Two Little Misogynists/Chapter 5

by Carl Friedrich Georg Spitteler

V
GEROLD AND GESIMA

änsli insisted on a regular marching order. It wasn't a girl's place, he decided, to walk on equal terms with two cadets in uniform. Gesima must stay ten steps behind. She made no objection, and appeared to assent to his pretensions, but every time Hänsli turned round to make sure that she was keeping her distance, she seemed to him to be a little nearer. Gesima protested energetically that she was not, but Hänsli halted the column and measured the distance. "You see, now it's only eight steps."

He put her where she belonged, gave the order "Forward! March!" and the quarrel at once began again. Then he ordered Gesima to walk the same distance ahead, so that he could control her more effectively. Again she obeyed without protesting but this time adopted a pace that might be called adagio molto quasi lento ritardando. The cadets were forced to crawl along just as slowly as she did, for otherwise it would be their fault that the distance wasn't kept. Not content with this, she kept stopping all the time to tie her shoe or to do up her dress, so that the van advanced more slowly than the rear guard.

"Gesima, I give you a bad mark in deportment," Hänsli concluded in an angry tone. After that he let the march go on anyhow.

Although it was still early, hardly nine o'clock, the sun was bright and hot. Gradually the infantryman's cartridge-box began to bother him, not that it was too heavy, but because the leather strap rubbed his shoulder and made him uncomfortable. So he pulled off the troublesome thing and hung it on Gesima's shoulder. All she did was to draw herself together so as to make herself thin and she slipped through the strap like a little fish through a net, the cartridge-box falling to the earth. This proceeding was repeated several times, till Hänsli said threateningly, "If you play that trick again, Gesima, I will leave the cartridge-box on the ground."

"All right, leave it there," she answered, letting it fall again, and Hänsli marched on looking unconcerned, as if he had nothing to do with that black piece of luggage. But he kept peering furtively back at it all the same. A peasant boy, with an expression of astonishment on his face, finally picked up the singular thing, and then Hänsli ran back, shouting at him in protest, and wrested his property out of the boy's hands. But the next time he tried to make a pack animal out of the little girl, his brother interfered angrily, remarking that Hänsli had better carry his own cartridge-box. The infantry soldier was not at all inclined to tolerate this domineering tone from a simple artilleryman, and a heated altercation followed, illustrated with various zoölogical allusions which were not flattering. In natural progression, the taunting laugh was followed by the insult direct.

"Lady's man!" screamed Hänsli, and fled across the fields at a mad gallop as if the devil were after him, followed desperately by his brother, who, however, dropped far behind on account of his stouter build.

From that moment on, it was Hänsli who kept his distance, and no ten steps, but a hundred, or even two hundred. Every few minutes he repeated the insult from behind some corner or bush, but always full of apprehension and ready for sudden flight.

"We won't bother about him. Let him alone," Gerold said loftily, after he was convinced that he could not possibly catch Hänsli. "See, there's a path leading into the forest. We'll hide from him."

"But suppose we get lost?"

"Suppose we do. Are you afraid?"

"I don't mind the big black ants as much as the tiny red ones."

Gerold promised to defend her from every kind of ant, the black as well as the red, and she followed him into the forest, through a screen of hanging branches which came so near the ground that they had to stoop as if to enter a cave. On the other side they found themselves in a dark fir forest, cool and cut off from the rest of the world. The dry resilient ground, covered with pine needles, offered an elastic footing as if there were some kind of spring under the soil. No brush, no ivy, nothing to hinder their steps except from time to time a big root! And the ground sounded deep and hollow, as if they were walking over a vault. This proved to be such fun that the two deserted the path and followed the inviting slopes of the gently undulating ground with its depressions and hillocks. They leapt over the little valleys and ran rushing up the knolls.

All at once, just as they reached the top of a new hillock, they discovered, below them and deep in the forest, a majestic stream, flowing noiselessly. The current, though rapid, was smooth, without a wave. Sparkling patterns, like watered silk, played over the surface.

"The Aar," Gesima explained, proud of her knowledge.

Gerold contested this assertion. "The Aar is not here but at Aarmünsterburg."

"That doesn't prove anything. The Aar may be in Aarmünsterburg and here too!"

"Please, Gesima, don't talk nonsense. Nothing can be in two different places at the same time."

"Yes, a river can, because it moves. If it had to stay in Aarmünsterburg, the Aar would have to be always chasing its own tail."

Gerold meditated deeply over the subject. Finally he had to give up. "Gesima, you are right. You are clever," he said.

An Aar in a forest is not a usual sight, and it was worth looking at a little longer. So they sat down in the hollow between the two boles of a double pine tree and in perfect peace of mind gazed motionless on the quiet flow of the rapid river. Over their heads, a wood-pecker's sharp rat-tat-tat broke the silence.

Gerold, feeling more and more serious and thoughtful, spoke in a low voice, "Don't you remember living once before, a long time ago, another life, and in a different shape?" And since she said that she certainly did not, he confessed to her that he remembered having once been a stork.

"Didn't you get tired," she asked, "of standing for hours on one leg? Wasn't it disgusting to eat raw snakes and lizards?" She wondered how he managed to fly about, with all his weight to carry.

"Well, anyhow," he said eagerly, "you must have noticed that sometimes one lives over the same things twice?"

"No, I never noticed that. It would be a hard thing to notice, because it isn't true."

Thereupon he again fell into deep thought. All at once he looked at her steadily, with a superior and enigmatic expression.

"What is the heaviest thing in the world?"

"An elephant," she guessed quickly.

"No."

"A hay cart."

"No. The thing that weighs most in the world is being forced to say 'I beg your pardon' to somebody."

She laughed. "Oh no. I say that every day to Papa or Mamma, when I've done some stupid thing."

He looked at her with wonder, as if she belonged to a superior race, and shook his head.

"And next, what's the hardest thing in the world to do?"

"Not to squabble with one's brother.

"Well, of course. But I mean something else. The hardest thing is to bow to somebody."

"Are you as stiff as all that?"

"I don't mean that. I could bow if I felt like it. I mean I am a Swiss, and a Swiss ought not to have to bow down to anybody."

"Papa is Swiss too, but he bows all the same, and he makes lovely deep bows when he meets one of Mamma's friends in the drawing-room. If you can't bow, you can't ever go to any parties, or dance."

"Oh yes, I know how to dance all right. Only when they say, 'Bow!' I always do just the opposite. I stand up straight as an arrow."

"Well then, I won't ever dance with you, anyhow."

"You don't have to, if you don't want to. I have a partner already for dancing school. I don't like her much, but at least she hasn't got a lot of ugly red hair like you… Don't get up! Stay sitting here. I'm going to run down and skip some stones."

"Aren't you forbidden to go near the Aar alone?"

"Mamma forbade me, but Papa is a soldier and he knows that danger means honour. Of course he pretends to be angry if we do daring things, but he really likes it and we know he does, by the way he looks. But you won't move, will you? Promise? On your honour? You know, I am responsible for you."

"When I have been told not to do something, I don't need to be cautioned. I don't do it. That's all."

So he ran down the slope to the Aar, where he walked along the bank behind the willows, looking for a good place from which to skip stones. Now that he was so near, the river did not seem as silent as it had before, but gave forth a strange, monotonous, growling sound.

"Don't go too near the water, and don't go too far away!" Gesima's voice warned from above.

"I can swim six strokes," he retorted proudly.

Further on in the forest, the river struck a rocky wall, round which it swirled with rapidly turning eddies. Near this place, a deep shady pool attracted Gerold, partly because it looked so terribly mysterious, and partly because at this spot, a peninsula of broken shale ran out, triangle-like, into the river with its point in the water. There he was sure to find a lot of suitable missiles. Stepping slowly, he ventured out, holding his breath in trembling suspense, so that he heard the beating of his heart. It seemed to him as if the eager stream wanted to attack him on three sides at once, to beat him down, and carry him away. The uniform roar of the water sounded now like a deep-mouthed howl.

After picking up a smooth flat stone, he spread his legs apart, settled himself solidly and sent it gliding horizontally over the surface. Once, twice, three times it touched the water. Splashes of milk-white foam rose in the air and fell back-slap-on the gloomy pool, disappearing as if they had been snapped up by a crocodile.

What an idea! Crocodiles in the Aar! But just the same, if one had any imagination, one could fancy one saw two staring crocodile's eyes over there near the green eddy, and even see several crocodiles drifting down stream, one behind the other, cunningly hidden under the reflections in the water, and lying motionless, pretending to be dead.

What an absurd fancy! But wasn't he himself now sailing down the river together with the island on which he stood and giddily stretching out his arms for something to hold on to? Wasn't that a huge water snake, slipping round the forest's edge and coming after him quick as lightning? But what foolishness! That must all be an illusion, mere imagination! If only that stupid Gesima would stop her silly screaming! Really she could end by muddling one's head completely.

"Be quiet!" he shouted. And then, "What foolishness," he went on to himself, "She'll make me afraid too, with her silly terror!" And he was stooping to pick up a second pebble when he was struck by the sight of an odd white object among the slates. It was a big piece of paper, held down with stones on its four corners, and lying scarcely a yard away from him, so close to the water that it was nearly washed by the foam. He approached it curiously and carefully, seized it quickly, and examined it. Something was written on it, in pencil to be sure, but legible. He spelt it out: "I stood on this spot four long hours. Then, thinking of my mother, I retraced my steps. (Signed) Max, surnamed The Foolish Student."

Gerold knelt down quickly and took his pencil out of his pocket. Using the stones as a desk, he leaned on his elbows and hastily scribbled a postscript on the paper: "You horrid man! Nobody can stand you, not even your own father. (Signed) Gerold." Then he weighted the document down again with stones. It had become both a provocation and a challenge.

After that he tried to begin skipping stones again. But suddenly he found it was too much for him. The unceasing howl of the roaring stream, the irresistible attraction of the onrushing torrent, the dizzy wheeling of the quick eddies with their monstrous eyes and smacking lips, the treacherous footing beneath him, which seemed at every moment about to slip down stream without giving any warning, perfidiously, all these things undermined his courage by degrees and finally overwhelmed him with a sudden terror.

"Fly, fly from this infernal water!" his heart seemed to cry aloud. And his pride was only just strong enough to enable him to walk calmly and haughtily as far as the bank. As soon as he reached it and felt safe again, he ran up into the forest as if for his life.

Gesima, weeping because of her terror, and scolding him at the same time, sprang towards him and seized him by the arm. She dragged him off after her, not knowing where, only away from the dangerous river, away from the dismal forest. Both of them felt as if the iridescent monster were climbing up the hill behind them, on their trail. They began to run. They ran till nothing more could be heard of the dreadful song of the water, and then, at last, they stopped, with sighs of relief. Gerold hastily told all about the Foolish Student's paper which he had discovered on the bank. Gesima turned up her nose in scorn. "A dreadful man! He eats frogs' hind legs, and roasted snails. If only he had drowned himself! Mrs. Balsiger may like him, I don't. But how shall we get out of the forest?"

The merry tinkle of harness bells showed them in what direction to go, and sooner than they expected, they emerged from the woods into the full light of joyous day.

"Never again will I leave the highway with you," said Gesima. "I prefer to stay in the broiling sun. When I'm cooked, you may make a pie of me and eat me if you like!"

After their cold shudders beside the dark river, they experienced a wonderful relief, an expansion of spirit, in the hot sun-bath on the highway. Their courage returned, and as a reaction from their fright and anxiety, they began to chat happily. They described to each other the delights of their recent holidays, Gerold telling of the joys of unrestrained rambles in the fields, of adventures in the meadows and woods, in villages and stables, and Gesima explaining the tranquil and cultivated pleasures of Mr. Balsiger's home. She told about the statues on the staircase, the pictures on the walls, the bookcases full of splendid picture-books, the music after supper when Mrs. Balsiger played the piano, Mr. Balsiger the violin, and frequently the pastor brought his 'cello.

But Gerold soon stopped listening to Gesima's monotonous, chirping prattle. His thoughts wandered off in the clouds, and in place of thoughts, all sorts of vague fancies floated through his mind, gradually melting into his favorite and cherished dream. He saw himself as the Commander-in-Chief of all the Cadets of Switzerland, fighting in a dreadful battle against a league of all the Cadets of Europe. Cannon thundered, and powder smoked until one's eyes were blinded. Victory was assured, the enemy, abandoning all his cannon, was in flight. But suddenly, behold! the Commander of the hostile cadets, a boy as beautiful as an angel, in a white uniform, with a gold scarf and gold trimmings, falls off his horse, severely wounded. And Gerold himself, forcing his way up, impetuously heedless of friend and foe, reaches his side, helps him to stand up, consoles him kindly, sets him free on parole, and promises him all possible care and generous treatment. How sweet is the look of gratitude in the beautiful prisoner's blue eyes!

Gesima nudged him with her elbow.

"What are you thinking about?"

He blushed and came back to earth with a start. She said he had better tell her about Aarmünsterburg instead of striding along beside her without saying a word.

So he told her about Aarmünsterburg, speaking first at random, of anything that came into his mind. Usually he hated Aarmünsterburg, the city where his school was, the dreary city, associated with lessons, marks, reports, reproaches, and detention. But, queerly enough, today when he was away from it all, and describing it to somebody else, what he generally hated seemed interesting and worth telling about. As Gesima listened to him attentively, little by little he became really talkative. She asked him what went on in a theatre, and if he had ever heard an opera. "Oh yes," and his eyes flashed. He had been to see "The Daughter of the Regiment." And now, with enthusiasm, he described all the wonders he had seen and heard there, the orchestra with all the marvellous instruments, the stage with the curtain before it, and the shifting scenes. He told her the story of the opera, sang the songs he loved most, and worked himself up to such a pitch that he gesticulated and acted the parts, entirely forgetting where he was.

During all this Gesima stared at him, never turning her great bright eyes away, rapturously sharing his enchantment, carried away with wonder by the splendours he was describing and even more by his enthusiasm. In her innocent little heart, it was the first spark of intellectual fire which she had ever felt. Then, with an earnest sigh and worshipful delight, he told her about Mary, the exquisite heroine of the Opera, as different from ordinary girls as an angel from a sinner. She was brave and daring, her courage showed even in her walk and her expression. She looked and saluted quite like a soldier, in her little uniform with the short skirt and the little cap hung from her waist. Oh! how beautiful she was, with her red, white and blue scarf! Her mouth was small and delicate. Her eyebrows were wonderful, and she frowned with them when she got angry.

And wherever she went, whatever she did, she shed a kind of radiance, entirely different from all the other actors on the stage. And how she sang! much sweeter and higher than all the others! When she trilled, her voice seemed to come out of her throat all of its own accord. But the finest thing of all was when she stamped her foot and said "Go to the Devil." Once she even said "Damn."

"I can say 'Go to the Devil' too," Gesima whispered, somewhat sorrowful and jealous.

"You?"

He gazed at her as if she had promised him St. Peter's miraculous draught of fishes. And when she actually stamped her foot and shouted loudly and clearly "Go to the Devil! Damn!" he shrieked with joy and hugged her rapturously several times.

Suddenly he let her go, and turned his eyes into the distance, as if he had caught sight of an important thought there. Then he put both hands on her shoulders and looked solemnly into her face.

"Will you please be my partner at the school party next winter? You needn't be ashamed to go with me, because in the late autumn I'll be promoted and I'll be an Officer. When I go to the party I'll have a sword hanging down, and a broad red sash with tassels and fringes reaching to my knees. And I'll have gold grenades embroidered on my collar and facings, which are black velvet, you know. And patent-leather boots, and white breeches of course. Will you, Gesima?"

"Yes, on one condition, that you bow to me."

He gave a short little bow from the waist, as if he were hinged there.

"All right, but I'd expect better bows than that from an Officer—nicer and deeper. When you bow, anybody would know right away that you were a stork once upon a time. Look! I'll show you."

She led him into the shade of a nut tree beside the road, and there, on the turf, gave him a little supplementary dancing lesson. After some time, when he had succeeded in making a pretty good bow, they shook hands, and promised each other solemnly to be partners at the Cadets' Ball. Then they proceeded on their journey, sworn friends and comrades, feeling cordial and intimate with each other. And their recent understanding gave them such a sense of harmony that they began to sing a duet, which they repeated again and again,—the joyful scene of victory in the "Daughter of the Regiment." The more they sang it, the more they loved it. As they sang, Gerold began to swing Gesima's arm, playfully pushing it away and catching it as it swung back, and her arm responded as light as a feather to the least touch of his fingers. And as he sang with his face turned upwards it seemed to him as if Gesima were no longer singing by his side, but as if her voice, rising in ever higher and sweeter notes, were filling the whole sky and falling about him in a shower of silvery music. Every one they met on the road took them both in at one glance and smiled kindly as they passed, and looked after them. A troop of small children whom they overtook stared at them in open-mouthed amazement, and the teacher who was with them said, pointing to Gerold and Gesima, "Try to follow their example." And one shrill little voice cried out impertinently, "Tobias with the Angel Gabriel!"