Two Little Misogynists/Chapter 1

​

las for the little cadets, their holidays were over! The two must leave their dear village of Sentisbrugg the next morning and return to the dreary city, to the school with all its jealousies and quarrels.

Until today they had simply refused to believe it. They had vaguely imagined that, when the time came, Nature herself might take a hand and bring about some great event to save them. There might be an earthquake. Anything might happen. There might be a flood, or an epidemic among the teachers; perhaps even a sudden declaration of war!

During all their last afternoon they lay stretched out on the Goat's Rock, looking to left and right to see whether the French cuirassiers weren't galloping up the mountain at full speed, or whether the dark uniforms of the Baden riflemen ​might not be seen amid blaring trumpets. But when the dusk fell they came sadly home, so wreathed about with ivy by the little shepherdesses that they looked like walking arbours.

"Granny is packing the trunk!"

Then they realized that the whole world had forsaken them.

In their trouble they scrambled on top of the stove, dislodging the cat which had curled up on a coat and was deciding whether or no it would have to get down. They sent it rolling to the floor and tucked themselves away in its corner. From their point of vantage they had a sudden view of all the wonderful things which they must leave on the morrow—even the clock-case with the quadrant, and nearby, seated everlastingly in his armchair, their old grandfather on to whose knees they climbed so easily. On the table they saw an idle fly. Lucky insect! Tomorrow when they, alas! would be far on their journey, it could still stay at home and play.

Their grief now became unendurable. They began to cry. Their tears came so easily, without their really knowing that they were coming, that they felt sadder than ever. Then it occurred to them that perhaps even the hearts of their grandparents might be softened if they kept on weeping. So they wailed on, timidly at first, but then as they saw they were producing no effect, more loudly, and in concert. Before long they were howling like lost souls. In the meantime the hot tiles had begun to scorch their legs, and suddenly their howls turned into shrieks of pain. They jumped down, with a great rustling of all their ivy wreaths, roaring like wild creatures in a forest fire.

With fading hopes, but not to neglect any possible chance, they tried a last means of escape from fate. They would be ​taken ill in the night. They were not sure how to go about it. To take cold seemed the surest way. But exactly how could they catch cold? By getting their feet wet, of course. And so, when every one was asleep, after having dipped their feet into a basin they sat on the window-sill in their nightgowns, sticking their wet feet out into the cool night. After this they went to bed to await the expected results.

"Gerold, are you sick?"

Little Hänsli jumped out of bed, his eyes dazzled by the morning sun.

"Oh hang, I'm afraid I'm not. Are you?"

"I feel all right. I haven't even a headache."

All hope was gone. Not a ray was left. Despair fell upon them and filled their hearts with anger against the whole world. They began to berate each other for not getting sick, and their rage culminated in a desperate fight, in which they stamped on each other's feet, and clutched each other by the hair, each trying to push the other up against the wall and hold him there.

Soon Gerold was badly scratched and Hänsli's nose was bleeding. But they had worked off their fury, and the sight of the washbasin lying broken on the floor calmed them completely. In perfect amity they helped each other to dress; Gerold laced the pleated shirt of the little infantry soldier's uniform, and Hänsli buckled on the sword belt of his brother, who was a cannoneer. This last was a laborious undertaking, for Gerold had become considerably plumper during the holidays. At last, dressed and booted and very proud of their fine uniforms, they put on their tasselled shakoes and drawing them over their eyes, stepped out into the hall with shouts of ​exuberant glee, and slid down the banisters as quick as the wind.

Down-stairs they found their grandparents waiting for them, and Grandfather immediately began to give them their instructions for the day. They were not to go back this time in the stage-coach. Their trunk would go alone that way. A very unusual chance had occurred for them to travel without any expense, and they were to…

"Pay attention now to what I tell you. First you are to go to Schoenthal on foot.—Be quiet! you can express your joy later on, but now you are to listen to what I tell you.—You can find your way alone to Schoenthal, which isn't more than an hour and a half, at most, and on the highway all the way. If you started to roll a barrel from Sentisbrugg, it would go down to Schoenthal all by itself. Besides, you are old enough to ask your way if you should have to. I do not think that two twelve-year-old cadets with swords and cartridge belts ought to need a nurse."

"Ten years old," corrected Gerold.

"Nine years old," echoed Hänsli.

"Ten, or nine, it's about the same."

"Dolf might go half way to Schoenthal with them," suggested their grandmother.

"I have no objection to that, but it isn't really necessary. The chimney of the Schoenthal factory sticks up out the trees, like a peewit's head out of her nest. Your godfather, who is Statthalter at Schoenthal, is expecting you to lunch. After lunch Landammann Weissenstein will send his carriage from Bischoffshardt to get his little daughter, who has been spending her vacation in Schoenthal at the home of Mr. Balsiger, the ​

​manager of the factory, and who has to be back in school on Monday, just as you do. You are to drive with her as far as Bischoffshardt."

"Ugh!"

"What do you mean by 'ugh'? What a way to talk! You like to drive, as a usual thing."

"Yes, but the girl!"

"Well, she won't bite, will she? Indeed you ought to feel highly honoured to be allowed to travel with such a refined and well-bred little girl as Gesima Weissenstein… Are you going to let me do the talking, or aren't you?—Now then, you drive with Gesima as far as Bischoffshardt, and you are to spend all day tomorrow at the Landammann's. He will see how he can send you on to Aarmünsterburg on Sunday."

Such were their instructions. Their grandmother then added some advice and a few warnings. Their godfather, the Statthalter at Schoenthal who had invited them to lunch, was not to be trifled with. He was a dreadfully stern gentleman, and everybody was afraid of him. The boys must be particularly careful to behave nicely at his house. When they got there they must not stare impudently at him, as much as to say, "Well, here we are," but they must shake hands politely. And they must not forget that the Statthalter hated his own son Max, the one whom everybody in the Canton called the "Foolish Student." They must never ask how Max is, and if any one mentioned him, they must act as if they didn't hear. Max was a ne'er-do-well.

"Well, Max never ran into debt like Dolf," observed their grandfather, somewhat bitterly, and with a sad sigh. But their grandmother went on with her instructions. They must ​behave nicely to Gesima Weissenstein, for she belonged to very fine people and her father the Landammann would be very severe if they showed any discourtesy whatever. Behaving nicely meant more than not fighting with her or making fun of her. They must be polite and obliging, and must thank her… "Gerold, if the cat bites you it will be your own fault."… As they went by Friedli's Mill some one might ask about Uncle Dolf. They were to answer that everything was all right now, and that there would be a letter with full particulars in a few days. Most especially they must not go into the last inn before they got to Bischoffshardt, for nobody went there except rough common people, whom they must have nothing to do with. "This letter is for the Frau Statthalter, this one for your Mamma and this one you can present at Friedli's Mill. Take our greetings to Papa and Mamma, of course, but the chief thing is not to forget the errands. Tell Monika, the Statthalter's servant, please not to forget the veal for Sunday. And tell the doctor at Schoenthal to come up today, if he possibly can, to see your great-grandmother, and to bring leeches, for she isn't getting on at all well. If there is time in Bischoffshardt…"

"And so on, and so on, and so on," cried the boys, as they scampered out of the room, and sat down squarely before the breakfast table.

When they were all ready for the journey, they began to walk up and down restlessly before the house. A voice called from the window. Didn't they want to say good-bye to their great-grandmother, and to see her for the last time? So they entered the great-grandmother's sickroom, and a strange sight met their eyes. Their young Uncle Dolf was kneeling in tears, ​while their great-grandmother was talking to him in a weak voice. "Now, Dolf," she was saying, "so it is a solemn promise. No more debts. And you will give up Marianneli… and you will not go back the Althäusli, ever again? You give me your word honour?"

Still sobbing, Uncle Dolf gave his promise.

"And you will marry Theresa, Friedli's Mill?"

"Yes," whispered Dolf, so low that they could scarcely hear him.

Great grandmother began say her prayers and grandmother and grandfather kissed Dolf, who immediately ran out of the room, weeping. It was the boys' turn, and their grandparents pushed them towards the old woman's chair.

"Dear children," moaned their great-grandmother. Then, taking her breath after so long a pause that it seemed as if she would suffocate, she murmured…

"Give my love to your mother."

Then she asked to be propped up on her pillows. She stretched out her hands over the heads the children, making a great effort and muttered some incomprehensible words. Gerold understood what she meant, and was struck with fear and awe. It was a benediction, like the benedictions in the Old Testament. He had never imagined that they might still be given, he had thought they were all over a thousand years ago,—over and gone, like miracles. He had thought of a benediction as a joyful, splendid thing, with a golden shimmer around the head of the person who gave it. But his great-grandmother with her swollen limbs, her dim eyes, and the basin of blood beside her, was very sad and ugly to look at. Gerold could have wept. And yet he understood that in giving them her ​blessing great-grandmother was giving the most wonderful gift that any human being could bestow on another. This blessing was to keep them, all their lives, from all misfortunes.

"Thank you very much," he said simply, and Hänsli repeated it. He would have liked to say more of what he felt, but he did not know how.

There was nothing more to hinder their departure now, except that Dolf, who was to go half way down to Schoenthal with them, had not come yet. At last he appeared, and they started at once. They lined up, with their guide on the right, and started off with the left foot; and because they felt so sad at leaving, they marched with great energy and precision.

Evidently Uncle Dolf felt bad. He looked very pale, walked at a little distance from them, and did not say one word to them all the way.

In low voices they gave free expression to their resentment at being obliged to travel with a little girl, enumerating savagely all the faults and follies of girls in general. They looked so queer, their hair was so long, they wore such ridiculous long skirts, they took such little steps, they were so plump, they were such wretched cowards that they hid their faces at the mere sight of a gun, and stopped up their ears if a pistol went off. And they were so feeble! One boy with a few snow-balls could scare away a whole class of girls. They were so vain, and so fond of dress too! They were always in front of a mirror, and they were always sticking ribbons in their hair or around their necks. "Have you ever seen one try to swim?" whispered Gerold. "It's horrid." "And the worst is that they are so deceitful and cunning, and they tell lies," added Hänsli. ​"The postman said so to the postmaster and I heard him. He must know, he is old enough."

Here Dolf unfortunately disturbed their conversation. It was too bad, for they had never been in such perfect agreement on any subject.

"Do you see that yellow factory chimney down there in the valley? That is Schoenthal. You cannot possibly lose your way now, and you will be there in half an hour."

He pointed the chimney out to them. Then he told the two cadets to stand back to back, on opposite sides of the road, each looking out to the fields.

"Gerold, can you keep a secret?" he whispered quietly. Gerold's eyes sparkled with pride.

"Give this letter secretly to Marianneli in the Althäusli, and to nobody else but her. In case you can't find Marianneli, tear up the letter. Do you understand?"

So saying, he took off Gerold's shako, and slipped his letter into the lining of it. Then he gave a command.

"Battalion of Aarmünsterburg Cadets, shut your eyes!"

A collection of various things fell into Gerold's pockets and into Hänsli's cartridge box. "There are some matches, for I smell them," thought Gerold. "Gunpowder," guessed Hänsli, "I can almost see it."

"It all belongs to the two of you, together," explained Dolf. "But Gerold is commander-in-chief of everything… Attention!… Battalion of Aarmünsterburg Cadets, open your eyes! Face Schoenthal!… Fall in!… Forward, quick time, March!…"

The cadets marched off, down the road to the valley, and Dolf turned homeward, up the mountain to Sentisbrugg.

​As soon as he had disappeared in the woods, the children looked at their presents. Just as they guessed, matches, fuses, tinder and gunpowder! But what a wonderful lot of everything! In their wildest hopes and boldest dreams they had never imagined anything like this! It seemed impossible. Surely there were nearly four pounds of the best gunpowder. Gerold panted and drew his breath with difficulty at the extent of his good fortune. Hänsli danced about like a madman.

Suddenly their eyes met and they took a solemn oath. "We swear that before we go back to school we will get all the fun we can, down to the last grain of powder, no matter what happens."

They dashed into the woods toward the cliff, looking for a lonely spot, through bushes and brambles, thickets and thorns, blindly and without a halt, till they came into the warm shadows of a deserted quarry, whose steep walls were overgrown by beech trees. High over the rocks and the trees two birds of prey were circling silently. "Here," ordered Gerold, beginning, like an alchemist, to lay out his material of war on the dryest place on the rock.

But before beginning the ceremonies he addressed a solemn discourse to the little infantryman, speaking of the weight of responsibility which he, as elder brother, felt toward the younger. Standing before his crucible, he spoke of the treacherous ways of gunpowder, invented in Freiburg in the year 1330, by one Berchtold Schwarz, the powder which seems so harmless and which explodes so suddenly in your face. In a condescending manner he gave his brother pyrotechnical explanations concerning powder-trains and mines, not forgetting instructions and devices for the preparation of these weapons. ​Finally, when Hänsli, looking as though thoroughly inspired by these words, had not only promised blind obedience in all respects, but had given actual proofs that he understood entirely, they set to work with great energy. In a short time, thanks to their black magic, the peaceful quarry became a thundering inferno, full of flames and smoke in which the cadets bustled about like salamanders. The powder-trains sputtered and crackled around the bases of the rocks, flashing lightning-like in curious serpentine lines, followed by trains of sluggish smoke. Sprays of crimson sparks shot from the fiendish fires. It was an infernal sight but without any danger whatsoever. One could even hold one's face over the formless little volcanoes. They destroyed themselves, but that was all.

The finest part of the whole thing was certainly the mines. Of course it took a long time to lay them. Think of it, to do all the digging, with no pick or spade, but only your fingers and a small knife! Of course it is a long job. And then you have to carry up grass and leaves, and drag brush and stones from every direction, in order to have them ready to blow up. If you think you can do all this in a minute, you are very much mistaken. But you certainly have your reward for your work! What a crash, when the mine blows up in flames! And the joyful flight of the twigs and the pebbles, whirling around in the air as if they had gone mad! And after the explosions and the fireworks are over, comes the best of all, when a big curly ball of smoke rises straight up over the beech trees, followed by a few little belated earthquakes, and at the very end, a few light clouds of dust, working their way through the moss, like moles.

Every time a mine exploded, the boys rushed to the spot and danced about in the smoke. Finally, when the last bits of ​wood and scattered pebbles were shot up into their faces, they were overcome with happiness and brotherly love. But how were they to show it? In their excitement they chewed some of the gunpowder, showed their teeth to each other, and blew out their sulphurous breath into each other's faces. This may not be a conventional way of expressing friendship, but it is a language which they understood.

Just as they had sprung a new mine, they heard a deep voice quite close to them saying, "What a fine explosion!" Behind them stood a sergeant major of police, with medals on his breast, and gold braid on his sleeves.

Gerold stood rooted to the spot in terror, and Hänsli, without knowing how he got there, suddenly found himself cowering on a rock. "We aren't doing anything we shouldn't," he cried. "Uncle Dolf said we might."

The gendarme calmed them with a smile. "A policeman," he explained, "does not always mean prison. He stands for several other things besides. For instance he is in the service of the Statthalter, who employs him occasionally on perfectly harmless errands.

"My name is Mazzman, and your godfather, the Statthalter of Schoenthal, sent me to see where you have been all this time. He was afraid you had had some accident or that you had lost your way. I can't say that it has been very difficult to find you, for I could hear the explosions even on the highway, and could see the smoke over the tree tops. Come along now, you must be hungry."

Hungry! It was true. They certainly were hungry.