Pictor's Metamorphoses Read Online Free PDF

hindrance, to enter the cool parlor of the Crown. It was much the best room, for in it the young wife of the innkeeper waited on the customers herself; furthermore, at this time of day they could count on being the only guests and could practice their jocular good manners on their hostess.
    The first remarkable thing that all three noticed as soon as they entered and took their seats was this: today, for the very first time, the small, round hostess no longer seemed at all pretty. This, however, was owing to something each of them quickly remarked to himself in silence. Towering above the polished ornate border of the roomy sideboard, in semi-darkness, was the head of a strange and beautiful young maiden.
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    T HE SECOND , no less remarkable thing was that the elegant Herr Erich Tänzer—one of the inner circle of the cénacle and the bosom friend of Karl Hamelt—though seated at the small table immediately beside that of his friends, in no way remarked or acknowledged their arrival. Before him on the table was a half-full glass of light beer, into which he had placed a yellow rose. He sat there slowly rolling his big, somewhat bulging eyes; and for the first time in his life he looked utterly ridiculous. From time to time he lowered his stately nose closer to the flower and sniffed at it, while simultaneously casting a nearly impossible sidelong glance at the unknown woman’s face. Despite the complete transformation of his own visage, hers showed not the slightest change of expression.
    And the third extraordinary thing was that Turnabout, quite calm and composed, was sitting next to Erich. In the old man’s glass, a few drops of Kulmbacher remained; stuck in his mouth was one of the Crown’s Cuban cigars.
    â€œWhat the devil, Herr Turnabout!” Hermann Lauscher exclaimed as he leaped to his feet. “How ever did you get in here? Didn’t I just see you run off toward the upper embankment?”
    â€œAnd didn’t you, not a moment ago, in the fiercest rage, plant your fist in my stomach?” cried Ludwig Ugel.
    â€œNo harm intended,” replied the philosopher, his most winning smile on his lips. “Please don’t take it amiss, dear Herr Ugel! My good sirs, let me recommend the Kulmbacher!” So saying, he calmly drained his glass.
    Meanwhile, Karl Hamelt called out to his friend Erich, who still sat dreamily entranced before the yellow rose in his beer glass. “Erich, are you asleep?”
    Without looking up, Erich answered, “I are not asleep.”
    â€œYou can’t say ‘I are asleep.’ You say, ‘I am asleep!’” cried Ugel.
    But just then, the girl’s head moved from behind the sideboard, and a moment later her whole, lovely, unfamiliar person stood at the friends’ table. “What would the gentlemen like?”
    He who has never stood entranced before a woman’s portrait and suddenly beheld the beauty come to life, stepping forth from the painted landscape, cannot possibly imagine what the cénacle brothers felt at this moment. All three rose from their chairs and made three deep bows, one each.
    â€œLovely, beloved lady!” said the poet. “Most gracious Fräulein!” said Ludwig Ugel. Karl Hamelt was speechless.
    â€œIs it Kulmbacher you’re drinking?” the beauty asked.
    â€œYes, please,” said Ludwig; Karl nodded in assent; Lauscher, though, ordered a glass of red wine.
    While the girl’s slender hands elegantly served the drinks, another round of self-conscious, deferential compliments was paid. Then Frau Müller came running from her corner of the room.
    â€œDon’t make such a lot of fuss, gentlemen, over this silly girl,” she said. “She’s my stepsister and has come here to work because we were shorthanded … Go into the buffet, Lulu; it’s not proper for a young lady to dawdle about with the men.”
    Lulu slowly walked away. The