Читать книгу: «Life in a German Crack Regiment», страница 6

Hildegarde threw a perfectly frank glance at the speaker and laughed aloud, then she turned to George and said: "I cannot tell you how delighted I am at the words the Emperor addressed to you. I am firmly convinced you will now at once take your right position both in Society and in the regiment, which before you were unable to do."

George shrugged his shoulders. "I scarcely think so, baroness. I fear these gracious words will have done me more harm than good. People will grudge both me and my father praise from so exalted a quarter. However, I am not going to let that spoil my pleasure in the public recognition of my father. Do me the honour of drinking to his health."

"With the greatest of pleasure," and the glasses clicked.

"I want you to know my father, baroness," George went on: "you would like him, though naturally most of the people here would not. They would never pardon him for not wearing well-starched cuffs, and for not tying his cravat in the proper manner. I think, however, you would like him. Perhaps the next time he comes to Berlin I might introduce him to you? He is bringing my sister with him, and, as I have so often told her about you in my letters, she is most anxious to make your acquaintance."

Hildegarde was somewhat embarrassed at these words. Then he had also told his people about her, perhaps even he had confessed that he meant to win her hand. The remembrance of her brother's letter came back to her. She must tell him all before it was too late. How was she to do it? Nobody was paying any attention to their conversation, but how was she to express what she wanted to say? As he had not told her what his intentions were, she could not very well say to him: "Don't think of wooing; on account of my family I will not and cannot be your wife." And yet if without further explanations she spoke about their poverty at home, might it not occur to him that perhaps she expected help from him or his father. She could find no way out of the difficulty. Then she wondered why he had never spoken to her about his sister. She was much astonished, and at last she said: "Have you a sister, then, Lieutenant Winkler? Why did you never tell me about her?"

He looked at her surprised: "What! did I never tell you about her? You mustn't take that amiss, for I had no intention of not talking about her to you."

"And why should you not talk about her to other people?" she inquired, with some curiosity.

George was embarrassed, and blushed like a child. "I can't exactly explain it. Perhaps it is that when one loves anybody very much one does not speak much about them to anyone. And even if I had wanted to talk about her, to whom should I have talked? In the regiment no one takes the faintest interest in me, far less in my family, and naturally, I don't talk about such matters unless I am asked." Then, after a slight pause, he continued: "And there's another reason why I don't care to talk about Elsa."

"And what is that?" Hildegarde asked, as he was silent.

"I don't know how to express in words exactly what I want to say. I don't want to appear suspicious of my comrades, neither do I wish to represent myself as a model of virtue, which, indeed, I am not, and could not be, at twenty-seven years old. But I can't help saying that at mess my fellow-officers have a way of talking about young girls, whom they meet in Society, which is simply revolting to me. No, not revolting, that's too strong," he corrected himself. "I am simply astounded, and constantly say to myself: 'Haven't these officers sisters, and haven't their mothers taught them any respect and reverence for women; so that they don't treat all alike?' In my old regiment it was quite different; we were not perhaps more moral men, but in the little town where we were brought into such close relationship with the few families, we could not criticise the young girls so freely and so shamelessly. I remember how once at dinner an officer went so far as to make an insulting remark about one of the ladies. The orderlies were sent out of the room, and the oldest officer at the table, an old captain, read the young lieutenant such a lecture before us all, that he never said a single word in excuse."

"That is as it ought to be," said Hildegarde.

"Certainly," George agreed, "that is why I am astonished that our officers don't feel like that. If only the girls, who so often regard a lieutenant as the paragon of perfection, knew, or could hear with their own ears how the officers talk about them after they have been to an entertainment, they would blush with shame, and a lieutenant would soon cease to be their ideal. There are, of course, exceptions, thank God! but most of my fellow-officers are as I have just described, and it is the same in other regiments; to them a woman is just like a horse – a thing to be examined and appraised. How is it, I wonder, that a young girl is of so little account to a lieutenant, that he talks of her without the least respect? I have often thought over the matter. Is it, perhaps due to their education? Most of them grow up in the regiment; they have no home life; they only see their sisters and their friends when on leave; as cadets, they go into Society to make conquests, and each conquest helps to lower all young girls in their eyes. Perhaps the girls themselves are to a certain extent answerable for this state of affairs. In Society there exists no one but a lieutenant for them, they ignore a civilian, unless he happens to be a reserve officer. The lieutenant simply goes about in pursuit of conquest, and often he wins the victory only too easily. I cannot speak of this from my own experience. I am a stranger here, but I have often heard my comrades talk of young girls who push themselves forward, send them love-letters, and who do not even wait until they are asked to give a rendezvous, but ask permission to be allowed to visit the officers, either in a friend's house, or in the officers' quarters."

"But, Lieutenant Winkler," interrupted Hildegarde, "no lady would do such a thing."

"She certainly ought not to do so," he agreed, "but, nevertheless, she does. Just give a glance at the select company here. How many of these aristocratic ladies have not a more or less harmless intrigue with a lieutenant? It is not only the married ladies, I can assure you. Those young girls trip about so modestly and chastely, yet their great pride is that, in spite of their youth, they have had a past."

Hildegarde knew only too well that he was right. She remembered how most of the friends of her youth had had a lieutenant lover. How often had she not spoken to them about this, and reproached them, but all had given the same answer: "Why shouldn't I have a lover? the others have, and what's the use of being young and beautiful? Do you think that our blood remains calm when a man pays court to us the whole evening, presses us closely to him when dancing, and casts longing glances at us? Are we to wait till we have a husband? We may wait a long time, perhaps for ever, and what then? Do you want us to die without having had experience of life? How ridiculous!"

They told one another with truly cynical frankness how they managed to deceive their parents and prevent any consequence of their intrigues. Perhaps Hildegarde was naturally too cold and too lacking in passion to understand her friends. Above all, she could not understand the officers who, more than all others, ought to be regarded as honourable men, and who yet made no scruples of entering into a liaison with the wife or daughter of the house where they enjoyed the pleasantest social relations.

Hildegarde and George sat for a long time occupied with their own thoughts. George misinterpreted Hildegarde's silence. He thought she was perhaps vexed with his remarks, and so he said:

"I hope you are not angry with me for having spoken so freely and frankly in your presence; but we have both of us been brought up among quite different circumstances and educated in quite different views."

Hildegarde felt that she blushed. Grown up among different circumstances indeed! It was entirely her own merit that she did not resemble her companions. Perhaps, however, it was partly due to her father and brother who had constantly written to her: "Don't throw yourself away, and don't enter into a liaison if you are not sure that it will lead to marriage. You will get nothing out of it, and then you lower your value and utterly destroy the hopes we set upon you."

How often had she not wondered whether her brother would have been quite inconsolable if she had written to him: "I have not found a husband but a friend. If you will pardon this, I will pay your debts."

She did not doubt that he would accept the money in order to remain an officer and play the fêted and envied rôle in Society of a soldier.

"Are you angry with me?" George asked, as Hildegarde still remained silent.

She roused herself from her thoughts. "Why should I be?" And in order to turn the conversation, which was painful to her, to another subject, she again inquired about his sister. And then George told her all about his sister – how charming and beautiful she was, how kindly and good, how they had grown up together as excellent friends, and how often they had fought each other's battles when they were children. He told his stories gaily, with sparkling eyes, and Hildegarde listened with interest.

"Do you know, I envy you your sister, or rather the pleasant relation in which you stand to her. Sisterly love is such a beautiful thing."

"Yes, certainly; but you are also in that happy situation. You have a brother."

"Please do not speak to me about him."

There was such a tone of contempt and depreciation in her words that he looked at her with astonishment.

"But, baroness, he is your brother."

"You do not know him. Please let us change the subject."

"Certainly, if you wish it."

In his embarrassment George emptied his glass and vainly thought of another topic, and both were glad when at last everybody rose from the table.

The ball went on till the small hours of the morning, and during the dancing George never lost sight of Hildegarde. He had the pleasure of being able to introduce some fresh officers and partners; and he was really more delighted than she was at the admiration she evoked.

It was late when at last the ball broke up. George, at the last moment, was unable to say farewell to Hildegarde, and he walked home with a companion in a somewhat bad humour.

His companion was apparently occupied with some thoughts that interested him. Suddenly he stood still and seized George by the arm. "What will you bet that he wins her? That would be much better than a lucky stroke at cards."

George regarded his comrade with astonishment. "I don't understand what you mean. Whom are you speaking about?"

The other went on walking again. "Oh, yes, of course, you don't know Gastion of the Hussars. My gracious, he has paid court to Fräulein von Reisinger this evening! Well, she is no longer very young, and she never was pretty, but her family is a very old Jewish one. I believe her mother was a Moses, but that doesn't matter. She has money; a frightful amount of money. If Gastion gets that, he can live in fine style. But he certainly needs it; he is said to be two hundred thousand marks in debt."

George had listened without apparently much interest. Then he said: "Is it not really frightful that we officers – present company, of course, excepted – when we choose a wife, make it a matter of convenience? We live luxuriously, we fling away our money and our health, and when one day we are at the end of our tether, we look out at balls and parties for a rich young girl who will put things right for us again. The more money she has the more, of course, we run after her. How few marry on their pay!"

"Well, of course, that's ridiculous; who can live on a few pence."

"I quite agree with you, though many people manage to do so. But still is it not a very interesting psychological fact that almost every officer falls in love with a girl who is rich and ugly? Yet no one of course ever admits that he has married for money. It is indeed insulting and libellous to suggest such a thing. On the contrary, everyone pretends that in spite of his wife's lack of beauty and more or less unpleasing characteristics, he really loves her. If she had no money he would of course not look at her. To speak quite frankly, I cannot in the least understand how rich parents can give their daughter to an officer. People must know that officers only accept their daughters because of the money, and I cannot imagine how the girls themselves can be so foolish as to suppose they are married for love."

"Excuse me," put in his companion, "you are expressing very curious views. According to you, then, young girls who are rich ought not to marry at all."

"I beg your pardon, I do not say that, but they ought to marry whom they like, only not lieutenants, who, in nine hundred and ninety-nine cases out of one thousand would not dream of marrying if they were not up to their ears in debt."

"It is all very well for you to talk," said the other. "It is easy you know for a man who is born into the world a millionaire to judge a poor devil severely. What you say is all very beautiful and noble in theory, but what about practice? When I can, I prefer to ride in my own carriage, rather than the electric tram. Ah, here our ways separate, you go to the right, I to the left. What time do you go on duty to-morrow?"

"Not at all in the morning."

"Lucky fellow, I must be on parade at seven. Good-night."

After a cool handshake the comrades separated and a little later George reached his rooms.

CHAPTER VI
Military Morals

It had all turned out just as George had foretold; the kindly words which His Majesty had addressed to him at the American Embassy and the warm praise of his father, had not contributed towards improving his position in the regiment; on the contrary, it had made it worse. Scarcely a day passed but some one or other in George's absence talked about him and discussed the Emperor's remarks. Whatever had made the Emperor specially distinguish him, the only plebeian officer of the regiment? Even the colonel had had to be content with a mere handshake, the staff officers, not to mention the others, had scarcely received a glance; George alone had been addressed. Was it mere chance or was it really the report of the button manufacturer – as Old Winkler was always called for shortness – that had occasioned the remarks? And what on earth could such a manufacturer tell His Majesty which he did not know already? Old Winkler indeed was said to be unique in his arrangements for the benefits of his workpeople and in his efforts for their welfare, and he had discovered new methods and means of ameliorating their existence. Of course, everybody knew that His Majesty was deeply interested in the condition of the working classes, but in spite of this, they thought this public praise of Old Winkler somewhat ostentatious and superfluous, if an officer – and therefore a loyal subject – might venture to criticise His Majesty's words. Or had the Emperor's words any particular significance? The Emperor knew, of course, what was thought about George in the regiment, how he was still an "outsider," and would always remain one. Had His Majesty's words meant – "You need not trouble yourselves, you will not get rid of Lieutenant Winkler, he has a powerful protector in me." Had he perhaps wanted to encourage George by his gracious words to persevere and not to despair even if he had not succeeded in winning a good position in the regiment?

Not a single "Golden Butterfly" had ever been commanded to attend at Court, except on the occasion of some great entertainment; then the regiment had appeared as a whole, and even this distinction had made them feel very proud. And now George was publicly invited by the Emperor to come with his father to dine at Court. It was well known that His Majesty frequently gave little parties where everybody was quite unconstrained, and there was much lively conversation. The Emperor surprised everyone by the astonishing amount of his knowledge and fascinated all by his great personal attractions. Why should George be invited to share in these intimate little parties? Simply because he was the son of his father. And who indeed was his father? He was merely a middle-class button manufacturer, and he would remain that, even if he were wiser and more important than all the other wise men put together.

They would not have grudged any of their other companions the honour which had been paid to George. They would have regarded it as an honour paid to the aristocratic classes to which they themselves belonged. They grudged it George because they said to themselves: "If nowadays the middle-class is to be honoured in this way, what is there then for the nobility, who have done, and will do more, for Germany than manufacture trouser-buttons, which certainly have the advantage of being durable and cheap."

Up till the present the officers had not troubled to take any notice of George. Now they turned their attention to him, and although he was always quiet and modest in his behaviour to his companions, and yet dignified without being proud, they became even haughtier than they had formerly been. More than ever they were the aristocrats; more than ever they endeavoured to show him what a great and impassable barrier divided him from them. Their behaviour indicated as clearly as words: "We intend to get rid of him; one day he himself will perceive that he cannot possibly remain with us any longer."

George was perfectly well aware of the feeling that existed against him, and even if he had wanted to deceive himself in this matter, one thing would have opened his eyes to this fact. This was the condescending manner in which young Willberg regularly every week, purely as a matter of form, made his excuses for not having been able to return the £50 which he had been obliging enough to lend him.

"I really do not want the money," George said every time; "on the contrary, I live so economically that I save money. I would gladly lend you a larger amount, and you need not hurry about paying it back."

George noticed how very gladly young Willberg accepted the generously-offered help, for it was an open secret that he would not be able to go on much longer. Nobody knew exactly how he stood with regard to money matters. He did not gamble more than the others, but he had other expenses. In the eyes of young girls in Society, he enjoyed much distinction in consequence of his amours. He knew how interesting he was to them, because he had the reputation of not being able to be faithful to anyone. And he knew equally well that in spite of this reputation, or rather just because of it, he would have no difficulty in winning a rich wife one day. The bride would be envied for having a fiancé with such an interesting past; they would consider her lucky to have caught him. He intended to marry later, but his wife must have money, a great deal of money, for he had no intention of changing his mode of life when he was a married man. Willberg had no idea of the value of money, and whenever he was able to borrow a few pounds from a relative he could not rest until he had spent it. He was continually in debt, and just now things were very bad with him. He was always complaining of his wretched position, and drank more wine than usual to drown his cares. He owed money all round the regiment, and George foresaw that it would not be long before young Willberg would again borrow from him without being able to discharge his former debt. And the moment came sooner than even George had imagined.

George had gone home one day from the mess-room earlier than usual. He had received a letter from his friend Olga, a young actress at the Residenz Theatre, saying that she would come to supper with him. At first he had thought of putting her off, as he had some important work to do, but finally he had telegraphed to her: "Come, I am expecting you." He had not the heart to spoil her evening. She was so fond of him, and so happy in his comfortable and beautifully-furnished rooms. There was nothing more delightful to her than to admire his beautiful things and rummage in his library.

Soon they were sitting in the little dining-room, opposite each other at the charmingly decorated table, and George observed laughingly how she enjoyed the oysters and Pommery.

"It is all very well for you to laugh. You have just come from dinner, but I have eaten nothing since three o'clock."

"My dear child, go on eating. I am only too delighted if it is to your taste, and the more you eat the better pleased I am. And when you have finished these oysters here, there is another dozen outside on ice, and after that there is your favourite dish – stuffed artichokes."

She clapped her hands with pleasure like a child; then she looked at him gratefully with her wide-open, dark brown eyes, and softly stroked his hand. "How good and kind you are to me."

"Really, Olga!" He was almost embarrassed by the feeling in her voice, and attempted to joke: "Don't make fun of me, Olga. If the whole extent of my kindness to you consists in my telling my landlady to cook your favourite dishes, it is really not very much." And after a slight pause, he added: "I am very fond of you, little Olga."

She looked at him delighted. "Do you really mean it?" And when he bowed and drank her health, she said: "Do you know, I believe you. Indeed when I am with you I know that you are fond of me."

Suddenly she jumped up, clung to him, and kissed him passionately.

"But, Olga, my dear girl, your oysters will be getting cold," he said at last, as she went on caressing him.

Laughingly she stopped and sat down again.

Olga was a picturesque looking girl of medium height, faultless figure, a bright intelligent face, wonderful brown eyes and a charming little nose. Everything about her was petite. She had small hands that were most carefully attended to, and ravishing little feet. Her whole expression and bearing was sympathetic in the highest degree. Without being exactly clever she was amusing and bright. One could talk to her for hours together without suffering a moment's boredom; she could tell amusing stories and was always ready to see a joke. She laughed so heartily that the tears came into her eyes, and when she laughed she always showed her dazzling white teeth. One thing about her was especially attractive to George, she was a thoroughly straightforward creature. She was always good-tempered and amiable, never capricious or extravagant. Only once had she ever expressed a wish to George. For days he had noticed that something worried her; he urged her constantly to tell him, and at last she did so.

"But, first of all, you must put out the gas, otherwise I shall be so terribly ashamed; you mustn't look at me when I tell you."

Laughingly he had agreed to her wish, and then she had confessed: "I want a little gold watch tremendously."

And when he remained speechless with astonishment at her modesty, she went on: "Don't be angry with me, I saw a perfectly lovely watch in a shop window for a hundred marks, but if that is too much, a cheaper one will do perfectly well."

When he had carried out her desire, and bought her a costly watch and a gold chain, she had sat the whole evening with him without taking any interest in him, but playing with her watch, alternately laughing and crying for joy. At the beginning of their acquaintanceship she could not be induced to accept anything from him; for days he had argued with her, and only at last did she allow him to make her an allowance when he declared in the most emphatic manner that otherwise he would have nothing further to do with her. He paid for her rooms and everything she required without pampering her. For his own sake he took care that things were all right for her, and without her knowing it he regularly put £10 in the bank for her every week. "Then at least she need not throw herself into the arms of the first best man whenever we separate," he said to himself.

He had been to the bank on her account this very day, and on his way back he had bought a pretty little brooch, which he just remembered. "Good gracious, Olga, I quite forgot something. Look, here's a little trifle for you."

He got up and fetched the jewel-case, and enjoyed the delighted look that she cast upon the ornament.

"George, you really ought not to give me such presents."

"Oh, that's all right, I never give more than I can afford, and, like all my presents, it is paid for."

She thanked him once more, then she said: "Do you know, I am really to be envied for knowing you? Don't misunderstand me, you know perfectly well that I want nothing from you and ask nothing of you. Once I know I asked you for a watch, and I am heartily ashamed of it, and if I had ever imagined that you would have spent so much over it I would never have mentioned it, for I would not have you imagine for a moment that I care for you because you are rich."

"But, Olga, I know all that, you have no need to tell me. You were going to tell me, however, why you are to be envied because we are friends."

"Because you are an honourable man, because – well, how can I tell you. You see all my friends at the theatre have a patron and protector. But what sort of men are they? Men of the world in the worst sense of the word, who bluster and bully, contract debt after debt, and if they give a present it is not paid for; everything they give is borrowed, and that destroys all pleasure in receiving the gift. But everything connected with you is so high-class, straightforward, solid. Your way of living is like your character; one knows one can rely on you, that you are a thoroughly honourable and reliable man."

Again George was embarrassed. "Olga, Olga, why these expressions of affection after so long an acquaintanceship?"

"To-day is just the right moment," she replied, and then with some confusion she added: "This very day, three months ago, I met you for the first time."

"Are you sorry?"

She kissed his hand. "You – you – I – I am awfully fond of you. How could I indeed be sorry?" Then she continued very earnestly: "You know, for I have already told you, how that blackguard of a lieutenant treated me, and I swore henceforward to be an honourable woman and to have nothing to do with a man. I kept to my resolution for a year. Well, what happened then? Then there came along someone whom I liked very much, and who was very good and kind to me. You know it is very difficult to be respectable on the stage; we inferior ones are always envious of the 'stars' who go about in silk and satin, and who frequently cannot act any better than the others, and who only owe their position to a rich friend who pays for their dresses and arranges with the director and manager that his protégée shall be brought out and given a good part. Well, that's how it is, and besides one wants to enjoy one's life; everybody does the same, not only those who are on the stage. We are not the worst; the others who do it all secretly and pose as highly respectable young women, they are really the worst."

"Now, now, Olga, take a glass of wine. Why do you get into a temper? Do be cheerful again."

After a short struggle her naturally kindly disposition got the upper hand. "You are quite right. I cannot alter what has already happened, but still the lieutenant was a blackguard; you remember I told you he shot himself later, and that was the best thing he could do."

"Don't be so hard, Olga."

"Pray do not stand up for him," she went on angrily. "I know what you feel: that if a young girl accepts an invitation from an officer she must know quite well what to expect. But I was very young and inexperienced then."

"But, Olga, I cannot understand you to-day. What is the matter with you? Why do you insult the officers in this way. You remember I am one."

"Ah, you," she said tenderly. "You are not really one of them. You are much too honourable. You are a man, the others are stuck-up apes, and besides that, generally liars and betrayers."

"Olga, I beg you with all seriousness to cease making these remarks. Whatever is the matter with you? Shall we stay here or go into the sitting-room?" he asked her presently.

"Let us go into the sitting-room," she replied. She loved the large beautiful room with its splendid carpet, heavy portière and the fine pictures. Best of all she loved the large comfortable leather seat in front of the fire, and every time that she visited George she meant to ask him to let her sit in that chair after dinner. She had never done so, because on every occasion, to-day included, directly they went into the sitting-room George drew out the chaise longue for her, put a cushion under her head, and covered her with a great bear rug. He always did this, and treated her with so much love and such tender consideration that she had not the heart to tell him how uncomfortable she was.

"Are you comfortable, darling?"

Again, from affection, she told him an untruth: "Simply lovely."

He kissed her tenderly, handed her a cigarette, took a cigar for himself, and then sat down on a chair by her side.

"You do live in a splendid way, George. You can't imagine how happy I feel when I am with you."

"Because you are in my rooms, or because you are with me?"

"Because I am in your rooms, naturally," she said teasingly. "Why ever should I care about you? You are an old cynic who does not deserve that I should like him so much and be so nice to him. Oh, you dear old silly, come here, and let me give you a kiss. Well, now, that will do, be sensible and sit down nicely and tell me what you have been doing lately. What parties have you been to, and with whom have you danced? Whom did you go for your cure with?"

George answered and asked questions. Olga showed a real and sincere interest in everything that concerned him; he knew that he could entirely trust her, and that later, when they parted, she would make no use of anything he had told her, and so he spoke quite frankly to her. He told her about the regiment, his parents, and his sister, but naturally enough he never spoke a word about Hildegarde. He had not once mentioned her name, and to-day likewise he was silent on the subject. Not indeed that he feared Olga would be jealous; she was too sensible and intelligent for that, and, moreover, she had often said she wished he would marry a lovely and beautiful wife. In spite of all that, however, an inexplicable feeling prevented his speaking about Hildegarde to her.