When Captain von Wegstetten entered the orderly-room on the morning of April 1st, he at once said to the deputy sergeant-major, "What is the matter with you? You look quite green."
Heppner answered, "Excuse me, sir, my wife has had a very bad night."
"Indeed!" drawled Wegstetten. "I am sorry to hear it."
But to himself he thought: "If that is at all true, the man must have been consoling himself with whisky; one can smell it five paces away from him."
However, the captain offered to let him dispense with riding; but Heppner objected, and begged to be allowed to take part in the drill. He felt that would help him to shake off his unpleasant sensations; an hour's ride and he would be fresh again. A fine thing if a night's dissipation could really upset a man like himself!
His commanding officer was pleased at such enthusiasm; and as during the drill the deputy sergeant-major managed his horse--the most troublesome of all the remounts--exceedingly well, he remarked to him, "Heppner, I think I shall be able to bring you some good news at noon."
Afterwards it occurred to him that he had intended to raise objections to the colonel with regard to Heppner's elevation to the rank of sergeant-major, but now that he had committed himself to the man this was no longer possible.
He did just mention his doubts in the colloquy with Falkenhein, but he made no impression, and in the end the colonel himself covered the retreat.
"What do you expect, my dear Wegstetten?" he said. "I ask you, just take all your non-commissioned officers. Who is there you cannot accuse of gambling? It is a fatal characteristic of these mongrels that they will copy the officers, and unfortunately only in what is stupid or bad. The fine gentlemen all play, drink, fool with women, gamble; it's only a question of the one a little more, the other a little less."
Wegstetten objected modestly. "Pardon me, sir, not all. My old sergeant-major----"
He got no further. Falkenhein interrupted quickly: "You mean Schumann? Yes; there you are quite correct. But then he was the last of another generation, one of the old type--steady, quiet, discreet, honest, and trustworthy to the last fibre. But they are dying out, my dear Wegstetten. Such perfect specimens of non-commissioned officers, that used to be the rule, are now more and more the exception. I ask you for the truth: since you entered the army, have our non-coms. become better, or--well, less good? What do you say?"
"Less good, sir, unfortunately," replied the captain.
"Yes, unfortunately. Exactly my opinion."
The colonel rummaged among the papers lying on his desk, and selected two.
"Now, my dear Wegstetten," he said, "here are the appointments. I can't settle such details. That is not my business. I put it to you, therefore; will you try with Heppner?"
"As you wish, sir."
"Good; I think you are right."
Falkenhein signed the document and gave it to the captain.
"There! now he is sergeant-major!" he said, and continued: "What I most regret is, that you should partially lose him in the active work. That was his real field. But a younger man cannot be promoted over his head."
He took the second document and handed it to Wegstetten. "And here, at the same time, is the other promotion. I have followed your advice. Sergeant Heimert is to-day appointed deputy sergeant-major and relieved of his present duty. He will report himself to you to-morrow.
"Thank you, sir," replied the captain.
Wegstetten stuck the documents into his sleeve and took leave. The colonel accompanied him to the door and shook hands with him very cordially.
The captain reflected, however, as he went down the steps, that every one must have at least one fault. He, like the whole contingent, was of opinion that Falkenhein was one of the finest officers in the army, certain to become a major-general, if not a full general. And with an artilleryman this was of double significance. But why, because a man had had the good fortune to work under the sainted Moltke on the general staff, he should, therefore, always describe anything that had occurred since that time as "less good,"--that he could never understand.
That evening after roll-call Heppner read out his own promotion to the rank of sergeant-major, and that of Sergeant Heimert to the post of deputy sergeant-major.
Everybody was surprised. Heimert? Who was Heimert? No one could say.
Ah! It went on: "Deputy sergeant-major Heimert will therefore be relieved from his management of the forage department of the infantry and artillery ammunition columns and will return to his battery."
So it really was that fellow with the gigantic nose, who was always slouching about the coach-houses and baggage sheds!
Heppner returned to the orderly-room and sat down at his table, on which lay a mass of unfinished writing. Now the wakeful night was making itself felt. The sergeant yawned and took up his work unwillingly. Evidently the post of sergeant-major had some drawbacks! To be kept shut up in this room! It was not pleasant to retire from drill, riding remounts, giving riding-lessons, and leading a line in driving exercises--all that had been so much after his own heart. And this eternal scribbling would be altogether against the grain.
If only he had a clever clerk, like Blechschmidt of the fifth battery, who did not over-exert himself! But Käppchen was a lazy fellow; and yet on Käppchen he must rely, asking his advice about all kinds of things, because he himself did not know the routine yet.
It was very late before he locked his desk and went home.
His sister-in-law greeted him with news which did not improve his temper. "The tailor has been here," she said, "and wanted the money for your uniform, which you have owed for a month. He will come again to-morrow."
Heppner grumbled: "The fellow must wait!" He had no more money. It had nearly all vanished yesterday, and to-day he had been obliged to give the greater part of what remained to the women for housekeeping.
With a surly face he sat down to his supper.
"Have you been made sergeant-major?" his wife asked.
He saw his sister-in-law's eyes too fixed on him questioningly. He muttered, "Yes," to her, and then turned roughly on his wife: "What business is it of yours?"
She lay back, and answered gently: "I am so glad." "Really?" he sneered. He cast a sharp glance at her and snarled between his teeth: "Don't gush!"
Then he pushed his plate away, tossed off two glasses of beer, and lay down to rest in the bedroom.
The two sisters remained together, the invalid stretched on the sofa, the other sewing near the lamp. They heard Heppner snoring.
His wife's face was in shadow, but her eyes blazed at her sister and rested with an uncanny expression of hatred on the strong, well-developed beauty of the young girl.
There was a knock at the door. The battery tailor had brought the sergeant-major's tunic, on the sleeve of which he had stitched the double stripes. Ida took it from him and hung it up silently.
The invalid watched her indifferently. A short time before she had been mildly excited with joy at her husband's promotion; he had quite spoilt this feeling for her. Now she was callous to everything.
Suddenly she pressed her lips together and clenched her hands feverishly.
Had not her sister just handled his tunic lingeringly with a kind of furtive tenderness?
Had the scandal already gone so far?
Julie Heppner believed that she would die betrayed and forsaken by all; but during her last days she gained a sympathetic friend in the newly appointed deputy sergeant-major Heimert.
Heimert had taken possession of the Schumanns' empty house. True that at the time he was still single; but as his marriage was to take place in a few weeks, the captain had at once allotted married quarters to him. Now the deputy sergeant-major was furnishing the rooms and decking the bare walls and windows with touching care. He would arrange and rearrange the furniture, and would drape a curtain a thousand different ways, and yet nothing was ever beautiful enough for him.
On holidays he was seldom able to visit his sweetheart, Albina Worzuba. At other times he devoted every spare hour to her; but she was the barmaid of a small tavern in the town, and had no time to spare for him on holidays. Besides, Heimert did not like watching how the guests would go up to the counter for glasses of beer, and joke with Albina, or even dare to pinch her cheeks. He had on several occasions made scenes about this till the landlord had almost forbidden him the place. Albina herself, too, advised him to come as seldom as possible. She considered that as long as she was a barmaid she must be friendly, and not too sensitive to the chaff of the guests; and if it pained him to see this, it was better that he should remain away. And with an ardent glance she added that when she was his wife he would have her all to himself. Heimert had constrained himself to agree to this.
On one of these Sundays it befell that Heimert was startled from his carpentering by the sound of a groan. He went outside and listened; the moaning sounds came from Heppner's quarters. He burst the door open and entered. The sick woman had been left alone. Her sister had gone for a walk, and the sergeant-major was doubtless at a public-house. Such neglect of her had often occurred before; but this time she had suddenly been seized by an attack of pain so severe that she thought she was dying.
To die alone! With no one even to hold her hand; without a ray of light from a living eye to brighten the dark porch of death!
Between the attacks of pain she called feverishly and breathlessly for her husband: "Otto! Otto! Otto!!"
Heimert ran to her anxiously. He gave her his hand, which she seized and held convulsively, spoke to her soothingly, and wiped the drops of sweat from her brow with his handkerchief.
He quietly gave her time to recover from her exhaustion, then said to her gently: "Frau Heppner, would you like me to send to find your own people?"
She shook her head energetically: "No, no!" and whispered wearily: "But if you would only stay just a little while, Herr Heimert!"
The sergeant nodded, and remained sitting silently beside her.
It was some time before Julie Heppner had the strength to explain to him what had happened to her. While so doing she looked at him more attentively, and was almost frightened by his ugliness. The coarse face with the outstanding ears was made half grotesque, half repellent, by an enormous nose, which was always red. What did it matter that two beautiful, kindly child-like eyes shone from this countenance? Would any one trouble to look for them in the midst of such hideousness?
The invalid remembered she had heard that Heimert was going to be married. In the light of her own unhappiness she thought to herself that this marriage could only turn out well if the man had chosen a woman as ugly as himself, so that in their common misfortune the pair could comfort each other.
As she gradually became able to talk to him she inquired about his bride, and the enamoured swain raved to her unceasingly of Albina's beauty and charm.
Heimert now appeared to her as a fellow-sufferer; only she was about to lay down the heavy burden, and he was but just going to take the load upon his back.
The two talked together as if they had known each other for years; they were nearly always of the same opinion. Finally, the invalid invited the deputy sergeant-major to come over often when she was alone; she would always give him a sign, and he could bring his carpenter's bench with him, the hammering would not disturb her in the least.
After this, Heimert always appeared directly Julie Heppner called him. He gained distraction from his jealous fits in this way, and he thought the sergeant-major's wife a really good woman, who had been unfortunate enough to marry the wrong man, when with another she would perhaps have been happy. The brutality with which Heppner treated the dying woman was revolting to him, and his sympathy with the injured wife gradually inspired him with a positive hatred for the sergeant-major.
The sergeant-major laughed at Heimert. "The Prince with the Nose" he called him, and sneered at his wife about this "lover."
"You two would have suited each other well!" he jeered. "You would have nothing to reproach each other with in the way of beauty!"
One day in passing he looked into the neighbouring quarters, and found the deputy sergeant-major gazing at a cabinet photograph of his betrothed. Heimert, startled, tried quickly to hide the portrait; but Heppner begged to see it.
He had expected to see a girl,--well, something like his wife, or perhaps uglier, for surely it would be impossible for any one else to fall in love with Heimert; but as he took the picture in his hand an involuntary expression of surprise escaped him: "By Jove! Isn't she beautiful!"
From that moment he was always asking Heimert to take him with him to see his sweetheart.
"Why?" Heimert asked suspiciously. "Do you want to cut me out with her?"
Heppner laughed at him. "The devil!" he said. "I have two women in the house myself, and that's more than enough. Surely one may make the acquaintance of a comrade's sweetheart?"
"And," he added craftily, "have you so little confidence in her, then?"
Heimert burst out: "Oh, that's not the reason!"
"Well then," said the other, "you know you won't be able to lock her up and hide her when she is your wife. Where's the harm in my just saying good-day to her?"
The deputy sergeant-major was forced to agree that there was really nothing against it. Moreover he was rather proud of having won such a beautiful girl; he enjoyed seeing the sergeant-major's envious eyes; and finally he said he would take him to Grundmann's the following Monday. Grundmann was the name of the landlord of the tavern in which Albina was barmaid; and as on Monday business there was at its slackest, they might hope to exchange a few quiet words with the girl.
On the Monday evening appointed he met Heppner on the parade-ground.
Heimert had made himself as smart as possible. He had put on his new extra uniform, which he had meant to keep for his wedding, and had forced his big hands into shiny white kid gloves. The collar of his tunic was very high, and so tight that he could hardly turn his head. Heppner, on the other hand, had only put on his best undress uniform. He was in a very good temper and very talkative, whereas Heimert walked beside him depressed and silent.
They arrived at Grundmann's very opportunely. They were the only guests, and the landlord had no objection to Albina's sitting at their table with them.
Heppner chose a place from which he could gaze undisturbed at the girl's profile. She pleased him. She was just to his taste, this full-bosomed girl with salient hips and rounded arms. In his opinion her face was more than pretty; her eager, passionate eyes, and her mouth with the full, rather pouting lips, on which one longed to plant a big kiss, seemed to him quite beautiful. She wore her dark hair, which was as coarse as a horse's tail, dressed in a new-fashioned way which gave her a certain "individuality"; and, above all, she had some scent about her of a kind that was only used by the most distinguished ladies.
Heppner was annoyed that she noticed him so little. She was quite taken up with her betrothed, who was telling her of the progress made in the preparation of the house, and she only gave Heppner a glance at rare intervals.
At first she did not talk much; but when, in order to say something, he asked her where her home was, she immediately began to relate her whole history.
She came from Prague, and was the daughter of a shoe-maker--or, rather, of a boot and shoe manufacturer--and, moreover, not of an ordinary boot and shoe manufacturer, but of a Court boot and shoe manufacturer by Royal and Imperial appointment, who did not work for just any one, but only for the Archdukes and for the high Bohemian nobility. And she, Albina, had always to write down the figures when her father was taking measures, and so it had come about that a Count Colloredo had fallen in love with her. He had wished to educate and marry her; but she had at last refused because the noble relations of her beloved had threatened to disinherit him if he married the "shoemaker's daughter." She could never have endured causing him to discard his beautiful Thurn and Taxis dragoon's uniform.
Now came a pause in Albina's narrative, which however did not last long. Next, she had fled from her father's house. Why? She kept that a secret. And finally, after many vicissitudes she had found a refuge here, where she was safe from her father. For he had wished later to marry her to a master chimney-sweep, and although the latter was a millionaire she would have none of him.
In reality she was the child of a miserably poor cobbler; and after a stormy youth she had brought her somewhat damaged little ship of life to anchor in the small garrison town at the bar of Grundmann's alehouse.
Heimert waited impatiently for the conclusion of her romance, which he had heard many times before. But if Albina had a chance of telling the story of her life, she became like a freshly wound-up clock, which ticks on inexorably until it runs down.
She simply left unanswered the questions her lover interposed now and then; and when he interrupted her to say that Count Colloredo had been in the Palatine hussars, and not in the Thurn and Taxis dragoons, she said crossly that he had better pay more attention the next time she told him anything. Heppner, on the contrary, who appeared to listen with interest, rose in her favour, and in answer to his questions she launched still further into detail.
And now she looked at him more closely, and took his measure with those bright eyes of hers. But having brought her story up to the present date, she turned once more to Heimert, regarded him tenderly, and said, "Shall I not be happy with him, after having had such hard times in the past?"
A few newly-arrived guests now called her to her duties at the bar, and the two non-commissioned officers remained behind alone at the table. Heimert felt the sergeant-major looking at him, as he thought, with a sneering, incredulous sort of expression. He was embarrassed, and began describing figures on the table with a little beer that had been spilt.
"Well, well," he began at last, "women are always like that. She draws the long bow, of course--as to her origin and so forth."
"Yes," answered Heppner; "girls love doing that."
"But," Heimert continued, "there is some truth in it. Her father is a shoemaker--was, at least, for he is dead now--even if he wasn't a Court shoemaker. And he must have been wealthy. He only left her what he was obliged to, and yet she receives fifty crowns interest monthly. I know that for certain."
"By Jove! that is over forty marks. You certainly are a lucky dog! Why, she's almost rich."
"Well, not quite that. But it is very pleasant, naturally. However, I didn't choose her for that reason. I first heard of it quite indirectly, long after I had proposed."
Heppner was almost overcome with envy as he saw sitting opposite to him this picture of hideousness, this perfect monster, who had succeeded--how, Heaven alone knew!--in winning a beautiful and also a rich woman. For he was obliged to believe that about her income. It was plain that Heimert was not lying.
As a matter of fact the barmaid did receive fifty crowns every month. The money, however, did not come as interest on capital inherited from her father, but was an annuity which a former lover had settled on her: a good-natured, fat tallow-chandler, who had been with great regret obliged to give the youthful Albina Worzuba the go-by, as his wife had caught him tripping. He had sweetened the farewell for Albina with this annuity.
Albina was careful not to reveal this to her future husband. Why should she? She argued that ignorance was bliss, and beyond everything she was weary of the unsettled life she had been leading, now as waitress, now as barmaid, or as something quite different, and she wanted to find rest in an honest marriage. She could attract most men as lovers, but as a husband she could only hope for one who was as simple and as much in love as Heimert. So she had fastened upon him, and she had no intention of endangering her plans by any unpleasant communications. Prague was a long way off; and, moreover, many years had passed since those days, and the money itself could tell no tales as to its source.
Apparently the barmaid would have no more free moments. So at last the two non-commissioned officers rose, paid their bill, and then went up to the bar to say good-night to her.
Now it was that Albina first noticed the full difference between her future husband and the sergeant-major. As the men stood side by side, Heppner was more than a head taller than Heimert. He was strongly built, and, despite a certain fulness, he was well-proportioned; strength, however, untrammelled, powerful, raw strength was his salient characteristic. Heimert's frame, too broad and too short, and crowned by its mask of a comic clown, looked almost deformed by the side of the other.
The girl's eyes rested with unfeigned admiration on Heppner's appearance; and when she finally turned towards her lover, a scornful smile played about her coarse mouth. But in an instant she changed it to a tender expression.
To Heppner she said: "I am glad to have made the acquaintance of one of my future husband's comrades."
"When you are married, Fräulein, we shall be living in the same building," replied Heppner eagerly. "We shall be great friends, shall we not?"
And the beauty raised her eyes to his with a peculiar glance as she answered softly: "Oh yes, I think so."
"For now the time to pack has come, And love is put away;Farewell! I hear the roll of drum, And may no longer stay."(Hoffmann von Fallersleben.)
"For now the time to pack has come, And love is put away;
Farewell! I hear the roll of drum, And may no longer stay."
(Hoffmann von Fallersleben.)
Towards the end of March Reimers was turning over the pages of theWeekly Military Gazettebefore dinner, when he saw the announcement that his dear friend Senior-lieutenant Güntz was to rejoin his regiment on April 1st. The red order of the Eagle was to be given to him upon the expiration of his work in Berlin.
Güntz to return! Dear old pedantic Güntz, who had so often and so ruthlessly opened his eyes for him! To tell the truth, this friend had almost passed out of his thoughts; yet now he suddenly felt a genuine longing for him.
During the past winter Reimers had grown much more at home in the regiment, feeling as a wanderer returned. He felt himself freer and more light-hearted, and his comrades seemed more congenial. Never had a winter flown by so swiftly; and yet he counted the days till the 1st.
He had made a special resolve to spend his evenings over his books, and had plunged with renewed zeal into his studies for the examination of the Staff College, which had been interrupted by his illness. And then the feeling of loneliness had suddenly returned. But now all would be well, now that Güntz was coming back--Güntz, from whom no difference of rank or age had ever divided him; to whom he could speak straight from the heart, and on whose sympathy he could at all times rely.
Güntz's return was scarcely alluded to by his brother officers. After all there was nothing extraordinary about it; every year some one took up or left a post of the kind he had been filling.
The ladies of the regiment made somewhat more of a stir; for one question, which had previously been theoretically discussed, now became suddenly of burning importance.
Güntz had married in Berlin,and his bride was a governess. This much only was known: that she was not even particularly pretty. He had, of course, obtained the requisite official sanction, so that there could not be anything actually against her family; but concerning the reception into their midst of this young person, who had formerly filled a "menial position," the ladies of the regiment felt somewhat troubled.
Frau Lischke laid the case before her husband, and begged him to ask instructions of the colonel.
"H'm," answered the major, "I'll do it; but I don't care for the job. Falkenhein can be pretty sharp-tongued upon occasion."
"Sharp-tongued?" retorted his wife. "My dearest, surely you are more than a match for him there! And there's another matter. While you are about it, you might just mention that stuck-up Reimers. This entire winter he has kept away, quite without excuse, from all society. Just tell the colonel that I don't think that proper in a young officer."
Lischke was not as a rule shy or in awe of his superior officer, but his wife's commission gave him an ill-defined uneasiness, so that he boggled over his errand.
The colonel let him have his say out. Then he began, in his somewhat nervous, quick way:
"My dear major, give my compliments to Frau Lischke, and tell her that young Reimers is preparing for an examination, so that she will understand his seclusion. For my part, Lischke, if Reimers had turned up at every dance of which your wife is patroness, or which she has helped to get up, I should have been surprised. There may be C.O.'s who think differently; for my own part, so long as I have the honour of commanding the regiment, such festivities shall only be obligatory on those youngsters whose manners need touching up. That that is not the case with Reimers does not, I hope, escape the penetration of your excellent wife. That is my official view of the case; as to my personal feeling, which I give Frau Lischke in strict confidence: it is that I wish the devil would take all these everlasting balls and parties!
"With regard to Lieutenant Güntz's wife, I beg you to express to your good lady my very respectful surprise at her question. If the Ministry of War has found no fault with the young lady, then surely the ladies here may be satisfied. Perhaps they are afraid that one who has been a governess may outshine them in wisdom? Well, of course, that may very well be! I do not want to be disagreeable, my dear major; so please make my views known to the ladies as tenderly as you can."
Reimers met Güntz at the station. The dear fellow had grown somewhat stouter. No wonder, considering he had been away from duty for a good year.
As they walked away the elder officer looked keenly at the younger.
"Reimers," he said, delightedly, "you look thoroughly well. African traveller! Boer campaigner! Prisoner in a fortress! Which has suited you best?"
"Probably all three," answered Reimers; "the one counteracted the other."
"Was that so? Am I not the only destroyer of illusions? You must tell me all about everything, won't you?"
"All toyoucertainly."
"That's right. Well, to begin with, how does the garrison air suit you?"
"So-so. And you? How will you like this after Berlin?"
"Oh, all right, I think. If not----Well, we shall see."
For a while the friends were silent; then Güntz was about to speak, when Reimers interrupted him.
"But I must ask you, above all things, how is your wife, and where is she now?"
Güntz looked at him smiling. "She is very well, thanks, and is at the moment with her brother, a parson in Thuringia. But you don't ask after my boy!"
"What? Have you got one?"
"Rather! A fat little cub, as round as a bullet. Ten weeks old. You must help us christen him."
"Güntz, you should have told me."
"Told you what, my son?"
"That you were a father."
"Why, there was time enough. Anyhow, it was in theWeekly Military. So it is your own fault if you didn't know. But will you be godfather?"
"Of course, of course, gladly."
"Then next Saturday afternoon at five. Morning dress."
Reimers laughed gaily.
"Since when have you taken to talking like a telegram, Güntz? Are words expensive in Berlin?"
"Expensive? Pooh! Cheap, cheap! A hundred thou-sand for a farthing," broke out the new arrival, with somewhat unaccountable fierceness. His open, friendly face suddenly darkened and took on a grim, bitter expression.
"Well," he said, as they parted, "we shall meet again, very often, I hope. So long, old chap!"
In fact, Reimers became a constant guest at the Güntzes'. He feared at times that he came too often.
"Güntz, old boy," he said, "tell me frankly, am I not a nuisance?"
"How so?" asked his host, sitting up in his easy chair.
"I am afraid I come too often."
Güntz knocked the ash off the end of his cigar, and reassured him; "No, certainly not, old chap. If you did I should not hesitate to tell you."
So it came about that every Sunday at mid-day, and on every Wednesday evening, Reimers found himself at the dinner-table of the snug little villa, Waisenhaus Strasse No. 57.
Frau Kläre Güntz, a little lady with a fresh, pretty face, and bright, clever eyes, called these her "at home" days.
"You see, Fatty," she said to her husband, "I am trying to follow in the footsteps of Frau Lischke."
She lifted her eyebrows and went on, sarcastically: "When you have only been a governess you have to be so very careful. And it's difficult! Sometimes I have my doubts whether I shall ever attain to the standard of Gustava Lischke."
She sighed comically and nodded at her husband.
He threatened her: "Mind what you are about, Kläre. I will not permit disrespect. Gustava!" he added, chuckling, and turned to Reimers: "We were neighbours as children," he explained, "Gustava and I; but now she denies the acquaintance. My old father--God bless him!--was a builder. Gustava's papa dealt in butter and eggs; a worthy, most worthy man. But now, of course, according to the new fashion, they must pile it on, and Gustava's papa was a merchant."
He laughed, and then went on, more bitterly: "If you weren't present, Kläre, I should use a strong expression to set the whole dirty pack in their true light. Gustava is unhappily only a symptom, and one among many. And I tell you, Kläre, if you were to behave like her, then--then----"
"Well, what terrible thing would befall me?" asked the young wife.
Güntz checked himself. He smiled slily. "Why, then I should make use of the right which the good old law allows me, and administer corporal punishment."
Kläre laughed aloud.
"Anyhow," said she, "the women really aren't as bad as you make them out, Fatty."
The senior-lieutenant would not agree: "Now, now, Kläre, I was within earshot when all the divinities sat together discussing whether you would have hands roughened by "service," by polishing glasses, washing children, and such like."
Kläre was a little vexed. "Well," she cried, "would you have had them eat me up out of affection at the first go-off?"
"That's just what does happen sometimes," said her husband. "The moment Frau Kauerhof first appeared on the scene, a perfect stranger to them all, they threw themselves upon her neck, and hugged and kissed her, as if they had been her adoring sisters. Of course, Frau Kauerhof was a von Lüben, the daughter of a colonel and head of a department in the War Office, and you, my Kläre--shame on you!--were a governess!"
But the young wife insisted more vehemently: "Now do be reasonable!" she cried. "It has really become quite anidée fixewith you that I have not been received with due respect. I can only assure you again and again that all the ladies have been most polite and amiable towards me."
Güntz growled on: "Geese, a pack of stupid geese!"
"For shame, Fatty!" Kläre remonstrated.
But he continued to grumble. "Has a single one of them embraced you as they did Frau Kauerhof? Has one of them even kissed you? Has one been really nice and friendly to you?"
"Look here," cried Kläre quite roused, "I don't want any of them to fall on my neck when they scarcely know me. And as it happens, one has been kind to me, very kind indeed!"
"Pooh! Who, then?"
"Frau von Gropphusen!"
"Oh, I am not surprised. I except her. She is not a goose. But she's a crazy creature, all the same."
"Fatty! Don't be abominable! What has the poor woman done to you?"
Güntz rose from his chair. He took a few turns up and down the room to work off the stiffness, and grumbled on: "Done? To me? Nothing, of course. But she's hysterical out and out. That's it, hysterical!"
Kläre warmly took up the defence of the accused woman. "You may be right," she said, "but there's a reason for it."
"Certainly, certainly," answered Güntz. "Her husband is--forgive the coarse expression, Kläre--a regular hog. But an hysterical woman is an utter horror to me."
"I can only feel sorry for Frau von Gropphusen."
"And so do I. But I don't want her to hang on to you."
"She does not hang on to me," answered his wife simply.
But at this moment a subdued wailing was heard, and Kläre instantly hastened from the room.
The men, left alone, dropped into reflection. Neither spoke for a while.
At last Reimers broke the silence.
"I think, Güntz, that you exaggerate a bit. Senseless and silly prejudices are not only to be found in military circles. Anyhow, there's no good in running your head against a brick wall."
"True," assented Güntz. "But if a dung-cart were driven right under my nose, I should have to give it a shove."
He resumed his perambulations of the room, and lapsed for a while into silence.
"Anyhow," he began again, smiling contentedly, "Frau Gropphusen may come to Kläre for consolation if she likes to have her. I am sure my wife is proof against the hysterical bacillus. Eh?"
Before Reimers could answer, Kläre returned, a little flushed. She bore the baby on a pillow, rocking him in her arms.
Güntz answered his own question.
"Yes, yes, she's proof," he said.
Reimers was thoroughly happy in the Güntzes' society. The atmosphere of security and candour in which they lived influenced him unawares; it wrought as a useful antidote when his spirit was inclined to soar too high into the realms of the unsubstantial. He was much delighted to find that his friend shared his admiration for his honoured and beloved Falkenhein. Indeed, in this matter, the dry and reserved man sometimes outdid his young fellow-officer.
"There's aman!" he would say. "Head and heart, eyes and mouth in the right places! A good fellow. In one word--a man!"
This word was the highest in Güntz's vocabulary. The opposite to it, until his marriage, had been woman. After marriage he naturally excepted Kläre.
How sick he was of the way people went on in Berlin! He could hardly speak too strongly about the weaknesses of certain officers.
Reimers did not hold it necessary to be absolutely blind to the faults of one's superiors and comrades; still, he thought that his friend went a bit too far in his strictures, and he did not conceal his opinion.
"Dear boy," responded Güntz, "why should I not speak freely to you? Do you think it gives me any pleasure that so many of our superiors and comrades do not merit the respect which, as officers, they command? This has nothing to do with their personal character. The only question for me is: are they fit for their profession? If not, they are only a nuisance in it, so far as I can see."
"You used to be less severe."
"Possibly. But when one has rubbed the sleepiness of habit out of one's eyes one sees more clearly and sharply. Besides, take an example. Stuckhardt will be a major soon. Do you consider him fit to lead a division?"
"No, he has already made a terrible mess of his battery. He won't stay on the staff for a year, that's certain."
"Why should he be there at all? I tell you he should never even have been made a captain. What about Gropphusen?"
"Ah! There you are! He has missed his vocation!"
"Why is he still where he is then?" Güntz laughed grimly to himself. "What ought he to have been?"
"A painter," answered Reimers.
The other made a grimace. "Possibly!----Well, thirdly, what of my revered chief, Captain Mohr? What do you think of him?"
"He has already got a knife at his throat. I bet he'll be sent off after the manœuvres."
"He goes on drinking just as he has ever since I've known him." Güntz sighed deeply. "And I tell you, Reimers, it's no joke to serve under such a man."
Reimers nodded. "I feel with you, old man. And yet half the regiment envies you for being in the fifth battery."
"Pooh!" laughed Güntz bitterly, "there you see them. They would all like to idle under a sot. They just want to be where they think they're least looked after. They may do as they choose; but I want to know what I'm here for. If I have a profession I like to live up to it; I consider myself too good to be merely ornamental. I tell you, Reimers," he went on, "I was thoroughly upset when I joined the battery. The way things go on there you would hardly believe. I wondered at first how it could be kept dark. But there's a regular planned-out system of hurrying things into shape somehow for inspection--fixing up a sort of model village. And as for honour! Well, one must admit that they all stand by one another in the most infernal way, from the respected chief of the battery down to the smallest gunner, so that they'll rattle along somehow. There's a show of some sort of discipline; but really and truly it's just an all-round compromise. A man does a couple of days' work, and earns by that the right of idling all the more shamelessly afterwards. And thatIshould be let in for this sort of thing! Dear boy, you know how few palpable results, naturally, an officer can show in time of peace; but still it's too much that one should do one's duty with no possible chance of anykudos. Old man, it's too bad! I can't stand it. I know this, that if it goes on I shall quit the service, dearly as I love it."
He glanced with deep sorrow at his dark green coat, and strode up and down the room.
"This is my only hope," he went on, with grim satisfaction, "that my beloved captain will soon succumb to D.T."
Reimers reflected. "You must allow that this battery's unfortunate condition is quite exceptional. Let me make a suggestion. Provoke Mohr to a quarrel! You'll be sure to be backed up. Every one knows he can't control himself when he is drunk. And you can go to Madelung, or, still better, come to us under Wegstetten."
"That's an idea," observed Güntz. "But it won't do. For, in confidence, Falkenhein has let it transpire that in the autumn I shall get my captaincy; and probably--indeed certainly--I shall succeed Mohr."
Reimers jumped up, delighted.
"But, dear old chap, then it's all right! You'll bring the fifth out of the mud. You're just the chap to do it! And your reward will be the greater in proportion to the wretched state of affairs now. Jerusalem! What a splendid division it will be! Madelung, Güntz, Wegstetten! The best heads of batteries in the whole corps! Without any flattery, old chap!"
But the other did not join in his rejoicing. "Dear old fellow," he answered, "you may think so. But I confess that it seems to me as if we had got a bit off the right track with our whole military system; as if Madelung's and Wegstetten's and my own work were bound to be labour in vain."
He stopped suddenly. His usually cheerful face had grown careworn and gloomy.
"How do you mean?" asked Reimers.
The other sighed, and answered, "Dear boy, I cannot say more as yet; I have not fully thought it out. I will first make an attempt to settle down to the work here. I promise you, as soon as my own mind is clear, I will tell you honestly what is bothering me."
Reimers suspected moisture in the eyes of his friend, as they clasped hands.
Güntz went on softly: "Dear old boy, it's pretty hard when a man finds, or thinks he finds, that he has devoted his life to a fruitless, hopeless business! What is such a man to do? But it is possible that I am right in my fears--and of that I cannot bear to think."
"What fears do you mean?"
"I can't help myself. I am often forced to remember that we've had a bad time before."
"Before when?"
"Before Jena."
Reimers started. The ominous word struck his pride like a lash. He drew himself up stiffly. "Why not before Sedan?"
The other calmly answered: "Sedan? Jena? Perhaps you are right, perhaps I am. No one knows."
After this conversation Güntz avoided such topics with his friend. If Reimers tried to draw him again on the subject, he answered evasively, "I have told you I must fight it out with myself. Until then I don't want to talk at random."
But for all that he grew calmer and more equable. The biting, sarcastic tone he had adopted gradually disappeared; and it almost seemed as if the mood had been merely a survival of his Berlin experience.