Two Little Misogynists/Chapter 2

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heir godfather, the Statthalter, came as far as the outskirts of Schoenthal to meet them. And how he laughed! He began laughing before he met them, with a deep laugh from way down in his chest, which made everyone else laugh too.

"Why, they are black as niggers," he shouted, rousing all the people in the houses along the way, and as they rushed out he pointed to the cadets who were coming along the road. "Just look at them, look at them," he roared. "They're fine healthy boys, real boys, the kind I like."

And even as he spoke he gritted his teeth and clenched his fists at some invisible person, at whom he glared in rage.

When he greeted the boys he put his left arm round Hänsli and his right around Gerold, and hugged them tenderly. Their powder-covered heads smudged his white vest.

"What time do you suppose it is?" he asked with a smile and a mischievous wink.

​"Eleven o'clock," cried the smaller boy.

"One," said Gerold, as an improvement.

Their godfather burst out laughing again. "Well, did you hear that?" he exclaimed. "One! Eleven! Just take my watch out of my pocket and see what it says."

"Four o'clock," said Hänsli, bewildered.

"The watch isn't going," replied Gerold, with a shrewd look.

"Hold it up to your ear then."

It was going, certainly. This time their godfather patted their cheeks tenderly, and said "Good boys," in a caressing tone, as if he were speaking to a horse and stroking its neck. And all the way home he called on everyone to come out and admire the fine, healthy, unaffected boys.

When they reached his house, a slight, pale woman came running out with upraised hands. She wore a worried expression. The Statthalter spoke to her. "Stop! Silence! Not one word of blame; not a syllable! I would give thanks on my knees if I had one of these boys instead of—"

He swallowed the rest of his sentence, rolling his eyes in a ferocious manner. The delicate-looking woman turned back and disappeared.

"Trust to me," he said kindly to the cadets. "My wife means well, but like most women, she doesn't understand children, at least as far as boys are concerned."

But when he started to make them sit down at the table, which was set out of doors, between the oleander bushes near the road, his wife reappeared to protest. Her voice was faint, it is true, but full of tenacity and resolution. She simply could not allow them to sit down to a meal in such a state, with their faces and hands coal-black, and their clothes all dusty and torn. ​The children would have to wash and at least look like human beings before they ate. In the end she won her point in spite of the shrugs of the Statthalter, and the cross faces he made. over the heartlessness and cruelty of women.

So the cadets were shown to a bedroom opening off the court, and there the Statthalter's wife and Monika undressed them. Their clothes were sent to the tailor and their boots to the cobbler for immediate attention and to have indispensable repairs made as quickly as possible, since the children must leave again in an hour. Each in turn, Gerold first, was stood up on a table, scrubbed, combed, curried and brushed. During the process they could hear the Statthalter talking in the next room.

"You set yourself up as a coachman, and a fine private coachman at that. You ought to know, then, that a horse is fed before he is harnessed. The same thing is true of a human being." Didn't he have either pity or common sense, that he was expecting two poor little chaps to set out when they had had nothing to eat from eight o'clock in the morning till four in the afternoon? The coachman made some answer that they could not understand.

"That's all idiotic, foolish rot," stormed the Statthalter. "You have plenty of time to get to Bischoffshardt. Besides, in the cool of the evening it is less dusty and the horseflies are not so troublesome. Only a heartless brute could take it into his head to gallop two wretched horses over the highroad in this sweltering heat till they sweat to death. And the carriage won't go any slower for waiting a half-hour more, will it?"

After that, there was silence in the next room for a while. Then some one said, "Good evening, Herr Statthalter."

​"Good evening, Herr Balsiger. What is it? What can I do for you?"

"I think, Herr Statthalter, that it would be better to let Gesima start alone. The boys can follow tomorrow morning by the mailcoach. In case you shouldn't have room for both of them over night I could take one of them, or both if you like."

"As a general proposition, I see no objection to their spending the night in Schoenthal," the Statthalter answered emphatically, after a moment of hesitation. "For they are nice boys, sturdy and unspoiled. But there is no use being hasty. My rule is, my word is as good as my oath. It was agreed that they should go with Gesima today as far as Bischoffshardt in the Landammann's carriage."

"My rule is the same as yours, my word is as good as my oath. But it was arranged that they should start at two o'clock. It is nearly five now, and when the boys have had their supper it will be nearly six."

"Six o'clock isn't too late. A carriage can get to Bischoffshardt inside of two hours."

"Very well, at six, if they can't start any earlier. But I earnestly beg of you not a minute later."

"One minute more or less makes no difference."

"Excuse me, four hours' delay may make no difference now, but a minute more than that may make some in the end."

The Statthalter suddenly raised his voice and roared so that the walls shook:

"Herr Balsiger, I am a plain man, but a man of feeling. I may not know anything about art or taste or the classics, or any of that humbug, but I know what is right and what is ​wrong, maybe better than some people who think they know a great deal. What law, Herr Balsiger, I ask you, what law says that I have less right than any one else to a little happiness? I never heard of any. And I never should have supposed that you would count out the minutes for me, and be so stingy and so jealous about shortening the time I can spend with these dear little boys, I am a man of feeling, Herr Balsiger. I need a little joy as much as any one else. But where do you think I can get it? Not from my son Max, anyhow. And why should I be the one to have a son like that, a sneak of a son! It's a puzzle even after all these years. And there in Sentisbrugg they are making a fuss and weeping tears over Dolf all on account of a few love affairs and a few thousands of francs of debts! I'd be only too glad to change Max for Dolf! Dolf is intelligent and well-bred, at least, and if he does go a little too far, he is only sowing his wild oats, and he can be punished, but forgiven too. The wildest colts often make the best horses. Think of my son, an unmanly sneak, he can't even look you straight in the face, and he wanders about in the woods from morning to night all by himself, never plays any games or goes to any parties, but thinks he is better than any one else when he is nothing at all and doesn't know anything, and can't do any work. My blood boils when I think of him!"

"We have known for a long time that we do not think the same about Max," replied Herr Balsiger calmly. "At present we are not talking about Max, but about Gesima and the boys. I simply want definite information. Can I be sure that the boys will be ready at six o'clock promptly? If so, it is all right, and the carriage will wait. If not, I shall let Gesima go alone. ​So I am asking you for a straight answer, and I do not think I am asking anything unreasonable."

The Statthalter became a little milder.

"Very well; agreed. I never said anything different. The children might as well start from here directly. Just send the carriage to me at six o'clock. Gesima might come half an hour earlier so that the children can get acquainted before they start."

"That's fine, I will send Gesima in half an hour and the carriage at six."

"All right. And you are not offended, Herr Balsiger? I am excitable, and a man of feeling. I forget myself when I get to talking."

All the time the Statthalter was speaking his wife, who was dressing Gerold, busied herself feverishly. When he began to talk she quivered, as if her teeth were on edge, and every time he raised his voice she drew in her breath. But when he set to denouncing their son she wandered restlessly around the room, handling all sorts of things without knowing what she was doing or what she wanted to do.

Gerold was tidied and dressed first. The Statthalterin gave him leave to go. "As soon as your brother is ready you may have supper." But their godfather said this was cruelty, and was very indignant. He ordered Gerold's supper to be served immediately, and when Monika declined to obey, sent the sergeant Mazzmann to the kitchen to get the soup tureen. At this interference, Monika gave in.

The Statthalter himself waited on the hungry artilleryman, with all the care and solicitude of a trained nurse, urging him to eat more, praising his unaffected manners, coaxing him in soft and caressing tones, for all the world as if he were trying ​to make a canary bird take a bit of sugar from his lips. Gerold was overcome with delight and friendly feeling, until the vegetable course appeared. Then the tune changed.

"This is comfrey, or salsify if you call it that," urged the Statthalter. "I have had it cooked especially for you two boys. Do you like comfrey?"

"Not so very much."

"You can speak freely, you needn't be afraid. I am not a tyrant. Yes or no?"

"No, I don't."

His godfather gave him a sharp ugly look. "All right, then nobody will make you eat it if you don't like it. But I can't bear to have any one put on airs, and make a fuss. Here, since you like comfrey, here it is. Don't be shy, help yourself, and eat plenty. There is enough."

So saying, he heaped Gerold's plate, and Gerold felt that he had to eat against his will.

"There is more if you want it. Do you? Say frankly what you want."

"No, thank you."

His godfather frowned at him, and spoke in a menacing tone.

"Gerold, Gerold," he said harshly, "I thought you were a nice, honest boy. But I cannot bear to see any one keep things back, or be hypocritical. Speak out now and tell the truth. If you want some more do not say no."

And he pushed back Gerold's plate after filling it a second time as full as it would hold. Whenever Gerold, who could hardly go on eating, tried to stop, his godfather gave him a wrathful look, and when with a great effort he continued, again, ​the Statthalter would praise him and call him a fine boy. Eventually the wretched victim succeeded in making his escape from the table where he had been so stuffed. His tormentor, in high good humour, then hung a gun over the boy's shoulder and put a bugle into his hand.

"Well, I guess we two can get along all right. Don't you think so? Now walk down into the village and show yourself off."

Gerold obediently went about the village, occasionally sounding a blast on the horn. His path led him past a factory, whence issued an infernal racket of machinery, and finally out on the playground of the boys' school. There he seated himself on a see-saw, and stayed there stupified, weary of body and dull of soul, his eyes fixed on a round boulder in front of him on which the light and shadows were playing. The stage from Sentisbrugg, with Marti on the box, passed near him, rattling over the pavements, and stopped two houses down the street.

"I supposed you were high and dry in Bischoffshardt a long time ago," cried Marti, as he climbed down from his box.

Gerold felt a desire to look at the stage-coach more closely. That lucky yellow wagon had been so happy as to see Grandfather's and Grandmother's house, scarcely an hour ago, and perhaps it had even seen Grandfather and Grandmother in person, or Uncle Dolf! And that dust on the leather upholstery was Sentisbrugg dust! And what a strange thing that it should have left Sentisbrugg later than he did, and should be here at the same time with him, and in a few minutes would be far from here, in Bischoffshardt! He had a strange feeling as if the past were hurrying by, grazing him in its flight to join the future.

As he walked around the stage, he took a peep into it. ​Behind, in the big compartment, there was nobody worth looking at, just ordinary uninteresting people, colourless. But in front, in the coupé, or the monkey cage, as Marti called it, where strangers usually rode, there was an attractive couple of young people. The lady looked like a princess in a fairy story, though her clothes were simple enough, and the gentleman had eyes which were much more like real eyes than most eyes are. Gerold liked these people very much. So he got up on the running board to look at them, and both of them smiled at him pleasantly. But when they twined their arms round each other, and began to kiss, he felt embarrassed and slipped away. Somebody nudged his shoulder. It was Hänsli.

"She's come!"

"Who's come?"

"The fancy little girl, Gesima."

"What does she look like?"

"Perfectly absurd. She has no end of red hair, a cap without a visor that looks like a plate, thin legs and a black and white skirt like a checkerboard."

And they both burst out laughing at this list of amusing details. Then they went back to the house to make merry with the peculiar appearance of the "fashion plate."

A magnificent blue coach and pair was waiting before the Statthalter's residence. On the box sat rigid a coachman in blue livery, holding an infinitely long whip stiffly upright like the lance of an Uhlan. He seemed to be in a bad temper and his face was all red. Without turning, or even moving his head, he asked the boys if they knew what was keeping them now from starting. Before they had time to answer, the Statthalter rushed snorting out of the front door.

​"Well, I've had enough of this damned fidgeting and hurrying. I ask a polite question and I want a polite answer. Who is to give the orders, the coachman to the Government Statthalter, or the Statthalter to the coachman?"

"I am the coachman of the Landammann Weissenstein. The Landammann ordered me to be back in Bischoffshardt with the children by six o'clock, but it is half past six now and we are still in Schoenthal."

"I will settle all that with the Landammann. It is my business and not yours."

"My master's orders are my business."

"Well, all right; go on, get away with you."

"Are those your orders? Shall I say that it was you who sent me back without the children?"

At that the Statthalter hesitated, and then answered in a quieter tone:

"Nobody ever said that you were to go back without the children. I only meant that you could drive ahead slowly toward Friedli's Mill, and the children will follow in half a moment."

The coachman gave a shrug, and lifted his whip and started on. The boys had witnessed the quarrel with delight, and at the last word they dashed into the house, exulting.

"She is in the small court," explained Hänsli. So they turned from the entry into the bedroom, to look out from there without being seen themselves.

There she was indeed in the court, hopping about on a pair of very high stilts among the geranium beds, with her red hair tossing in the breeze high above the little arbour like a pasha's turban. She stalked along by the garden walls with seven league strides, now high, now low, spreading and closing her ​

​wooden shears with regular strokes, wheeling round towards the middle of the court, and there describing great semi-circles on the right and left. Finally she began to mark time, like recruits doing a drill for punishment, her legs as stiff as a stork's, and as she did so she hummed a little song from her high perch.

To emphasize the rhymes, she marked each one by a tap with one of her stilts. At the end, when she had sung

she stamped, and cried, "It ought to be 'Generar,' for the rhyme." Then she varied:

"Oh nonsense, what do I care?" she laughed, and swept her stilts over the ground as if to erase all traces of the nonsense from her mind. Then she began to stalk round again, humming gayly.

At this performance the two cadets turned and looked at each other. Simultaneously, as if by agreement, they burst into peals of mocking laughter and entered the court together. As soon as Gesima saw them she folded her wings and hopped lightly from her perch like a sparrow from the cornice. The stilts were still slowly toppling over behind her, when she stood beside the boys somewhat shyly, but stretching her hand out to them, palm down, with a frank and friendly gesture. But they scorned her greeting, and stood with their hands on their hips, scrutinizing her as if she were a strange species of insect. Then they burst out again into mocking laughter.

"You are naughty boys," scolded Gesima, running away ​from the rude reception. At this moment a whistle, shrill and piercing, sounded within the house. It was an impatient, noisy whistle, as if for a disobedient dog.

Frightened voices called from within: "Boys, boys, be quick! Your godfather has whistled for you."

The Statthalter sat in his office, writing. He was sitting up very straight, smoking a cigar, looking very pleased.

"Sit down," he invited, pointing to two chairs, one on each side of him. "But do not wriggle while I am writing. I cannot bear it."

He went on writing. But in a minute he remarked kindly, "Next time I whistle I want you to come at once, as fast as you can, and not wait to do a lot of other things which you can do later."

"We did not know that the whistle was meant for us," apologized Gerold.

"I am not scolding you," said their godfather gently. "I only mean that next time you are to come more quickly. Here is a five-franc thaler for each of you. That's all right, now. You don't need to thank me. Keep your seats. You may watch me write, but you must be quieter."

As he was still writing, the Statthalterin came in on tip-toe.

"Was it you who sent the carriage off?"

"The carriage has gone, and yet it has not gone."

"Well, anyhow, it is not there any more."

"Now, my dear, if only you would not always get excited about things which are all right. Leave everything to me. I have arranged it all."

"But I have to know whether the boys are going to stay here, so I can get their beds ready."

​"If you will let me finish this letter first, then I will tell you about everything."

Monika came in at this moment, heavy-footed and abrupt.

"Balsiger's groom is here," she cried. "He has come to get Gesima."

"He will do exactly what I tell him to do. Tell him to come in first. And what is Gesima doing, anyhow, alone in the house? Why isn't she with the boys? Call her, I say. After that, go and get my slippers, Monika. Mazzman, are you there?"

"I am here, Sir."

"Will you be so kind as to post this letter as you go by the office?"

"Certainly, Sir."

"Where is sergeant Weber?"

"Next door, in the guard-room."

"Send him in here. Ah, Gesima, there you are. How do you do? Are you glad you are going to travel with these boys, or are you afraid of them?"

Gesima cast an appraising look at Gerold, then one at Hänsli, and then answered with a smile.

"Oh no, I am not afraid of them."

"You are a level-headed child, with more sense than a good many grown people. I guess you know that healthy, well-balanced boys are never bad. It is only hypocrites that are bad. Well, Karl, what is the matter with you?"

"Mr. Balsiger sent me to fetch home the little Fräulein, because you had sent back the carriage."

"It is impossible that Mr. Balsiger should have given you any such orders. You must have misunderstood him. In the ​first place the carriage has not gone for good, and in the second, Mr. Balsiger and I made an entirely different arrangement. Now go home. Gesima stays here. And you can tell Mr. Balsiger from me that everything will be done as we agreed."

The groom seemed in doubt. "May I say, please…"

"There is absolutely nothing to be said, everything is plain as day. Weber, I can trust you. You are to go with the three children to Friedli's Mill, where the Landammann's carriage is waiting for them. You might go by the path through the small court and over the field. It is cooler and less dusty and very little longer. Now children, be off with you. It is high time you went. Don't make any fuss now, and don't pull any long faces over good-byes. I can't bear them. Get along. Forward, march!" And he shoved the children out towards the passage.

The Statthalterin timidly blocked his way.

"But are you absolutely sure that the carriage is really waiting at Friedli's Mill? Did you make it clear to the coachman?"

Before he could answer she broke out suddenly into frantic sobs, which forced her to support herself on him. He held her sympathetically, and spoke to her in a kind tone, endeavouring to console her.

"It's your nerves, and you feel the heat and the thunderstorm coming up. Lie down quietly on your bed for half an hour and you will feel better."

Then he shouted in a thundering tone: "Monika, hasn't that lazy Max come home yet?"