Produced by Michael Wooff
The Battle of Sempach
A Story
By
Robert Walser (1878-1956)
Berlin.The Future Press.1908.
One day, in the middle of high summer, a military expedition wasadvancing slowly down the dusty country road that led towards adistrict of Luzern. The bright, actually more than bright, sundazzled down over swaying armour serving to cover human bodies,over prancing horses, over helmets and parts of faces, over equineheads and tails, over ornaments and plumes and stirrups as big assnowshoes. To the right and to the left of the shining militaryexpedition spread out meadows with thousands of fruit trees in themup as far as hills that, looming up out of the blue-smelling, half-hazydistance, beckoned and had the same effect as light and carefullypainted window dressing. It was before noon and the heat was alreadyoppressive. It was a meadowy heat, a heat contained in grass, hayand dust, for thick clouds of dust were being thrown up that sometimesdescended like a veil over parts and sections of the army. Sluggishly,ploddingly, carelessly the long cavalcade moved forward. Sometimesit looked like a shimmering and elongated snake, sometimes like alizard of enormous girth, sometimes like a large piece of cloth,richly embroidered with figures and colourful shapes and ceremoniouslytrailed as with ladies, elderly and domineering ones as far as I'mconcerned, accustomed to dragging trains behind them. In all thismilitary might's method and way of doing things, in the stamping offeet and the clinking of weapons, in this rough and ready clatterlurked an "as far as I'm concerned" that was uniform, somethingimpudent, full of confidence, something upsetting, slowly pushing toone side. All these knights were conversing, as far as their iron-cladmouths would allow them, in joyful verbal banter with each other.Peals of laughter rang out and this sound was admirably suited tothe bright tones emitted by weapons and chains and golden belts. Themorning sun still appeared to caress a good deal of brass and finermetal. The sounds of tin whistles flew sunward. Now and again oneof the many footmen walking as if on stilts would tender to hismounted lord a delicate titbit, stuck on a silver fork, right up to hisswaying saddle. Wine was drunk on the move, poultry consumedand nothing edible spat out, with an easy-going, carefree amiability,for this was no earnest war involving chivalry they were riding to, butmore of a punitive expedition, a statutory rape, bloody, scornful,histrionic things. Everybody there thought so and everybody sawalready the heap of cut-off heads that would redden the meadow.Among the leaders of the expedition was many a wonderful nobleyoung man splendidly attired, sitting on horseback like a male angelflown down from a blue uncertain heaven. Many a one had takenoff his helmet to make things more comfortable for himself and givenit to an attendant to carry. By doing so he displayed to the air apeculiarly finely drawn face that was a mixture of innocence andexuberance. They were telling the latest jokes and discussing themost up-to-date stories of courtly women. The serious ones in theircompany they tolerated as best they could; it seemed today as ifa pensive expression was deemed to be improper and unchivalrous.The hair of the young knights who had taken their helmets off, shoneand smelt of oil and unguents and sweet-smelling water that they hadpoured on it as if it had been a matter of riding to visit a coquette tosing her charming love songs. Their hands, from which the irongauntlets had been taken off, did not look like those of warriors,but manicured and pampered, slender and white like the hands ofyoung girls.
Only one person