Read Gertrude for Free Online

and the heart.
    I put the manuscript away and decided to forget all about it for the time being and work really hard during my last few months of study.
    One day I received an invitation from a family with strong musical interests. They were friends of my parents and I used to visit them once or twice a year. It was one of the usual evening gatherings except that there were one or two well-known people from the Opera House there whom I knew by sight. The singer Muoth was also there. He interested me most of all and it was the first time I had seen him at such close quarters. He was tall and handsome, a dark, imposing-looking man with a confident and perhaps already somewhat pampered manner. One could see that women liked him. Apart from his manner, he seemed neither pleased nor proud and there was something in his look and countenance that expressed much seeking and discontent. When I was introduced to him, he acknowledged me with a short stiff bow, without saying anything to me. After a while he suddenly came up to me and said: “Isn’t your name Kuhn? Then I already know you a little. Professor S. has shown me your work. You must not hold it against him; he was not indiscreet. I came up just as he was looking at it, and as there was a song there, I looked at it with his permission.”
    I was surprised and embarrassed. “Why are you telling me about it?” I asked. “I believe the professor didn’t like it.”
    â€œDoes that hurt you? Well, I liked the song very much. I could sing it if I had the accompaniment. I should like you to let me have it.”
    â€œYou liked it? Can it be sung then?”
    â€œOf course—although it would not be suitable for every kind of concert. I should like to have it for my own use at home.”
    â€œI will write it out for you. But why do you want to have it?”
    â€œBecause it interests me. There is real music in that song. You know it yourself.”
    He looked at me, and his way of looking made me feel uncomfortable: he looked me straight in the face, studying me with complete calmness, and his eyes were full of curiosity.
    â€œYou are younger than I thought. You must have already suffered a great deal.”
    â€œYes,” I said, “but I cannot talk about it.”
    â€œYou don’t need to. I won’t ask you any questions.”
    His look disturbed me. After all, he was quite a well-known man and I was still a student, so that although I did not at all like his way of asking questions, I could only defend myself weakly and timidly. He was not arrogant but somehow he inspired my sense of modesty and I could only put up a slight resistance, for I felt no real antagonism toward him. I had a feeling that he was unhappy and that he had an instinctive, powerful way of seizing on people as if he wanted to snatch something from them that would console him. His dark, searching eyes were as sad as they were bold and the expression on his face made him look much older than he really was.
    Soon afterward, while his remarks were still occupying my thoughts, I saw him chatting politely and merrily to the host’s daughter, who was listening to him with delight and gazed at him as if he were a creature out of a fairy tale.
    I had lived such a lonely life since my accident that I thought about this meeting for many days, and it disturbed me. I was too unsure of myself not to stand in awe of this superior man, and too lonely and in need of someone not to be flattered by his approach. Finally, I thought he had forgotten me and his whims of that evening. Then, to my confusion, he visited me at my rooms.
    It was on a December evening and it was already dark. The singer knocked at the door and came in as if there were nothing remarkable about his visit, and without any introduction and superficialities he immediately entered into conversation with me. I had to let him have the song, and as he saw my hired piano in the room, he wanted to sing