The Assistant

by Robert Walser

  The two women then chatted about the Tobler children; both seemed delighted to have found a topic free of the slightest hint of offense. Besides which the conversation evolved quite naturally. They just forgot themselves for a little while. From time to time the old woman’s eye would come to rest on Joseph’s figure, face and bearing, as if to study their merits and shortcomings and mentally compare them with those of her son. The boys soon leapt from their seats to go play in the garden, and the girls followed them, leaving the grown-up ladies and gentlemen alone at the table. Meanwhile the maid had arrived with a wooden tray in her hand to clear away the plates. Everyone got up. Tobler instructed Joseph to “go fetch the glass ball.” The glass ball was the pride of the Villa Tobler.

  This ball was suspended by narrow chains and hinges within a delicate iron frame and was parti-colored, so that all the images of the world reflected in it—in a perspective that appeared round and, as it were, stacked one thing atop the other—shone green, blue, brown, yellow and red. It was approximately as large as a larger-than-life human head, but together with its stand it surely weighed a good eighty or ninety pounds and was difficult to lift. During rainy weather, the ball could never be left standing out of doors. It was always being carried outside and in, inside and out. If it ever happened to get wet, Tobler would rant and rave. To see the ball wet pained him; after all, there are people who treat certain inanimate possessions as if they were endowed with life and expect others to do the same. So Joseph quickly ran to fetch the lovely colorful glass ball, for he had already had occasion to observe Tobler’s great fondness for it.

  After he had satisfied the desires and the fair-weather whim and pleasure of his master, he adroitly slipped off, out of sight of the others, charged up the stairs and disappeared into his tower room. How peaceful and quiet it was up here. He felt liberated, though he didn’t quite know from what. But it was enough merely to have this feeling; the true causes, he thought, were surely present, hidden somehow and somewhere, but what were causes to him? There appeared to be something golden hovering about him. He gazed at himself for a moment in the mirror: Oh, he still looked quite young, not at all like Wirsich. He couldn’t entirely suppress a laugh. He felt moved to pick up the photograph of his departed mother. The photograph was just standing there on the table. Why shouldn’t he pick it up and look at it? He gazed at it for what seemed a long time, then returned it to its place. Then he took yet another picture, a more recent one, from his jacket pocket; it was the portrait of a dance student, a girl he had met “in the city.” That entire distant metropolis filled with people—this grand, animated image—how distant it now appeared to him, as if it had vanished a long time ago. He couldn’t help interrupting these thoughts with an involuntary laugh. He was taking ponderous steps up and down the room, smoking of course. Was it really always necessary to carry about such a torpedo in one’s mouth? How splendidly the fresh mountain and lake air was streaming through his elevated four walls. And this is where Wirsich had lodged? The man whose face was stricken with suffering? Joseph bent his breathing head out the window, into the world’s Sunday and noonday freedom. And to think that I have five marks pocket money and am able to stick my head out such a majestically constructed and situated window!

  Down in the office, meanwhile, the mood was more subdued than majestic. The tone in which Herr Tobler and his former clerk, Herr Wirsich, were conversing there was very, very muted, almost muffled.

  “You’ve got to admit yourself,” Tobler was saying, “that for the time being there can be no question of reinstating our former reciprocal relations. It was you who forced me to break things off, I would have liked to keep you on. I have no reason to send Marti away, he’s doing a good job. I’m sorry, Wirsich, please believe me, but you have only yourself to blame. No one instructed you to treat me, your employer, like a stupid schoolboy. You’re going to have to make your peace with the consequences of your actions. I will be glad to do everything my sense of propriety allows to help you find another post elsewhere. Have another cigar. Here, take one.”

  Was it really true, then, that there was nothing to be done?

  “No, there isn’t, not any more. And really you need only remind yourself of all those things you bellowed at me that glorious night, and you will see that there can no longer be any sort of relations resumed between us.”

  “Oh, Herr Tobler, it was only the liquor, it wasn’t me!”

  “What nonsense, the liquor and not you! That’s just the thing. I myself thought five or six times: That isn’t him. Of course all these things are you. Human beings do not consist of two separate entities, otherwise life on earth would in truth be far too simple. If everyone was just allowed to protest “It wasn’t me” every time he did something stupid, what meaning would the concepts order and disorder retain? No, no, for God’s sake let people be who they are. I have gotten to know you in two quite different guises. Do you believe the world is obliged to think of you as a child, a little lapdog? You are a grown man, and expected to know what is proper and fitting. I see no cause to take into account secret passions, or whatever those things are called that the philosophers go on about. I am a businessman and the head of a household, and cannot help but feel an obligation to bar my doors to idiocy and impropriety. You were always such an industrious worker, why did you have to subject me to such scurrilous behavior? You would laugh at me, simply laugh at me, and with good cause, if I were foolish enough to take you back again. So now I’ve given you my opinion, let’s speak no more of it.”

  “So everything is finished between us?”

  “For the time being, yes.”

  With these words, Tobler walked out the door of the office and into the garden, where he shot his wife a meaningful glance and then took up position beside his beloved glass ball. Cigar between his teeth, he gazed down contentedly at his property, thereby presenting, unbeknownst to himself, a flawless tableau of seigneurial midday leisure.

  Wirsich, who was still standing rooted in the office, right where he happened to be standing when Tobler left him, was surprised there by Joseph. Each stood looking the other up and down, wide-eyed. But then they found it appropriate to strike up a conversation about the ongoing developments in Tobler’s technical enterprises, a conversation that quickly devolved into an intolerable series of gaps and pauses and eventually broke off altogether. Wirsich was trying to make a show of self-possession, of standing above the factual circumstances, and so he reeled off all sorts of advice and practical hints for his successor, who was not, however, particularly taken with them.

  And now the afternoon coffee hour had come to an end. It was time for the two visitors to bite the bullet and take their leave. Everyone shook hands, and then, if you were one of those still standing up on the hillside, you could observe two persons unsteadily walking and making their way along the gleaming garden fence, adorned at one-meter intervals with gilded stars, in the direction of the main road. It was a melancholy sight. Frau Tobler heaved yet another sigh. A moment later, she burst into laughter at something or other, and it was plain to hear how the sigh and the laugh shared one and the same timbre, one and the same tone.

  Joseph, who was standing off to one side, thought: “There they go, the man and the old woman. From up here, they are no longer visible, and already they are half forgotten. How quickly one forgets people’s gestures and bearing and deeds. Now they are hurrying as best they can along the dusty road to get to the train station on time, or the ferryboat. On this entire long walk—for ten minutes is a long time for two people filled with defeat and worry to walk—they will no doubt exchange scarcely any words at all, and yet they will be speaking a quite comprehensible language, a silent, all too comprehensible one. Sorrow has its own special way of speaking. And now they are buying their tickets, or perhaps they already have them, it’s a well known fact that round-trip tickets exist, and now the train comes roaring up, and poverty and uncertainty climb aboard. Poverty is an old woman with bony covetous ha
nds. Today she attempted to make conversation at table like a lady but did not fully succeed. Now she is being carried off, seated beside Uncertainty, in whom, if she peers closely enough, she will have to recognize her own son. And the car is filled with pleasure-seekers out on Sunday excursions, and they are singing, hooting, chattering and laughing. One young fellow is holding his girl in his arms so as to kiss her again and again on her voluptuous mouth. How terribly painful the joy of others can appear to an aggrieved soul! The poor old woman feels she is being stabbed in the throat and heart. She might at any moment cry out loudly for help. On they go. Oh, this eternal clattering of wheels. The woman takes her red-colored handkerchief from her skirt pocket to hide the utterly foolish and conspicuous tears now flowing torrentially from her old eyes. When a person has grown as old this woman—no, such a person should no longer have to weep. But what do the things of this strange earth care for the precepts of noble propriety? The hammers come crashing blindly down, striking sometimes a poor child, sometimes—and you should take note of this, Frau Wirsich—an aged woman. And now mother and son have reached their destination and are preparing to leave the train. What must things look like now where they are living?”

  He was awoken from this reverie by Tobler’s melodious voice. What was he doing there all by himself? He should come and help finish off the red wine. A bit later, the master of the house said to him:

  “Well. So Wirsich is gone for good now. I hope that a certain other someone will be more appreciative of the privileges a person enjoys who is permitted to live up here with us. There is surely no need for me to explain whom I mean by this ‘certain other someone.’ You are laughing. Go ahead, laugh, I don’t mind. But one thing I will tell you right now: if you should have any sorts of urges, I mean to say on Sundays for example, for which a healthy young person certainly shouldn’t be blamed, see to it that you go to the city, such desires are amply provided for there, more than amply. In my home, you must understand, I will not tolerate anything of the kind. Wirsich made his presence here intolerable through precisely this sort of behavior. Decency is absolutely required.”

  Then they spoke of business matters.

  Above all else, Herr Tobler said, it was crucial that funds be mobilized, this was the main thing. What they needed to do was interest a capitalist in their inventions, a factory owner perhaps, so that the patented technical articles could be put into production with no further delay. But in any case, anyone who brought pecuniary resources to their ventures would be welcome—he could be a tailor for all Tobler cared—and there would be no need for him to understand the first thing about their enterprises, that’s what he was for, Tobler.

  “Copy down this advertisement.”

  Joseph took a pencil and notebook from his pocket. The following was dictated to him:

  FOR CAPITALISTS!

  Engineer seeks contact with capitalists for the financing of his patents. Profitable, absolutely risk-free undertaking. Address inquiries to …

  “And when you go down to the village tomorrow morning, you can bring home a fresh pack of cheroots, get the 500-count package. We’ve got to have something to smoke around here.”

  Little by little, evening arrived.

  Two women appeared in the summer house, the owner of a firm that produced parquet floors and her daughter, a tall freckled girl, both of them living in the immediate vicinity. Together with these women and his own wife, Tobler began to play a card game that was well known and well loved in all the land. Usually this game was played only by men, but it was just beginning to become fashionable among women as well, particularly among women of the so-called “better sort,” that is, women who did not need to work so very hard all day long—for these, after all, are the “better” ones.

  These three women, Frau Tobler, the factory owner and her daughter, were outstanding card players, the young lady being the best and most “cut-throat” among them, and Frau Tobler the weakest. When the daughter played a trump, she always worked herself into a proper tizzy, as was fitting for lovers of this game. What’s more, she would smack the tabletop with her girlish fist just like the most hard-boiled old gambler, and would often utter little maidenly shrieks whenever the game took a turn to her advantage. Her figure was angular and her face rather unlovely. Her mother’s conduct was cultivated and wise. How could an older, well-situated woman like herself have displayed anything but impeccable manners?

  Observing this card game that he had not yet had opportunity to learn, Joseph thought to himself, “It is interesting to watch the faces of these three women as they play. One of them, the oldest, is unperturbed, she smiles as she plays. My Frau Tobler, on the other hand, is utterly rapt. The game’s magic has captivated her. Her face is glowing with her genuine, passionate love of the game. This makes her face more beautiful to a certain extent. But of course she is my employer, and it is in no way appropriate for me to find fault with her. With regard to this diversion, she is like an attentive child. But the third one, that man-maiden over there, Lord help us, that’s one to watch out for! She rolls her eyes while she is bidding and playing, thinking who knows what sorts of outlandish things, and without a doubt considers herself the most beautiful, clever and best of women. Not even at a distance of two meters or in one’s dreams would it be agreeable to kiss her. A depraved girl. Just look what a pointy nose she has. The slightest touch of it could freeze you to death. And in what a false tone of voice she speaks, laughs, laments and shrieks. I consider her a wicked, devilish person, and next to her my Frau Tobler is an angel.”

  He would have gone on musing in this way if something had not suddenly occurred to Frau Tobler, an idea she gave voice to at once: taking a boat ride on the lake that very night. It was such a beautiful evening, and the trifle it would cost wasn’t even worth discussing. As the card game had just come to its conclusion, no one had any cause to object to the plan, not even Tobler himself, who grumbled his assent. Joseph, in his role as errand boy, was sent down to the village with instructions to procure a wide boat with three benches, “quickly now, and no dallying along the way,” as night was already beginning to fall, and to paddle it along the shore until he was close to the villa. Everyone else would get into the boat at the bottom of the hill, where there was a sort of small harbor. The clerk had already set out to perform his errand. Tobler, for his part, declined to join them. Nor could one ask the old factory proprietress to clamber into a boat, but in their place Frau Tobler decided to bring the children along. The young lady declared herself willing not only to take part but to share the work of rowing, whereupon the lady of the house went off to prepare herself for the excursion.

  The passengers were already waiting at the landing-place just downhill from the Tobler villa, standing upon the broad stone slabs of an old embankment that was no longer in use, when at last Joseph rowed up in the boat. All of them began to get in, Frau Tobler leading the way so that the children could be handed across to her one at a time. The two boys were being quite unruly; their attention was called to the dangerousness of their wild, reckless behavior, and they quieted down. The girls sat perfectly still, they held fast to the sides of the boat with their little hands. Joseph was the last to get in, as he had been holding the vessel steady by a rattling chain until the very last moment. And then they were suddenly underway. Joseph plied the oars, he was good at this, but they made only slow progress; no one, however, was demanding that things go any faster. How cool the world became all at once. Frau Tobler looked at the children, warning them to be good and under no circumstances to make any sudden moves, as otherwise a terrible catastrophe would occur and all of them would mercilessly drown. All four children listened to these strange words and kept still, even the boys, because they were feeling somewhat apprehensive now out in the middle of the night and on the murmuring water in this slowly gliding boat. Frau Tobler quietly remarked how beautiful it was here, and what a good idea it had been, or so it seemed to her, to have suggested the outing. It was nice to
have a pleasure to enjoy for a change, and her husband would have done well to come with them. But, she added, he had no appreciation for such things. How cool it was, how lovely!

  Describing a certain distance from the boat, Leo, the large dog, swam behind them in the dark glittering water. They called out to him. Above all it was the children calling out endearments to him. Beside Frau Tobler lay her little silk umbrella. A feathered hat adorned her oblong face. Her hands and arms were encased in long white gloves. The young lady was chattering her head off. But Frau Tobler, who was usually herself not particularly disinclined to do the same, gave only absent-minded, monosyllabic answers. Something like a beautiful, happy nature reverie seemed to have made the ordinary concerns of daylight hours and their lengthy expostulation appear to her unimportant and unworthy. Her large eyes were quietly, beautifully shining along with the gentle motion of the boat. Was Joseph growing tired from rowing, she asked. Oh no, he replied, what was she thinking. The young lady wanted to swap seats with Joseph and take a turn at the oars, but Frau Tobler refused to allow it, saying it would make the boat unsteady. It didn’t matter if they weren’t going very fast, she said, the slower Joseph rowed, the longer their outing—which in any case was a short one—would last, and that’s what would please her best, for it was so lovely.

  This woman had been born into genuinely bourgeois circles. She’d grown up amid an atmosphere of utility and cleanliness, in regions where usefulness and sober-mindedness were the highest virtues. She had not had many romantic pleasures in her life, but this is precisely why she so loved them, for she treasured them in the depths of her soul. Just because a thing like this had to be kept carefully hidden from her husband and the world, so that she wouldn’t seem a “hysterical goose,” didn’t mean pleasure had to perish; on the contrary, it continued to live its own peculiar life while buttoned up inside her. Some day, some little opportunity would come along to greet her and coax her with its large eyes, and then the thing that had been halfway forgotten would grow warm and come to life again, though just for a short while. A person who is allowed to display openly his love of and desire for pleasures, a person whose life circumstances make these pleasures easily and conveniently available, will find his soul and heart all too quickly deadened, and everything that once burned within them extinguished. No, this woman had no eye for color or anything of the sort, she knew nothing of the laws of beauty, but precisely for this reason she was able to feel what was beautiful. She had never had time to read a book full of lofty ideas, indeed, she had never given a single thought to what was lofty and what lowly, but loftiness itself was now paying her a visit, and the essence of deep feeling itself, attracted by her unknowingness, bedewed her consciousness with its wet wings.