Robert Walser - The Tanners

Again Klara fell silent for a moment, looking at Simon with childish amusement, and then went on speaking:

“The Queen of the Poor! Yes, that’s who I am. Do you not see how regally your Klara is dressed? This is a dress left over from my ball wardrobe: with a low-cut back! After all, I do have to keep up appearances given my status as regent. My adherents like to see me dressed like this, they have a taste for majesty, the splendor of a ball gown makes quite a singular impression in this realm of stained gray female garments. One must stand out, dear Simon, if one wishes to have influence, yet please do keep listening to everything in order. What an expert, pleasant listener you are. No one listens like you! It’s one of your good qualities. It feels so natural, so lovely to be telling you things: When I moved here to this remote neighborhood, I slowly but surely learned to love the poor, the ones who’ve been thrust to the other, darker side of the world, the masses, as this entire world of longing and hardship is dismissively called. I saw I could be needed here, and without forcing the matter or making any fuss about it, I found a place for myself here, and now in fact I am needed. If I were to leave again today, these people, these womenfolk, children and men would wail with sorrow. At the beginning I was put off, actually repulsed by their squalor, but then I saw that this squalor was not so hideous when seen from close up as from a stiff grandiose distance. I taught my hands and even my mouth how to touch these children whose faces were not the cleanest. I accustomed myself to shaking the rough hands of workers and day-laborers, and quickly noticed the gentleness with which these people took my hand. I found many things in this world that reminded me of you two, of you and Kaspar. A great many delicate and hidden things finally enticed me to become the mistress of and advocate for these people. Doing so was simultaneously easy and difficult. The womenfolk for one thing! How much effort it cost to convince them of their infirmities and horrific failings such that they gradually were seized by a desire to free themselves from their disgrace. I introduced them to the blessings and pleasures of cleanliness and I saw that after their long, distrustful hesitation they came to take great pleasure in it. The men proved easier to influence: I was beautiful, and so they obeyed me better, and were more talented in grasping my simple lessons. Simon! If you only knew how happy it makes me to have become a secret educator of these poor people! How little one needs to know to find people even more impoverished in knowledge whom one can guide. No, knowledge itself is not enough. Here one needs the courage and the desire to take a stand vigorously, to shore up one’s stand with clemency and pride, and to approach others with passion. I accustomed myself to a way of speaking that explained all the learning I possessed and could impart in a readily graspable way, using the sorts of expressions loved by the humble and humiliated. And so I became their ruler by adapting myself to their thoughts and feelings, though often these were not to my taste. But with time I found them to my taste. A person who exerts influence simultaneously has a talent for being imperceptibly influenced by those he’s influencing. One’s heart and habits can easily bring this about. And then one day as I lay in bed, painfully awaiting the arrival of my child who is asleep there in the next room, they came to me, the women and girls, they tended and cared for me and showered me with kindnesses until I was able to get up again. During this time, their menfolk asked after me with concern, and when they saw me again, they seemed delighted to be finding me even more beautiful than before. Thus did they honor their queen. This was in the springtime. Still rather weak from giving birth, I sat in my room covered with flowers, for all of them brought me flowers, as many as they could manage. A wealthy young man from the neighborhood often visited me and I allowed him to sit at my feet; I saw this as a sort of tribute, and it was tender of him. One day he implored me to become his wife. I pointed to the child, yet this only encouraged him to repeat his proposals, which struck me as rather peculiar, over the following days. He told me the whole story of his empty restless life, and I felt pity for him and promised him my hand in marriage. A mere gesture or glance from me is enough to satisfy him, and he loves me in such a way that I am conscious of it at every moment. If I say to him: ‘Artur, it’s impossible,’ he turns pale and I must fear some calamity. He’s in a position of utter helplessness before me, and I lack the strength to make him unhappy. Besides, he’s rich, and I need money for my people, and he’ll give it to us. He does everything I want. He won’t allow me to ask for things, instead he asks me to command him. That’s how it is with him. He’s about to come now, I’ll introduce you to him. Or would you rather go? You look as though you’re about to leave. Well, go then! Perhaps it’s better this way. Yes, it’s better. He would be suspicious. In this regard he’s quite awful. He’s perfectly capable of banging his head against the wall until it bleeds if he sees me with a young man. Besides, I don’t want to have anyone else here when you’re here. And when others are here, you shouldn’t be. I want to have you all to myself, to myself alone. There’s so much more I must say to you about how all of this came to be. We say so much, but are these the right things? — Go now. I know you’ll come back again soon. Besides, I’ll write to you. Leave me your address. Well then, farewell!”

On the staircase as he was going out, Simon passed a dark fleeting figure. “That must be this Artur,” he thought and went on his way. Night had fallen. He set out upon a small narrow dirt path, turning around after he’d gone a few steps: The window was now closed, and dark red curtains had been drawn behind it, luminous in a curiously dismal way in the light of a lamp that had no doubt just been lit. A shadow moved behind the curtain, it was Klara’s shadow. Simon walked on, slowly, deep in thought. He was in no hurry whatever to arrive back in the city. No one was waiting there for him. The next day he would be writing at the Copyists Bureau again. It was high time he at last put his shoulder to the grindstone, worked, earned some money. Perhaps he might finally find a post again somewhere. He laughed as he thought the word “post.” When he arrived in town, it was already quite late. He went into a music hall that was still open, hoping to amuse himself, but there wasn’t much of interest. He saw the act of a comic whom he’d have liked to see vanish as an ordinary person among the crowd watching him. In fact this comic deserved, based on his performance, to have his ears boxed. But no! Soon Simon was feeling the most emphatic pity for this poor wretch who was having to contort his legs, arms, nose, mouth, eyes and even his poor bony cheeks, only to fail after all these torments to achieve his goal of being comical. Simon would have liked to shout out “Boo!” and then again nothing more than “Alas!” One could clearly tell, just looking at the man, that he was honest, decent and not particularly cunning; but this made what he was doing on stage all the more horrid, for this was an activity suitable only for people who must be equally supple and dissolute if they wish to present a rounded, pleasing tableau. Simon had an inkling that this comic had perhaps, not long ago, still been practicing some quiet solid profession from which, no doubt because of some error or misdeed, he’d been ejected. The entire man made a profoundly shameful, repulsive impression on him. Then a petite young singer came on stage dressed in the short tight uniform of a hussar officer. This was better, for what this girl had to offer verged on the artistic. Then came a juggler who, however, would have done better extracting corks from bottles than balancing bottles on the tip of his nose, which he went about in an utterly childish, tasteless fashion. He placed a burning lamp upon his flat head and was insolent enough to expect the audience to see this as artistic. Simon stayed long enough to hear a little boy singing a song that pleased him, and then he immediately left the establishment on this good note, going back out to the street.