by Robert Musil
A sudden thought made his whole body contract. So was it the same for adults? For the whole world? Was there some universal law that decreed that there was something within us that is stronger, bigger, finer, darker and more passionate than ourselves? Something over which we have so little control that all we can do is scatter thousands of seeds at random, until suddenly a plant shoots up like a dark, sombre flame and soon grows taller than we are?… And from every fibre of his being came the impatient answer: “Yes.”
Eyes shining, he looked round the room. The gas lamps, the warmth, the light, the industrious schoolboys were still there. And it occurred to him that among all of them he was the chosen one, like a saint blessed with celestial visions… for as yet he knew nothing of the intuition of great artists.
Quickly, with almost fearful haste, he picked up his pen and jotted down a few notes about his discovery; again it seemed as if a light were blazing brightly inside him, shining out across vast open spaces… and then an ash-grey rain began to fall on his eyes, and the many-coloured glare that had been dazzling him from within faded and disappeared.
By now he had virtually put the Kant interlude behind him; during the day he never gave it a thought. The conviction that he was on the verge of finding the answer to the enigma was too strong for him to worry about someone else’s methods. Ever since the previous evening he had had the impression that he had gripped the handle of the door that led to the beyond, but it had slipped from his grasp. Yet having realized that he would have to do without the help of philosophy, and as he had little confidence in it anyway, he just stood where he was, at a loss to know how he could find this door again. He made a few sporadic attempts to carry on with his notes, but everything he wrote lay lifeless on the page, a series of sullen, all too familiar question marks, without a single repetition of that moment when through the lines he had caught a glimpse of what looked like a great vault lit up by trembling candle flames.
So he decided that, as often as possible, he would make a point of seeking out situations that had this special significance for him; and his gaze would often settle on Basini, particularly when he thought no one was watching him as he moved quite innocently among all the others. “One day,” Törless thought to himself, “it will come alive again, perhaps even more clearly and vividly than before.” And when it came to questions of this kind he was comforted by the thought that a person might find himself in a darkened room, where, if he couldn’t discover the way out, there would be nothing to do except feel his way round the dark walls with his fingers on the off-chance that he might stumble across it.
At night, however, these thoughts lost some of their intensity. He felt a certain shame for having shied away from his original intention, which was to try to find an explanation in the book that his maths tutor had shown him, and which may have contained one. He lay there in silence, listening to Basini’s breathing, this defiled body that was sleeping as peacefully as all the rest. He lay perfectly still, like a hunter in his hide, with the feeling that his long wait would eventually be rewarded. But no sooner had the idea of the book reappeared than a sharp, nagging doubt began to gnaw away at his peace of mind, along with the suspicion that he was wasting his time, and what was almost an admission of defeat.
As soon as this vague sensation made its presence felt he lost the sense of satisfaction with which we stand back and observe the progress of a scientific experiment. It was as if Basini were exerting a physical influence, the kind of temptation we feel when a woman is lying asleep beside us and we can draw back the covers whenever we choose: a tickling in the brain that comes from the knowledge that all we have to do is reach out our hand… The same thing that drives young couples to excesses that go far beyond their sexual needs.
Depending on how clear it was to him that this undertaking might seem absurd if he knew everything that Kant, his maths tutor or anyone else who had finished their education knew, or on how violently he was shaken by this idea, the sensual impulses that kept his eyes wide open and burning despite the silence and sleep all around him either grew stronger or died down. There were moments when they blazed so brightly that all other thoughts were suppressed. If he surrendered half-willingly, half-despairingly to their suggestions he was no different from the majority of people who have never indulged in such a wild, orgiastic and soul-wrenching fit of sensuality, except when their self-confidence is shattered by a defeat.
Once or twice around midnight, when he finally drifted off into a fitful sleep, he thought he saw someone get up in the vague area of Reiting’s or Beineberg’s bed, fetch a coat and walk over to where Basini slept. Then they left the dormitory together… but it might just have been his imagination.
14
NOT LONG AFTERWARDS there were two days’ holiday, and as these fell on a Monday and Tuesday the headmaster let the boys have the preceding Saturday off as well, giving them a four-day exeat. For Törless, however, there wasn’t enough time to make the long journey home; he had hoped his parents might visit, but his father had urgent business to attend to at the Ministry and his mother didn’t feel up to making the exhausting trip alone.
It was only when he received their letter telling him, amid a host of affectionate consolations, that they wouldn’t be able to come that he realized it suited him perfectly. At this point it would have been almost a disruption – or at least slightly awkward for him – if he had had to face his parents.
Many of the others had been invited to nearby estates. Dschjusch, whose parents owned a beautiful property a day’s drive away, was going there, taking Beineberg, Reiting and Hofmeier with him. He had invited Basini as well, but Reiting had ordered him to decline. Törless made the excuse that he still didn’t know whether his parents were coming or not; he was in no mood for the innocent and frivolous entertainment of a house party.
By midday on Saturday the vast school building was silent and virtually deserted.
When he walked along the corridors his footsteps echoed from one end to the other; as most of the masters had either gone hunting or on various other trips, there was no one to take an interest in him. The few other boys who had remained behind only saw each other at mealtimes, which were now served in a small room next to the empty refectory; afterwards their footsteps disappeared back into the great maze of rooms and corridors, as if the silence of the place had swallowed them, and for the rest of the time their existence was no more noticeable than the spiders and woodlice in the cellars and attics.
From Törless’s class only he and Basini had stayed behind, apart from one or two who were in the sanatorium. Before Reiting left, Törless had had a private word with him about Basini. Reiting was worried that he would take advantage of the occasion to ask one of the masters to protect him, so he made Törless promise to keep a close eye on him.
But Törless didn’t need a reason to concentrate his attention on Basini.
The hustle and bustle of carriages drawing up at the main entrance, servants carrying trunks, boys laughing and joking as they said goodbye to each other, had barely died away before he was seized by the overpowering awareness that he was alone with Basini.
After lunch, Basini was sitting in his usual place at the front of the classroom, writing a letter, while Törless sat in the far corner at the back and tried to read.
It was the same book as before, the first time he had opened it for a while, and he had planned the situation in detail: Basini in front, himself behind, with his eyes fixed on the other boy, boring into him. This was how he wanted to read. With every page he sank deeper and deeper into Basini. This was how it had to happen; it was how he would discover the truth without letting life, this living, breathing, complex and ambivalent life, slip through his fingers…
But it was no good – as always when he had planned something in too much detail. It lacked spontaneity, and his mood soon changed to the stubborn, cloying ennui that always seemed to cling to any of his overly self-conscious attempts.
Angrily he tossed the book ont
o the floor. Basini looked round, startled, but quickly went back to his letter.
The hours and minutes dragged on into dusk. Törless just sat there, bored out of his mind. The only thing that relieved the all-enveloping droning sensation was the sound of his watch ticking: it wagged away behind the listless hours like a little tail. Everything in the room was blurred, indistinct… Basini must have finished writing his letter long ago… “Ah,” thought Törless, “he probably doesn’t dare to light the lamp.” Was he even still sitting in his place? Before he looked out of the window at the bleak, twilit countryside his eyes had to become accustomed to the darkness in the room. “Oh yes, that shadow over there, the one that isn’t moving, that must be him. He sighed just now – once, or was it twice – or is he asleep?”
A servant came and lit the lamps. Basini gave a start, rubbed his eyes. Then he got up and fetched a book from his locker and seemed to be getting on with some work.
Törless was dying to speak to him, and so to stop himself he hurried out of the room.
That night he came close to throwing himself on Basini. After a day of mind-numbing boredom his sensual nature was violently aroused, but luckily he fell asleep just in time.
Another day went by. It brought only the same empty, unproductive calm. The silence, the ceaseless anticipation left him in a state of overexcitement, the constant effort of concentration took up all his mental energy to the point where he was unable even to think.
Shattered, and so disappointed with himself that he was wracked with self-doubt, he went to bed early.
For a while he lay there half-asleep, restless and burning, and then he heard Basini come in.
Without moving a muscle he watched the vague shape as it walked past the foot of his bed; he heard the sound of clothes being taken off; then the rustle of covers as they were pulled up over a body.
He held his breath, although by now he was in no state to hear anything. And yet he couldn’t help feeling that Basini wasn’t asleep either, that like him he was lying there in the darkness, alert and listening.
The quarter-hours turned into hours. Every now and then there was the faint sound of a body turning over in its sleep.
Törless was kept awake by a bizarre state of agitation. The day before it had been the sensual images created by his imagination that had brought on this fever. Only at the very end had they begun to have a connection with Basini, as if the unyielding hand of sleep that always chased them away had held back at the last minute, leaving him with just a vague memory. Tonight, however, he had felt a compulsive urge to go over to Basini’s bed from the very start. As long as he sensed that Basini was awake and listening for him, then it was as much as he could do to control this desire; but now that the other boy was almost certainly asleep, this was joined by a savage impulse to jump on him like a wild animal attacking its prey.
Already he could feel his muscles twitching, ready to make him sit up and get out of bed. And yet he was unable to shake off his immobility.
“But what am I actually going to do to him?” he wondered, almost talking out loud in his anxiety. Because he had to admit that the cruelty and sensual desire in him didn’t seem to be aimed at anything in particular. If he were to fling himself on Basini, he would be terribly embarrassed. So didn’t he even want to give him a thrashing? Heaven forbid! How on earth would that help assuage his feelings of arousal? The thought of various boyish vices went through his mind, but instinctively he recoiled in disgust. Show himself up in front of someone else? Never!…
Yet the stronger his feelings of revulsion became, the more he felt impelled to go over to Basini’s bed. Although he was well aware of the folly of such a course of action, in the end it was as if a physical impulse was dragging him out of bed like a rope. And so, as the images faded from his mind and he kept telling himself that the best thing to do would be to go to sleep, almost mechanically he sat up in bed. Slowly, very slowly – all the time realizing that this psychological restraint could only gain ground over his opponent step by step – he got up. First an arm… then his upper body, then he slipped one knee out from under the covers… and then… and then suddenly he was hurrying barefoot across the room and sitting on the edge of Basini’s bed.
Basini was asleep.
He even seemed to be having a pleasant dream.
Törless still hadn’t regained control of himself. For a moment he sat perfectly still, staring down at the sleeping face. Flashing through his mind were those brief, disjointed thoughts, the simple observations that come to us when we lose our balance, fall over, or when something is snatched from our hand. Then without knowing what he was doing he took Basini by the shoulder and shook him awake.
The sleeping boy stretched lazily a couple of times, then woke with a start and looked up at Törless with dream-filled eyes.
Törless was gripped with fear; he was totally at a loss: for the first time he realized exactly what he was doing, and had no idea what he ought to do next. He felt utterly ashamed. The pounding of his heart was audible. Explanations and excuses were on the tip of his tongue… He was going to ask Basini if he had any matches, if he knew what time it was…
Meanwhile Basini kept staring vacantly up at him.
Without saying a word, he had by now let go of Basini’s shoulder; he had by now shifted to the end of the bed, ready to creep back to his own – but then Basini suddenly seemed to understand what was happening and sat up.
Törless stood at the foot of the bed, hesitating. Basini gave him another searching look, then quickly got up, put on his coat and slippers and shuffled across the room towards the door.
In a flash Törless knew this wasn’t the first time.
On the way out he got the key to the attic room from under his pillow.
Basini led him straight there. Although they had always kept the room’s existence a secret from him, he seemed to know the way perfectly. He held the crate steady as Törless jumped down onto it, moved the scenery aside carefully and quietly like a well-trained flunkey.
Törless opened the door and they went in. As he went to light the lamp he had his back to Basini.
When he turned round, Basini was standing in front of him completely naked.
Instinctively he stepped back. The unexpected sight of this snow-white body, behind which the red of the walls took on the aspect of blood, both dazzled and disconcerted him. Basini had a beautiful physique; still showing few traces of manhood, it had all the delicate slenderness of a chaste young girl. For Törless, this image of nudity was like hot white flames blazing through his nervous system. He was powerless to resist this beauty, its authority. Up till now he hadn’t realized what beauty was. After all, what did he know of art! For someone his age, used to being out in the fresh air, old paintings were dull and incomprehensible.
But now it came to him by way of sensuality. A surprise attack. From the bare flesh radiated a beguiling warm breath, a soft, lascivious cajolery; and yet there was something compelling and solemn about it that made him want to join his hands in prayer.
Once the initial shock had passed he felt ashamed, as much of himself as for the other boy. “This is a man, after all!” The thought filled him with indignation, yet he sensed that if it had been a girl, things would have been little different.
Filled with embarrassment, he snapped at Basini: “What’s got into you! You’d better… right now!…”
It was the other boy’s turn to be disconcerted; hesitantly, not taking his eyes off Törless for a second, he bent down and picked up his coat.
“Sit over there!” Törless ordered. Basini did as he was told. Törless leant against the wall, hands behind his back.
“Why did you take your clothes off? What were you expecting?”
“I just thought…”
Basini hesitated.
“What were you thinking of?”
“The others…”
“What others?”
“Beineberg and Reiting…”
&nb
sp; “What about Beineberg and Reiting? What did they do? You have to tell me everything! I demand it, do you hear? Even though I’ve already heard about it from them.” Törless blushed at this clumsy attempt at lying. Basini bit his lip.
“Well?”
“No, please don’t make me tell you! Please don’t! I’ll do anything you want, but don’t make me tell you… Oh, you’ve got such a strange way of tormenting me!…” There was hatred, fear and desperate pleading in Basini’s eyes. Unwittingly, Törless relented.
“I’ve no intention of tormenting you. I simply want to get you to admit the truth. It might even be for your own good.”
“But I haven’t done anything worth talking about.”
“Oh really? So why did you get undressed just now?”
“Because they made me.”
“Why did you do what they told you? Are you a coward? A miserable, pathetic coward?”
“I’m not a coward! Don’t say that!”
“Hold your tongue! If you’re afraid of them hitting you, just wait till I get started!”
“I’m not afraid of them hitting me.”
“Oh no? So what are you afraid of?”
Törless began speaking calmly again. He was already annoyed with himself for making vicious threats. But they had slipped out unintentionally, because he had the impression that Basini was taking liberties with him that he wouldn’t take with the others.
“So if, as you say, you’re not afraid, then what is it?”
“They say that if I do whatever they want, then after a while everything will be forgiven.”
“Who by? The two of them?”
“No, by all of you.”
“How can they make promises like that? I’m entitled to have my say as well!”
“They say they’ll take care of that!”
This came as a shock to Törless. He was reminded of what Beineberg had said, that if the occasion arose Reiting was quite capable of treating him in the same way he did Basini. And if it should come to a conspiracy against him, what could he do about it? He was no match for them in matters of that sort, and in any case how far would they go? As far as with Basini? His whole being rebelled against such a pernicious notion.