ROSSHALDE by Hermann Hesse

Author:Hermann Hesse [Hesse, Hermann]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: english, no cover, archivio inglese
Published: 2012-02-07T10:56:08+00:00

9

The painter had worked on toward evening. Now, deadened wih fatigue, he sat for a while in his armchair, his hands in his lap, utterly drained, with slack cheeks and slightly inflamed eyelids, old and almost inert, like a peasant or woodcutter after heavy toil.

He would have liked best to remain in his chair and surrender to his fatigue and craving for sleep. But habit and stern discipline would not let him; after ten or fifteen minutes he jolted himself awake. He stood up and without so much as a glance at the painting went down to the landing, undressed, and swam slowly around the lake.

It was a milky-pale evening; muffled by the woods, the sound of creaking hay wagons and the weary cries and laughter of farm hands returning from the day's work could be heard from the nearby road. Veraguth stepped shivering out of the water, carefully rubbed himself warm and dry, went into his little living room, and lighted a cigar.

He had planned to write letters this evening, now he opened his desk drawer without conviction, but irritably closed it again and rang for Robert.

The servant appeared.

"Tell me, when did the boys get back with the carriage?"

"They didn't, Herr Veraguth."

"What, they're not back yet?"

"No, Herr Veraguth. I only hope Herr Albert hasn't tired the bay too much. He tends to be a little hard on the horses."

His master did not answer. He would have liked to spend half an hour with Pierre, who, he supposed, had returned long ago. Now he was angry and rather frightened at the news.

He ran across to the manor house and knocked at his wife's door. There was astonishment in her answer, he never came to see her at this hour.

"Excuse me," he said, repressing his agitation, "but where is Pierre?"

Frau Adele looked at her husband with surprise. "The boys have gone for a drive, don't you remember?"

Sensing his irritation, she added: "You're not worried?"

He shrugged his shoulders impatiently. "No. But it's thoughtless of Albert. A few hours, he said. He might have phoned at least."

"But it's still early. They'll surely be back before dinner."

"The little fellow is always gone when I want to spend a little time with him."

"There's no point in getting excited. These things happen. Pierre spends plenty of time with you.

He bit his lips and left without a word. She was right, there was no point in getting excited, there was no point in being intense and demanding anything of the moment. It was better to sit there patient and indifferent as she did.

Angrily, he went downstairs and out through the gate to the road. No, that was something he had no desire to learn, he wanted his joy and his anger. What a damper this woman had already put on him, how temperate and old he had become, he who had formerly prolonged happy days boisterously into the night and smashed chairs in anger. All his bitterness and resentment rose up in him, and at the same time an intense longing for his boy, whose voice and glance alone could give him joy.

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