The Walk by Robert Walser

First published: "Der Spaziergang," 1917 (English translation, 1957)

Type of plot: Antistory

Time of work: 1917

Locale: Switzerland

Principal Character:

• The walker, the narrator and protagonist, a writer

The Story

One morning, the narrator, a writer, leaves the melancholy confines of his room to take a walk. Pleased with his suddenly "romantic and adventurous frame of mind," he rejoices at the beauty, freshness, and goodness of the day.

His first encounter on the street is with Professor Meili, a famous scholar with a forbidding, yet sympathetic figure. Various other people catch his attention: a priest, a chemist on a bicycle, a junk dealer, an army doctor, children at play, two elegant women in short skirts, and two men in straw hats.

Pretending to be a fussy connoisseur of books, he visits a book shop and asks in well-chosen words what is the most widely read and popular book of the day. When the book dealer returns with the treasured book in his hands, the writer, whose books do not enjoy such success, coldly leaves the shop with barely a thank-you.

Entering the next bank that he comes on, he is pleasantly surprised to find that several anonymous benefactresses have credited his account with one thousand francs. The bank clerk notes the smile of the poor, disregarded writer, who rejoices in the unexpected gift as he continues his walk. In an aside, he calls attention to a luncheon date he has at one o'clock with Frau Aebi. He passes a bakery and is disturbed by its flamboyant gold lettering, which he sees as a symptom of contemporary egotism, ostentation, and fraudulence, where everything is allowed to appear to be more than it really is. Gone is the modesty of the baker who merely baked an honest loaf of bread.

At the sight of a busy foundry, he is at first ashamed of the fact that he is not working but is only out for a stroll. However, in his bright yellow English suit he feels like a lord in his park, even though the country road is dotted with factories and simple houses and there is nothing really parklike about it. Two children who are playing in the street enchant him for a moment before a loud, rushing automobile disturbs their idyllic game. He looks angrily at the car's occupants, for he loves quiet and the moderate pace of walking and abhors the unnatural haste and pollution of the automobile.

He asks his readers for their indulgence as he announces in advance two significant figures on his walk, a supposed former actress and an alleged budding singer. The first woman turns out not to have been an actress after all, but as she responds pleasantly enough to his rather forward questions, he proceeds to tell her that when he arrived in the area not long ago, he was at odds with himself and the world. Slowly he overcame his hopelessness and anxiety and underwent a rebirth, so that now he is quite happy and receptive to the good around him.

After paying his respects to her, the writer once again sets out on his way. A charming milliner's shop elicits a shout of joy from him. He finds its rural setting so attractive that he promises to himself to write a play entitled "The Walk," in which it will appear. A nearby butcher shop similarly enraptures him, but he is too easily distracted and needs to reorient himself and regroup his forces, like a field marshal trying to gain an overview of circumstances and contingencies. Parenthetically, he adds that he is writing all of his elegant sentences with an imperial court pen, which gives them their brevity, poignancy, and sharpness.

Continuing his stroll past vegetable and flower gardens, orchards, wheat fields, meadows, streams, and all manner of other pleasant things, he is suddenly confronted by a particularly unpleasant and sinister being—the giant Tomzack, whose terrible appearance disperses all of the writer's happy thoughts and imaginings. The writer knows him well, this half-dead phantom superman without home, love, fortune, friends, or country. Without looking back, the writer enters a fir forest, whose quiet, fairy-tale interior gives him back his joy and sense of well-being.

When he leaves the forest, he hears the voice of the singer, a young schoolgirl with a captivatingly beautiful voice. He tells her that she has a dazzling future as a great operatic singer and advises her to practice diligently. She barely comprehends his lengthy encomium on the virtues of her voice, a speech, he admits, that was given mostly for his own pleasure. In the distance he sees the railroad crossing that will be so important to him later in his walk, but before crossing it he must attend to three other important matters: trying on a new suit at a tailor's shop, paying his taxes at the town hall, and depositing a noteworthy letter at the post office.

First of all though, as it has just struck one o'clock, he has to dine with Frau Aebi. Declining conversation, she watches him devotedly as he eats. She insists that he keep eating as much as possible, for she claims that his main reason for coming was not intellectual discussion but to prove that he has a good appetite and is a hearty eater. When she persists, he leaps up from the table, asking how she dares to expect him to stuff himself. She laughs and says it was only a joke to show him how certain housewives can be overindulgent toward their guests.

His next stop is the post office, where he mails a caustic diatribe to a gentleman who has betrayed him and whose only concern is money and prestige. He then takes up battle with the tailor, whose botched work confirms the writer's worst fears. Instead of finding a faultlessly tailored suit, he finds his suit ill-fitting, misshapen, unimaginative, and amateurish. Faced with the tailor's vehement counter protests, the writer quickly withdraws and marches to the tax office, where he hopes to correct a gross error on his tax bill.

Rather than possessing the considerable income that the tax accountants suppose, he has only the most meager income of a writer whose books find no echo among their intended readers. However, "one always sees you out walking," remarks the tax collector. Indeed, the writer answers, walking invigorates him and keeps him in contact with the world. Deprived of his walks, he could not write a single word, for the studies, observations, thoughts, and insights that he gathers during his walks are essential to his work and well-being. He persuades the official that attentive walking is indeed a serious occupation and is promised as a result careful examination of his application for the lowest possible tax rate.

The writer at last reaches the railroad crossing, which seems to him like the high point or center of his walk. Here he waits with a crowd of people as a train filled with soldiers passes by and each group greets the other with patriotic joy. After the crossing clears, his surroundings seem transfigured: The country road, the modest houses and shops, the gardens and meadows are surrounded by a silver veil. He imagines that "the soul of the world has opened, and all evil, sadness, and pain are about to disappear." Having lost its external shell, the earth becomes a dream, and time seems to exist only in the present.

One delightful scene follows another, but as he continues his walk, his romantic exuberance gives way again to sharper observation of the landscape and its buildings and inhabitants. He meets a black dog, a stiff, finely clothed man, and a disheveled laundrywoman, passes several historically interesting buildings, reels off a lengthy list of everyday things and occurrences, and reads a placard advertising a boardinghouse for elegant gentlemen.

It is now evening, and his walk comes to an end at a lakeside. Two figures appear in his mind: a beautiful young girl and a weary and forsaken old man. He is filled with melancholy thoughts and self-reproaches and picks flowers as it begins to rain. He lies down for a long time and then remembers the pretty face of the young girl, who long ago left him without returning his love. The flowers fall out of his hand. He rises to go home, and everything is dark.