Читать книгу: «Life in a German Crack Regiment», страница 7

Olga listened to him attentively; many of the names of the people in Society were familiar to her, she remembered them from his former accounts, and she showed by her questions now and again that she was following him with real interest. Naturally she was most interested in knowing what the ladies wore, but she did not get much information from him on this point.

"How can you be so foolish as not to notice these things?" she scolded him. "A woman is most interested in what another woman has on."

"Or rather what she has not on," he said mockingly.

The entrance of the servant put an end to their conversation.

"A letter has just come for you, sir."

"Any answer?"

"The messenger did not say anything, he did not wait."

"Very well."

The servant disappeared and George held the note a moment in his right hand unopened.

"Who is it from?" inquired Olga.

"I do not know how it is, but a vague feeling tells me that this letter contains something unpleasant for me."

"Shall I read it to you then? If I think the contents will vex you I will tear it up and never tell you what was in it."

He kissed her hand. "You are a dear little thing, but I am afraid that won't do. Well, let us see what it is."

He opened the envelope with a paper-knife, turned over the sheet and looked at the signature. A slight triumphant smile played round his mouth. "Ah, ha, Willberg, I said so!"

Olga had risen and was leaning her head on her right hand; now she looked at George anxiously and expectantly. "Willberg, what does he want of you? You told me once how oddly he behaved to you. Why does he write you?"

Instead of an answer George handed her the letter, and Olga read:

"Dear Winkler, – Although I am still deep in your debt, and am no more able to discharge it to-day than I was weeks ago, yet I am forced once more to ask you for help, and that as promptly and swiftly as possible. To-day we have been gambling simply frightfully. I lost five thousand marks – four thousand to the Uhlan, on whom I wanted to take my revenge. I must pay this four thousand marks by to-morrow morning, otherwise I must leave the army. I do not know where to get the money from; you are my only means of salvation. You have so often offered me money that I feel quite sure you will not now leave me in the lurch.

"Perhaps you will have the goodness to send the money along by your servant Fritz, your man, or any other human being you like. I shall stay at home and await your answer. I thank you most heartily beforehand for once more getting me out of a terrible scrape. – With sincere regards, yours gratefully,

"F. von Willberg."

Olga folded up the letter and returned it to George.

"Well, what do you think of it?"

"The letter is simply a model," she opined, "short, polite, and childishly naïve. 'I have been gambling, please pay my debts. The man writes with a nonchalance and a coolness as if he asked you to take a glass of wine with him. Willberg is simply delicious."

"Yes, you are not far wrong," said George, who felt somewhat hurt by the tone of the letter. "A young lieutenant, who has nothing in the world to call his own but an allowance of a few pounds, sits down with the greatest confidence at the card-table and gambles away a £50 bank-note, one after the other. When he has come to the end of his ready money he plays for credit, and when the game is over and he is deeply involved, he sits down calmly and writes to his friends and acquaintances: 'Please be so good as to pay my debts.' And if he knows that he can get no help from these sources, because he has already exhausted them, then he applies to any rich man whom perhaps he has only met twice in his life, and borrows from him with a naïveté and a shamelessness that is inimitable. He knows quite well that he must get the money somewhere. If matters do not go so smoothly as he anticipated, he becomes melodramatic, talks about leaving the regiment, abandoning the army, Courts of Honour, a bullet through his head, and such things. And there are very few people who are not moved when it is a question of saving, as they say, a young and promising human life – which in most cases is not worth the value of the bullet. And so they put their hands in their pocket and give the lieutenant what he needs to set him on his legs again and be once more an 'honourable' man. I do not know if you will understand what I am going to say, Olga, but the greatest misfortune for our lieutenants is – I do not say our officers, but only our lieutenants – that on account of their uniform and position they can get credit everywhere. Many educated, or only half-educated, rich people who gladly entertain the officers, so that they may be considered in 'Society,' constantly press their assistance upon these lieutenants just on the chance of their getting into difficulties. The lieutenant sees it all quite clearly; he says to himself: 'I get into debt, somebody else will pay.' And our lieutenants will remain as they are, and will never alter until they are no longer given credit; he will only change when people are no longer foolish enough to lend money to every lieutenant who wants it."

"And do you suppose that day will come?"

"It will come when the world ceases to see in every man who wears a uniform a marvellous creature."

"Then that will be never."

"I almost believe you are right," he agreed with her; and then, becoming even more serious, he went on: "You know it's very hard on our lieutenants, for, au fond, there is good stuff in them, but they get frightfully spoiled and petted. Officers are forbidden to contract debts just as they are forbidden to gamble; but nobody troubles in the least about these prohibitions, which are known, not only to the officers themselves, but to everybody in Society and to the tradesmen. But, just as in a club a civilian would never dream of saying to a lieutenant, 'Sir, I do not wish to be discourteous, but I know that His Majesty has forbidden the officers to play cards,' so no tradesman would think of saying to a lieutenant, 'I am not allowed to give you goods on credit; I know you are not allowed to contract debts.' The lieutenant alone is not to blame. Society and the tradesman, who not only make it possible for him to evade the law, but also help him to do it quite easily, and even lead him into doing so are largely responsible for the fact that our officers of to-day, in regard to manners and morals, are no longer what they once were and what they will have to be again." And then, half-seriously, half-laughingly, he concluded, "Did you understand all I was talking about, you dear little duffer?"

"Every word, and you are quite right."

"I only wish that other people would think so too," he said, somewhat amused; "but I believe that if one of the 'Golden Butterflies' had heard my remarks he would have said I was out of my mind, summoned me before a Court of Honour on account of my seditious words, and then I should have been asked, 'If you think like this, why did you become an officer?' I could only answer, 'When a man enters upon a career he knows nothing about it. Indeed, he can know nothing about it. The knowledge of what it means to be an officer only comes with the course of years.' I have had my apprenticeship. I have gone through the world with fairly wide-open eyes, and have kept my ears on the alert, and I must say that had I known earlier what it was like among our officers, had I had the faintest conception of their behaviour, of the way in which they ran up debts, of the discontent with military matters, the bitterness and hatred against the authorities, the poverty and the misery, I should have thought twice before donning a uniform."

"But why do you keep it on?"

George gazed at the clouds of smoke for a little while, then he asked her, "Are you quite sure, my dear child, you are not really bored with all this discussion?"

"Not at all," she cried out quickly; "I could lie here for hours and listen to you."

"Very well then, I will answer your question, which I have been thinking about for a long time, much longer than anyone would believe. The reason why I still wear the officer's uniform is, in my case, short and to the point – pride."

"Pride!" she asked with astonishment.

"You know, of course, how I have been treated in the regiment. I have never made the least mystery about it to you. If I were to take off my uniform now, the 'Golden Butterflies' would have attained the object they had desired from the very first – they would have got rid of me, they would again be among themselves; their aristocratic society would be again without spot or blemish. I am not going to give them that triumph, which would mean defeat for me. I am not a fighter, but I have my ambition and my honourable feelings, and I intend to see if I cannot make a proper position for myself in the regiment. How often do I not long for a chance of distinguishing myself in some way or other, of doing something out of the ordinary – but in vain. So I must try to win a position by scrupulous fulfilment of my military duties, diligence and reliability. Do you imagine I have a pleasant life here? I am young, I am rich, and though I am no spendthrift, still I should like to enjoy my youth a little more than I do. I should like to live on a bigger scale, keep horses, and carriages, and servants, go travelling about, and so on. I know perfectly well what I should do, but I simply dare not. If the adjutant of the regiment, Count Wettborn, did all this, the officers would be proud of the nobleman who knew how to represent them in so splendid a fashion: everybody would be delighted that he had the means of living in a manner so suitable to his rank. They would praise the aristocrat; they would find fault with me. If I lived in grand style, only one word would be applied to me – snob. And short work is always made with a snob. He is not wanted in a regiment in which the other officers are supposed to live economically, but who, in reality, are over head and ears in debt. My so-called ostentation and snobbery would be an excellent reason for getting rid of me, and I don't want that. I do not myself believe that my life as a lieutenant will be a long one; but whenever I do go, I shall be able to tell myself and the others why I am going. I shall hold my head high, but they will be covered with shame, if, indeed, they are capable of feeling shame."

Olga saw the deep furrows on his brow, and she noticed his intense emotion.

"George," she begged in a gentle voice, "come here to me, let me kiss you, do not get so angry about these officers."

"My darling, it is all very well for you to talk – not get angry indeed! To-day seems specially appointed for the revelation of all kinds of things which have hitherto been kept silent. I may as well tell you, therefore, that I suffer frightfully in my present surroundings, yet I am conscious of no other fault but that of belonging to the middle-class. If, indeed, these aristocratic gentlemen were free from all faults and failings, if they were really superior in military and other duties, if the officers were in very truth what they ought to be – an example of chivalry and honour; if they possessed nobility, not only of birth but of feeling and disposition, then I would not hesitate for a moment. I would say to them frankly and freely: 'I feel that my presence is unwelcome to you. From the modern and enlightened point of view I do not in the least understand your standpoint, but in spite of that I honour you, and I will no longer be an annoyance to you.' But consider how matters really stand? Of course, there are exceptions, honourable exceptions everywhere, and it would indeed be sad if there were not any among the nobility. I can only judge, however, by what I have seen myself, and I must say that in their mode of life and interest in their military duties, the most aristocratic officers are not one whit superior to my bourgeois comrades, whom they look down upon with such contempt. And what a protection a title is! The world, which nowadays is more or less democratic, is not to have the pleasure of seeing an aristocrat sentenced to punishment, the people are not to be given the joy of saying: 'After all, these noblemen are just like other people.' In every way a nobleman has all kinds of advantages, not because he does anything particularly wonderful, but simply because, according to old women's tales, he is something wonderful. And one can no more fight against this than against stupidity. I get so enraged about this, that in spite of my uniform I am almost inclined to be a social democrat. I see more and more how the middle-class person is more or less regarded as a creature whose only justification for existing is that he forms the dark background which shows up the nobleman so brilliantly and gloriously."

"Good gracious, George," cried out Olga, quite frightened, "I don't know you when you are in this mood; I have never heard you speak, boy, so bitterly before."

"I am not bitter now, I assure you. What I told you was not said on the spur of the moment, but is the result of much thought and mature and keen observation. But now let us stop speaking about these serious things. I will just go and send off the money to this noble Willberg, and then, my darling, I am entirely at your disposal."

He rose from his seat to go to his writing-desk, but Olga held him back. "Will you do me a favour, George. You know I have never asked you for anything important, but this time it is. Will you grant it me?"

"Certainly, if I can. Why not? I am very fond of you."

"And I am very fond of you; it is just because of that I ask you to give me your word that you will do what I want."

"My darling, how can I do such a thing? One must not pledge his word of honour lightly; you know perfectly well I would do anything for you if I could. Now what is it?"

She had risen from her reclining position, and looked at him entreatingly, her eyes dilating. She was quite white from mental excitement, and her voice trembled as she said: "Do me the favour, and don't send the money to Willberg."

He regarded her with intense astonishment. "Why ever not? The money is lying idle here, and even if I hadn't it myself I could easily get it. I have constantly offered Willberg my help; I must certainly give it him now. Besides, it is a great satisfaction to me, as you will understand, that he should have to apply to me again. You don't want to spoil my pleasure, do you?"

And he turned to go, but Olga kept him back. "George, give your money to whomsoever you like – do with it whatever you like – it is no concern of mine, but you must not help Willberg. Do you understand? You ought not to help him!"

She spoke with such resolution and determination that he went up to her and seized her hand; he noticed how she trembled, and a feeling of nervous excitement took possession of him.

"Olga, you are keeping silent about something; you must have reasons which you are concealing from me, but I insist on knowing everything. When you ask me not to help Willberg, and tell me that I ought not to help him, you must also tell me the reason why."

She looked at him with an expression of profound love. "Do not ask me, do not torture me, I cannot tell you."

"And what if I insist?" He also had become deadly pale, and he held her hand in an iron grip. "I insist upon knowing – do you understand? You must not utter a half complaint, but you must have the courage to tell the whole truth. I have always considered you an honourable, faithful and upright person – don't show me I have made a mistake."

A mighty conflict raged within her as she stood by him; her eyes were cast down, her whole body trembled, and she was swayed and tossed about by terrible mental struggles. Then she raised her eyes and looked at him frankly and openly. "Very well, then, you shall know all, but only on one condition."

"And what is that?"

"That you give me your word of honour not to tell Willberg a word of what I am going to tell you. There is no reason why you should not do that."

He regarded her doubtfully. "Is that really so?"

Then she looked him straight in the face. "Yes, but, in spite of this, if you are ever in a situation when you can no longer keep your promise, then I will release you after eight days – no more nor less; till then, you can quietly think over what I have to say to you." And after a little while she asked him, in a hesitating tone of voice, "Do you really insist that I am to tell you everything, when the result may be that we separate, and are never more friends?"

A dark suspicion arose in his mind. "You were once on intimate terms with Willberg?" he asked with excitement, but then, more calmly, he went on: "But I could not very well be angry with you about that, for you could not have possibly known then that we should ever have met."

Olga bit her lips in fury. "I know that only too well. I told you that the villain who betrayed me took his life soon after. That was not true; he is still living, and his name is Willberg."

George fell back as if he had been struck, then he sprang up and seized Olga by the shoulders. "Tell me, it is not true – it cannot be true."

She freed herself from his grasp. "Come, George, be reasonable; what has happened cannot be altered now."

He sank into a chair and buried his face in his hands. "What a blackguard!" he said, gnashing his teeth, "what a blackguard!" And suddenly springing up, he demanded: "Swear on your oath – have you still any connection with him, or does he know that we are intimate?"

"I am perfectly faithful to you," she answered him calmly, and he knew from the tone of her voice that she was speaking the truth. "I have only seen Willberg once since."

"And when was that?" he asked, with great excitement.

"On the very day that I met you for the first time. He sent me a letter, saying he must see me without fail on a matter that concerned my own interests. At first I did not mean to answer him, but when I read the letter again, I felt sure that it really was a matter of serious importance. So I named an hour when I would be at home to him. And he came."

"Go on," urged George, as she was silent for a moment. "What did this honourable gentleman want with you?"

"He said he had quite by chance seen us together one evening, and had followed us unobserved – I had no ground for denying my acquaintanceship with you; indeed, I could not, in view of what he had seen – and he entreated me most imploringly not to mention his name to you. I had never intended to do so, and had formerly made up my mind to be silent concerning his name, but, in spite of that, I appeared as if I were greatly astonished, and asked why he made such a request?"

"And what did he answer?"

"He said that he must admit that he had not treated me quite fairly that night."

"'Quite fairly' – that is splendid!" sneered George.

"He knew that he ought to have given me some compensation, but he was not then in a position to do anything for me. Now he offered me one thousand marks, partly as hush-money for the future."

"Did you take the money?"

"Before his very eyes I threw it into the blazing fire, and rejoiced in his look of horror. After that he returned to the object of his visit. He begged me not to tell you what had happened. He and you were in the same regiment, I ought not disturb the friendship which existed between you. Probably you would not think he had acted quite rightly (so he said), it might lead to a quarrel. Such a thing is very disagreeable, especially in a proud and distinguished regiment, which, more than all others, must preserve outward appearances. And, besides, you could not fight a duel on my behalf. To cut the story short, I don't remember what else he said; I listened to him without answering a word, and the longer I was silent the more humble and pitiable he became, till at last he stood before me like a schoolboy who has been severely rebuked. He fell on his knees, begged my pardon, and entreated me to keep silence; it was then that I promised never to mention his name to you. To-day I have given his name, but I was compelled. It is your fault, not mine, for I spoke on your account. You may be sure I don't want to run the risk of losing you because of him." Suddenly she was overcome with anguish that now she would be repulsive and hateful in his sight; she sprang towards him and fell on her knees. "George, tell me you still love me, that you will not send me away – it was not my fault."

He bent over her and kissed her on the forehead.

"Get up, dear, why should I be angry with you, indeed? How could I hold you responsible for what a villain did, and it's not your fault that his name is Willberg? But he shall answer for what he has done."

"He must not do that," cried Olga; "you have given me your word to tell him nothing about it, and you will keep it, for I do not believe that any occasion will arise to make me absolve you from your promise."

He sank into a chair and looked gloomily in front of him. Had he the slightest ground for proceeding against Willberg? He might of course say to him: "I know a young girl, and am aware that you have treated her like a blackguard." Willberg could not possibly allow this insult to pass unnoticed; there would be, at the least, a quarrel, probably a duel, and, as a result, an investigation by a Court of Honour. A good deal of dirt would be thrown about, but what would be the use of that? Willberg would most likely be dismissed from the army, and what then? What advantage would that be to anybody? There would be one less dishonourable man in the army certainly, but who would have to bear the consequences of that? Only George, for he would never be pardoned for having acted so harshly towards the darling of the regiment. Willberg after his dismissal would still find faithful friends enough who would help him. He would not suffer too excessively in no longer wearing officer's uniform. No, George could take no steps against him, he had no case against him; he was obliged to admit to himself that personally Willberg had done him no harm, no injury, and if he stepped in on behalf of Olga's honour, the town and the world would shake their heads, and the colonel would make it quite clear to him that men do not fight a duel on account of a young woman like Olga. She was certainly an excellent, worthy young woman, she was under a talented actress, but still – in imagination George heard their remarks, and he doubled up his fists in a fury of rage. Then another thought occurred to him. What would his parents, what would Hildegarde say, when they learnt that he had fought a duel for the sake of his mistress? They must not know anything whatever about the matter.

For nearly five minutes George sat deeply immersed in thought, and Olga watched his expression with intense anxiety: her reputation, her career, were at stake. What had taken place between her and Willberg was known only to themselves and George; she had told no one about it; she had never mentioned the name of her betrayer. If George thought the affair ought not to rest with him, and that he ought to inform the Court of Honour concerning it, then she would be forced to absolve him from his promise, and the whole town would learn in a few days what up till to-day was a secret. She would not be able to remain in Berlin; she felt that she could never again face an audience who knew how she had been treated.

"Well, George," she said at last, "have you yet made up your mind what you are going to do?"

"Yes," he answered firmly, "the blackguard deserves to be struck in the face, but I shall not do that; I shall not say a word of what you have told me to anyone, not even to him, however difficult it may be for me. But I am obliged to act thus on your account, for I care too much about you to expose you to public discussion, public gossip, and probably to universal condemnation, for the world must have suddenly changed if in spite of everything it does not hold you to blame. But as I have just said, I will not do so, and so there's an end of the matter."

She clung to him and put her arm round his neck.

"Thank you, George."

He led her to the chaise longue and sat down by her side. "Good God, what filth! There is just one thing I should like to know. Do you happen to remember the day – I mean the date when this – this – creature came to you and entreated you to keep silence?"

"How could I not remember it?" she said teasingly, trying to restore him to a happier frame of mind: "don't you know I just told you it was the day after I first met you. Surely, George, you have not forgotten that!"

He knitted his brow. "Don't be vexed, Olga, but my brain is in such a whirl just now that I simply can't remember a thing."

She took from her finger a diamond ring which he had given her in remembrance of their first meeting, on which the date was engraved. Then she handed it to him.

"Yes, of course, how could I have forgotten it!" He was suddenly thoughtful, and then he jumped up with a start.

"What is the matter now?" she asked, frightened.

"Nothing, nothing," he assured her; "I just remembered that when Willberg came to me for the first time to borrow money, he must have known of our relations. He had seen you, and yet he had the audacity to come to me. Now it's all clear to me; now I understand why he begged me so urgently not to say a word to anyone; he feared that perhaps I would tell you, and that then it would come out how he had treated you. Of course, that was it!"

He strode up and down the room, occupied with his own thoughts.

"George," Olga begged; "do me the favour of writing a few words to Willberg. Tell him you cannot give him the money, and then forget the hateful story."

George stood still. "You are right; Willberg is waiting for news. I forgot all about that; and the forms of politeness must be preserved, however difficult it may be."

He wrote a few lines, in which he regretted that he was not at the moment able to place the money desired at his friend's disposal, and then he sent his servant with the note.

"One thing worries me," said George: "I do not know if I have enough self-control and strength of mind to meet Willberg calmly to-morrow and act as if I was not aware of his shameful behaviour."

"Can't you keep out of his way. He is in another company, I know, and is he not in a different battalion?"

"That is so, but of course I meet him at mess, and even if I do not meet him to-morrow I shall have to the next day, for we may not absent ourselves from the mess dinner for more than two days without an adequate reason. I fear that my blood may not be sufficiently cool by then."

Olga thought for a moment, then she asked: "Cannot you get leave of absence? I should of course be very sorry not to see you for a week or a fortnight, but a holiday would do you good; you would enjoy yourself and have a change of thought. You could easily get leave, I should think."

"That is so," he agreed, "there is not much doing just at present, and they could not refuse me leave of absence, but where should I go? Home? I don't want to see my father and mother just now. I could not be light-hearted and gay, and they would notice that something depressed me; my coming would upset them instead of delighting them."

"I know," cried Olga suddenly: "You said just now you would like to enjoy your life. Go for a fortnight to Paris, to Monte Carlo, or anywhere else where it is delightful, and when you see beautiful women, give them my greeting, and tell them they are to be good and kind to you; I shall not be jealous." And then with a roguish laugh she added: "You know you will not remain faithful to me."

"I shall," he said firmly.

"No, no," she answered laughingly. "I wager anything you won't."

"But I shall have no chance of being unfaithful to you."

She looked at him astonished. "How do you mean? For what reason?"

"For the simplest of all reasons – you will come with me."

"George!" Laughing and crying with joy, she flung her arms round his neck. "You will take me with you? I shall see Paris or some other beautiful town? George, you are really too good and kind," and she kissed him again and again. Suddenly she stopped.

"What is the matter with you?"

"I cannot go with you."

"Why ever not?"

"You shall not be able to say that I persuaded you into taking a holiday for my own advantage; besides, I do not know if I can get permission to go."

"The first reason is absurd," he said. "I am not so sure if it will be a pleasure to come with me, but you give me great happiness by your company. Nothing is more unpleasant, at least to me, than to travel alone, to sit in a carriage by oneself, to have meals alone, to wander through the museums and galleries alone, and to have no one with whom one can discuss things. There will be no difficulty about getting permission; just now you are not very busy at the theatre."

"Yes, but – the répertoire may be changed any day."

"Dear child," he assured her, "your director is not a brute. To-morrow ask him to give you leave of absence, and if he makes any difficulties tell him you are prepared to pay two to three thousand marks' compensation if he will absolve you from a fortnight's duty. I assure you he will give you a holiday for as long as you like."

She seized hold of his hand and kissed it gratefully. "How dear and kind you are. Do you mean you will pay so much money to free me from my engagement? But I can tell you I shall first offer five hundred marks, then another five hundred, and so on, but under no circumstances will I give more than two thousand."

He laughed gaily. "You can do as you like as regards that. I will give you the money at once. Whatever you have over belongs to you, of course."

She clapped her hands with joy. "I shall buy a very elegant travelling costume with it."

"Don't do it, darling," he requested. "Whatever you need in the way of dresses I will buy you in Paris. During all the time that I have been a lieutenant I have never spent half my allowance, and so it has gone on accumulating. Now I can spend a large sum of money without any conscientious scruples."