Pictor's Metamorphoses by Hermann Hesse Page B

poet’s gaze hung on the exquisite image. Lulu nodded at him, smiled again, and said: “I have yet to thank you, my dear Herr Lauscher, for the poem you sent me yesterday. It was a very pretty poem, though I must confess I could not entirely understand it.”
    â€œIt was such an oppressively warm night,” Lauscher said, looking straight into the beauty’s eyes. “May I see the poem again?”
    She gave it to him. After reading it over, he folded it up and hid it away in his pocket. The lovely Lulu looked on in silence, thoughtfully nodding her head. Now they could hear the innkeeper’s footsteps on the stairs. Lulu got up with a start and went back to work.
    The stout little innkeeper came in and greeted Lauscher.
    â€œGood morning to you, Herr Müller!” Hermann Lauscher replied. “This will be the last day I enjoy your hospitality; I’ll be leaving tomorrow morning.”
    â€œBut, Herr Lauscher, I thought…”
    â€œNo matter. I’d like you to put a couple of bottles of champagne on ice, and reserve the back room for tonight’s farewell celebration.”
    â€œWhatever Herr Lauscher wishes.”
    Lauscher left the inn and set off to see Ludwig Ugel. He wanted to spend his last day in Kirchheim in the company of his best friend.
    The sound of morning music already streamed from Ugel’s lodgings on Steingaustrasse. His hair still uncombed, Ugel stood in his shirtsleeves at his coffee table. It was a pleasure to hear him play his fine violin. The little room was filled with sunlight.
    â€œIs it true that you’re leaving tomorrow?” Ugel asked the poet.
    The latter was not a little surprised. “How do you know that?”
    â€œTurnabout told me.”
    â€œTurnabout? The devil could learn a thing or two from him!”
    â€œYes, he’s quite a droll companion. He spent half the night here, going on and on, quite colorfully, about some Princess, some story about a lily garden and the like. And he gave me to understand that I must rescue the Princess; he was disappointed in you, you’re not the true Harp Silversong. Crazy, no? I didn’t understand a word he said.”
    â€œI do,” Lauscher said softly. “The old man’s right.”
    For a while longer he listened as Ugel finished playing the interrupted sonata. As soon as he was done, the two friends left the city arm in arm and made for the Plochingen path that went through the woods. The thought of Lauscher’s leaving made the two friends silent. Morning set the lovely mountains and pastures aglow with warmth. Soon the road turned and led into the deep woods; the two strollers lay down to one side of the road on a patch of cool moss.
    â€œWe ought to make a bouquet for the lovely Lulu,” Ugel said, and, still lying down, began to pluck some ferns.
    â€œOh, yes,” said the other softly, “a bouquet for the beautiful Lulu!” He uprooted a tall shrub that was covered with red blooms. “Add this to it! Red foxglove. I’ve nothing else to give her. Wild, fever-red, and poisonous…”
    He said nothing more; something akin to a sob rose in his throat, bitter and sweet at the same time. Gloomily, he turned away. But Ugel put his arm around Lauscher’s shoulder, turned over on his side, and with diverting gestures directed his friend’s attention skyward, pointing out the wonderful play of sunlight through the bright green leaves. Each of them thought about his love, and they lay there a long time, under the sky and the treetops, in silence. A strong, cool breeze caressed their foreheads; the fateful blue sky of their carefree youth arched over their souls, perhaps for the last time. Ugel began to sing softly:
    The Princess, fair Elisabeth—
    Her name is sunlight, air, and breath.
    Oh, that my own were such a name
    As would bow down to that fair dame,
    To Beauty, to Elisabeth,
    Whose own sweet scent is laden with
    Petals