Two Little Misogynists/Chapter 9

by Carl Friedrich Georg Spitteler

IX
THE DAUGHTER OF THE REGIMENT

hat fun it was! They drove through the forest as fast and straight as a bolt of lightning, and without a jar, on the upholstered box. They were high above the ground, half way up to the tops of the trees on which the raindrops were still glittering. And how splendidly the brown horse stepped out! He pulled as if he were loaded with powder and needed only a spark to explode! He looked very queer as they saw him from the box, something like a guitar with his two ears for the screws and the reins for strings. "If I drew a horse from this point of view, would any one know it for a horse?" Gerold wondered. Then the children began to beg to be allowed to drive, just for a moment, or at least to be allowed to hold the whip. Seppli looked thoughtful. "It's a dangerous thing to play with reins and whip when you don't know anything about driving. And the brown horse is as fiery as the devil. He must have cost Dolf a pretty penny. He has just had his oats too. But if you promise to be very, very careful and to mind exactly what I say, and just hold the reins quietly, and not use the whip except when I say, we might try. But on condition that you give me back the reins as soon as I tell you." And he carefully handed over the reins to Hänsli with continued exhortations and advice.

"That's what I call real teaching. If we could get lessons like this in school, and teachers like Seppli, it would certainly be a treat! Wouldn't it, Gerold?"

It was marvellous, the sensation of power up there on the box. A little movement of one's thumb and the whole carriage went in a different direction, just where you wanted it to go! For his part, Gerold was allowed to take the whip, which was passed to him cautiously, from behind.

"But for Heaven's sake, don't wave it around. Hold it straight up like a burning candle, and don't use it except when I say. And when you do use it, just draw it lightly over the horse's back as if you were fishing. And only touch him on the haunches, not anywhere else. Now, gently! Just once! Like cotton on a sore finger!"

Oh joy! As soon as the tip of the whip made a little jump on the back of the horse the speed of the carriage was doubled, as if an electric spark, though only a gentle one, had passed into the animal!

In the meantime, out of the depths of the carriage behind them, came occasional reminders of the presence of Gesima. As an introduction she first gave a little cough.

"Pretend you don't hear," advised Hänsli.

Then began a medley from the "Daughter of the Regiment." Gerold, thinking of the good old times together at Weidenbach, heaved a sigh, but remained firm. Then came some reflections, spoken in an impressive tone and intended for public consumption: she would wear white shoes to the Cadets' Ball, she announced, and her amber necklace. Gerold cocked his ears back toward the carriage, and the whip began so to wobble in his hand that Seppli intervened and the whip was banished. A sort of chant, which ran freely up and down the scale, followed next: "Gesima won't tell anything about the stage coach, and she won't tell how the soldiers Gerold and Hänsli missed it." And after the chant came a little tune:

"We mustn't make fun of the soldier,No, we mustn't make fun of the soldier,Just on account of his grandmamma,Even though she was a stork, la, la."

"Don't let her get you," warned Hänsli. "She is only trying to flatter you. Think of Ulysses and the Sirens."

As a punishment for this remark, a march was drummed on Hänsli's back. He turned around in a fury, and in so doing, turned the carriage into the gutter and Seppli took the reins away from him for good. Then there was silence for a while. But presently a soft, plaintive sighing arose. Gerold, moved to pity, turned around. The sighing grew louder and turned into weeping. "Goodness!" said Gerold, and using Seppli as both spring-board and banister, he tumbled without more ado into the back of the carriage. There he sat down beside Gesima and tried to comfort her, putting his left arm around her and patting her face and knees with his free hand. She stopped crying, but Gerold stayed with her, fearing lest her grief might overcome her again.

Gradually he got sleepier and sleepier, and when he opened his eyes Gesima was no longer beside him but up with Seppli driving, as confident as the fairy in the shell-chariot with the team of stags—and Seppli's milky face smiling so gaily at her that he looked as if he were daubed all over with cream.

"So much the better," thought Gerold. "There is more room for me," and he lay down on his back, and stared up into the sky at the rising columns of thunderclouds, which like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, sloped toward the sun, and already were obscuring it. It would have been nice to see a white peacock fly across the sky, against that dark ground.

Finally sleep closed his eyelids.

The carriage suddenly gave a jerk and Gerold sat up with a start. They were drawn up at the side of the road and Seppli was standing on the ground beside the horse, holding the bridle rigidly. A wonderful looking adjutant, as fresh and smart as if he had just stepped out of a bandbox, was galloping toward them, and Gesima greeted him merrily, calling him Oscar and clapping her hands at sight of him.

"He's my cousin," she explained to the boys.

The officer shouted to her: "Mamma is coming in the carriage." Then he turned to Seppli. "Are you holding that horse firmly enough?"

"There's no danger. I just got down to be sure nothing would happen."

Oscar galloped back a few hundred paces, signalled with his sword, and soon returned escorting a carriage drawn by two horses. It was the same carriage which they had seen in Schoenthal the day before. There was a footman on the box with the coachman, and a very pretty lady was seated inside. Gerold at once recognized her as the lady on horseback whose picture he had seen at the Foolish Student's.

"Mamma!" cried Gesima joyously.

The footman helped Gesima out of the carriage first, then the two boys.

"Get in quickly," the lady said graciously, after Gesima had sat down beside her. "If we don't hurry we shall all get wet. It is thundering already."

Gesima beckoned to them invitingly, and they jumped in. The door of the carriage closed, and they dashed off down the gentle slope into the valley, between villas, gardens and chapels towards the town with its slate-roofed towers and pinnacles.

They had entered the valley and were in sight of the gate of the town, when behold a vision, surely—or a dream, perhaps?-a squadron of dragoons came riding towards them from the direction of the open country. Yes, it was true, real flesh-and-blood dragoons, a whole squadron of them, in gay uniforms and glittering helmets. And on the road which ran parallel to theirs, there was a second squadron! And behind these in the pale light that presaged the thunderstorm, still more, making an incalculable number, an angelic host!

At a sign from the lady the carriage turned to the side of the road, stopped, and the whole fabulous troop,—a regiment, as Gerold explained,—wheeled aside and began to dash past them. The horses moved in close order, clattering the scabbards of the riders. The helmets of the dragoons rose and fell rhythmically with the cadence of hoofs. Once in a while (what rapture to behold!) a frisky horse tried to prance or kick.

"A colonel!" shouted Gerold.

But goodness, how does she dare make signs like that?

Heavens! The idea of waving one's handkerchief at a colonel! But the colonel, instead of looking angry, began to smile, and reining in his steed cantered slowly up to the carriage.

"Papa," cried Gesima.

"My husband," explained the lady.

The cadets looked at each other with awestruck glances. So Gesima was a colonel's daughter! They turned their eyes timidly toward the little girl and looked at her as if she were a being from another sphere.

"Are you all right, all three of you?" asked the Colonel cordially as he rode on. Then the trumpets blared forth a joyous march and the carriage proudly entered the town through the gate, escorted by dragoons both in front and behind. It stopped in a quiet side street before an ancient palace with a severely plain exterior. Gesima and her mother disappeared through the front door and two men-servants in black liveries led the cadets up a flight of wide-carpeted stairs, past a dark blue portière, from behind which one could imagine that Wallenstein might appear. In a guest room they were handed over to some maids

"They need a bath, after the long hot walk in the dust," said one of them. "Madame thought so too." So they were ushered into a bath-room all of marble, and left alone, after being instructed in the use of the shower and the hot and cold water faucets, and shown the soap and the bath towels.

"Well, we are in a fix this time and no mistake," said Gerold when they were lying in the hot bath. "We were very rude to Gesima, and its no use to pretend we weren't."

"It isn't our fault," said Hänsli sulkily. "Why didn't she say her father was a colonel?"

"All right, but what is her father exactly, anyhow? Is he a colonel or is he the Landammann?" asked Gerold.

"That's a foolish question," rebuked Hänsli. "He can be colonel and Landammann at the same time. Let's hope we get off with a lecture and that her father doesn't tell the faculty on us."

Gerold didn't believe at all in this suggestion. "I think most likely they will be extremely nice to us and forgive us. The worst of it is that we shall be awfully ashamed."

When they reappeared in the guest room they were affectionately greeted by the wife of the Landammann. She shook hands with each of them and then said: "Thank you very much indeed for the kindness with which you looked after my little girl, when you did not know her at all."

Gerold looked sadly down at the floor and shook his head.

"Oh no, Frau Landammann, Gesima did not tell you the truth. We were not kind and we did not look after her at all. We were very mean and rude."

She stroked his cheek kindly.

"Well, none of us is perfect, and Gesima isn't, any more than the rest of us. But I would like to ask you one question, and I do not want you to think there is any criticism of you in it, or any lack of confidence. Where did you spend two hours all by yourself, Gerold, while Gesima and Hänsli were having dinner in the Althäusli?"

"In the forest, with the Foolish Student."

"That's not exactly the best company for you. But I know you could not be expected to realize that. Well, let's be glad that everything turned out so well and that you are here safe and sound, all three of you. The trip seems to have been full of adventures, but I think you have become good friends, you and Gesima. As for the dance, Gerold, it is quite all right. You and Gesima shall do everything just as you planned, and I am very glad to have her go with you. Now come to dinner. Gesima is changing her dress and will come later."

Though it was not yet quite evening, everything suddenly got so dark that it was almost necessary to light the lights. You could hardly see to eat. A loud clap of thunder made them all jump. It was the beginning of a magnificent thunderstorm, with an uninterrupted rolling of thunder coming from every part of the heavens, and a flood of pouring rain which came battering down on the steaming roofs in sheets. From time to time a bolt of lightning, instead of slanting from the sky, sizzled across the street like the stroke of a gigantic white hot. sword. Then from the laden clouds the torrents of rain beat down in waterfalls on the houses, twice as hard as before, although one would have said that it could not possibly rain any harder than it was raining already.

The cadets had been a little shy at first, but in the midst of the roar of the storm they began to feel at home; the ice was melted. They helped themselves liberally to the food, and attacked the pudding in good earnest.

"Why not let in some fresh air?" said the Colonel when the thunder had begun to roll farther and farther away, and the rain fell straight down in regular cadence. The little boys stood before the open window, stuck their heads out so as to let the drops splash on their noses, and sang at the top of their lungs: "Oh moon, how silently you go your way,…"

The Colonel began to laugh and told them they'd better sing "Oh, my good friend" instead, because they had stuck together so faithfully on their trip. So they did as he suggested. Then the Colonel's wife asked them whether, by any chance,

they could sing "Home, sweet home," which she loved very much. Hänsli shrugged his shoulders scornfully.

"Why, we sang that when we were in the second class." And they sang it.

"Once more, please. That is, if you are not tired."

When they had repeated it, she asked for it a third time. She held a handkerchief up to her eyes and sighed, and Gerold wondered why any one should want to hear a song several times over when it made one feel sad.

"Exactly what does 'home' mean there?" he said.

The Colonel answered; "No one really knows until he is away from it, very far away."

This answer puzzled Gerold. He would have supposed that it was the other way round.

Meanwhile the rain had ceased, and several spots of bright blue sky were beginning to show through the dingy looking clouds.

"They bring happiness," said the Colonel. "Can you be patient for a while?"

"Yes."

"All right, then, you can have a surprise."

He placed two chairs before the fireplace, facing the fire, and said, "Sit down. Look straight into the fireplace and whatever you do, don't turn around until I ring the bell."

He went into the next room with his wife, leaving the door ajar. The little boys looked into the fireplace with all their might.

"What do you think it will be?" whispered Hänsli. "Do you think it will be a bad surprise?"

"How could it be? There aren't any bad ones."

"The Colonel and his wife are writing something in the next room. I saw them through the crack in the door. I am afraid it is bad, all the same."

The door closed. They gazed still more conscientiously into the fireplace, refraining from any superfluous reflections. A ray of sunlight fell across them; the steel railing of the grate sparkled; the gold frame of the mirror shone; the forked tail of the stuffed pheasant turned blue-green like a peacock's; and the crystal decanter glittered like diamonds.

All of a sudden the bell that was to set them free tinkled sharply. They leaped to their feet. The Colonel and his wife were standing behind them.

"I have written a letter. See! Read the address," said the Colonel. They read: "Captain Guggenbuhler, Aarmünsterburg."

"And I wrote one too," added his wife. They read "Frau Guggenbuhler, Aarmünsterburg."

And there was also a little note scribbled by Gesima. They read: "Captain and Frau Guggenbuhler, Aarmünsterburg."

"As for the contents of the letters, " said the Colonel mysteriously, "the Daughter of the Regiment will tell you about what they say." Then signalling to them with his finger, he led them on tiptoe into the adjoining room, the door of which, giving on the balcony, stood wide open.

"Battalion of Aarmünsterburg Cadets! Forward, march!" The command rang out authoritatively as he pushed them out on to the balcony. And who was it they saw there? Gesima! Dressed as a canteen girl, with a pert little cap decorated with a cock's feather, on her head, and round her neck, as a sign of her office, a little barrel of chocolates on a gold string, from the candy shop. She was standing on a sort of platform, just under the rainbow, as if she were about to jump in it as in a skipping rope. In her right hand she held a finely chased sword, but she held it as far away as she could, as if she were afraid it might move of its own volition. As soon as the brothers stepped out on the balcony, she put on a fierce expression, frowning and knitting her brows, and shouted an order toward the street, striking the railing with her sword:

"Adjutant Oscar Wildstrubel! Darn it! Where is the lazy fellow?"

There was the clink of spurs, and the officer they had seen in the afternoon appeared before the balcony, saluted with his sword and said: "Present! What is the pleasure of her Excellency, the Daughter of the Regiment?"

With a threatening gesture, Gesima swept her sword clear of the rail, and said in the sharp tones of an angry superior:

"By all the Bombs and Grenades of Seville! Attention, Oscar! We, Anita Maria Septuagesima, the Daughter of the Regiment, in the name of our Father, the Colonel Landammann Weissenstein of Bischoffshardt, desire and hereby order that the cannoneer Gerold Guggenbuhler of Aarmünsterburg, and the infantry soldier Hänsli Guggenbuhler of Aarmünsterburg, shall not rejoin the ranks at school day after tomorrow, confound them! No! They are to stay here on vacation all next week till Saturday evening, dash it all! So we can all have a good time together,—Damn!"

And as she said "Damn," she stuck her sword savagely into a geranium pot.

"Your Excellency, everything shall be done exactly as you command," answered Oscar, who then saluted and disappeared.

Gesima stepped down from the platform and passed by Hänsli, who was dancing up and down like a crazy rubber ball, and at the same time counting up on his fingers the extra holidays he was going to get. She went straight up to Gerold, and stood in front of him shyly, asking him by the look she gave him whether he was good friends with her again and whether she was forgiven for everything.

Gerold, leaning back against the balustrade with a look on his face as of a profound philosopher, took the little actress in from head to foot, and again from her feet right up to the top of her head, and finally said, very loud and in a tone of joyous self-conviction:

"I beg your pardon!"