s important for him to have someone under his control, to exercise his will over, to treat like some sort of instrument. He wants to rule, and if the opportunity arose he would treat you exactly as he does Basini. For me it’s much more than that: almost a commitment that I’ve made to myself. How can I explain the difference between us? You know how much Reiting worships Napoleon; whereas for me, the person I admire the most is more likely to be a philosopher or an Indian holy man. Reiting would sacrifice Basini purely out of curiosity. He would dissect his soul just to discover what the process involves. And as I said, it makes not the slightest difference to him whether he uses you, me or Basini. I, on the other hand, have similar feelings to yours: that when all is said and done Basini is still a human being. Committing such acts of cruelty would offend my own sensibilities as well. But that’s exactly what this is about! Sacrifice! Don’t you see that I’m torn in two directions: one, which is ill defined, binds me, contrary to my strongest convictions, to a compassionate passivity, while the other, which appeals to my soul, to the most profound inner knowledge, ties me to the Cosmos. As I said earlier, people like Basini are of no significance – they are empty shapes created by chance. The only true people are those who enter deeply into themselves, cosmic beings who are capable of descending far enough to discover their connection with the vast inner workings of the universe. They perform miracles with their eyes closed, because they know how to make use of every power that the world possesses, powers that exist within as well as around them. But up till now, those who have been travelling in the second direction have always had to break away from the first. I’ve read about the horrific acts of penitence performed by enlightened monks, and I’m sure the practices of Hindu ascetics aren’t unknown to you. All these appalling acts of cruelty have but one purpose: to mortify the miserable worldly desires which – whether vanity or hunger, joy or compassion – only serve to smother the flames that each of us has the capacity to kindle within ourselves.

  “Reiting is only familiar with the external world, while I am taking the second path. Everyone else believes he has a head start on me at the moment, because my road is slower and more uncertain. Yet with one bound I could leave him far behind, like a worm. As you know, people claim that the world is made up of unshakeable physical laws. But that’s completely wrong, the stuff of textbooks! No doubt the outside world is unsentimental in its outlook, and to a degree its so-called laws won’t brook any interference, but there have been individuals who have managed to do so. This is contained in sacred texts that have been much studied, but which most people have no knowledge of. From reading these I know that there were once men who were able to move rocks, the sky and the seas simply through an act of will, and whose prayers were too strong for any power on earth to withstand. Yet that too is only an external triumph of the spirit. Because those who have succeeded in seeing their soul in its entirety are detached from their bodily existence, which is only incidental; it says in the sacred books that such people enter a highe
r spiritual realm.”

  Beineberg spoke with complete conviction, while controlling his emotions. Törless had kept his eyes closed almost the whole time; he could feel the other boy’s breath flowing over him, and inhaled it like an oppressive drug. In the meantime, Beineberg arrived at his conclusion:

  “So you can see what this means for me. Whatever is trying to persuade me to leave Basini in peace is primitive and external in origin. Obey it if you wish. But for me it’s a prejudice from which I must free myself, along with everything else that causes me to stray from the Inner Path.

  “The very fact that I find it difficult to torment Basini – what I mean to say is humiliate him, grind him into the dirt, thrust him away from me – is good. It demands a sacrifice. It will have a purifying effect. It’s due to him that I learn every day that merely being human is of no significance – that it’s nothing more than an apelike, superficial appearance.”

  Törless didn’t understand everything that he had heard. As before, he just had the impression that an invisible noose had suddenly tightened into a very real and lethal knot. Beineberg’s last remark was still echoing inside his head, and he repeated it to himself: “An apelike, superficial appearance.” This seemed to describe his relationship with Basini. Didn’t the strange fascination that the latter exerted over him consist of visions such as these? Of the fact that he simply wasn’t able to put himself in Basini’s position, which was why he experienced him in the form of hazy images? When he had tried to picture Basini earlier, behind his face hadn’t there been another one, blurred and indistinct? A face that bore a striking resemblance to the other one, and yet which was somehow unidentifiable.

  So instead of reflecting on Beineberg’s bizarre intentions, and overcome by all these new and unusual impressions, Törless devoted his efforts to examining his inner self more closely. He remembered the afternoon before he had found out about Basini’s theft. Even then the visions were already there. There was always something that his thoughts were not quite able to identify; something simple and yet unfamiliar. He had seen images that weren’t really images. The little peasant houses by the roadside, even himself and Beineberg in the patisserie.