Life in a German Crack Regiment

At last the card-table was all ready, and the adjutant of the regiment, Count Wettborn, turned to Baron Gersbach and said: "Well, what do you say, shall we have a game of cards?"

Much depended on the Uhlan's reply, for if he had said "No," the whole thing would have been quite different; they would just have had a harmless, pleasant little game. But to-day the Uhlan was in the right mood for playing – to-day on getting up he had felt cheerful and happy, and an inward voice had told him: "To-day you can again risk a large sum of money." In spite of this, however, the cautious creature had said to himself: "If my Leda gets over the hurdles to-day without breaking her neck, I will risk it," and his Leda had jumped over them three times like a darling. He had looked into his carefully-kept diary to see which regiments he had not visited for a long time; his choice fell on the "Golden Butterflies," and he was glad, for they would pay a couple of thousands for the honour of his visit without murmuring and grumbling. So he telephoned to the adjutant to ask if he might dine with them and bring a couple of his good friends with him. Count Wettborn was not a particularly intelligent person, but he quite understood the meaning of the message, and as he himself was a keen gambler, he was only too delighted to say yes.

With inimitable nonchalance the Uhlan got up from the sofa and sank down into a chair which his attentive friends placed for him. Then he dived into his pockets and brought out his pocket-book, and the others noticed with a certain amount of misgiving the roll of bank-notes that bulged out. They remembered the true principle of all gambling; you can only win at cards if you have a large amount of capital, and can hold out when the luck is against you. The Uhlan had the necessary capital, and who therefore could hope to win against him? Then the adjutant, Count Wettborn, put his pocket-book on the table, and the "Golden Butterflies" were extremely proud when they saw his purse; it was a little heirloom which he always carried about with him, for the count belonged to a very rich family, besides which, he was heir to an uncle who often gave him large sums of money.

"Really, our adjutant's a fine fellow," whispered one "Golden Butterfly" to another. "We really have a right to be proud of him: from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet he's tip-top. I believe even the Cavalry officers envy us him."

The other players dipped into their pockets; some who carried their money in bank-notes in pocket-books, more or less ostentatiously, whilst others who kept their possessions in a purse, furtively drew out a few gold coins – at the game of "Sieben" the stake began at twenty marks.

Little Willberg took out his £50 bank-note. Although he was heavily in debt he felt very proud of his possessions; and as he walked through the streets of the city he had held himself erect and lofty, thinking that everyone must see that he had a £50 bank-note with him. He had felt very rich then, but now in comparison with the sums that glittered forth from the others' purses, he seemed miserably poor; he was ashamed of his limited means, and was filled with envy and ill-will. It was a miserable and deplorable state of affairs always to be obliged to bother about money, and to have to say to oneself: "You mustn't do this and that," and to be perpetually forced to borrow. It would be glorious, even if only for once, to possess a purse full of money; above all, to be able to carry about bank-notes – that would be really too exquisite for anything. If one were stationed in an out-of-the-way little garrison, of course it wouldn't matter whether one had much or little money; but in Berlin, where one mixed with so many distinguished rich people, like those who were their guests to-day, then it was indeed a miserable thing to possess nothing but one wretched £50 note!

The game had gone on for a long time – the Uhlan kept the bank. "Well, Willberg, won't you stake something? you were so impatient to play a little while ago."

Willberg roused himself; he had been deep in thought; the gold that was clinking on all sides glimmered before him, he had only one wish, one thought to possess it all.

"Yes, yes, of course I will play. A hundred marks on the seven – no, two hundred." A second later and he had lost the money.

"Two hundred again." He lost that.

"Two hundred again." This time he had good luck, and fourteen hundred marks were counted out to him. Again the seven came to him, he had staked four hundred upon it, and so he won back nearly three thousand marks.

Little Willberg was astonished; he felt as if he had done a wonderful thing. Even the Uhlan cast upon him a glance of recognition, and when he had paid him his winnings, gave him a hearty "bravo." This praise made Willberg so proud that he immediately staked four hundred marks upon the seven, and lost it.

George had looked on at the game for a considerable time without taking any share in it, now he began to tire of it, and thought he would quietly retire. He went through the reading-room, when someone suddenly called him by name, and when he turned round he saw the first lieutenant, von Kirchberg, in an easy chair.

"Where are you going?" he asked him.

George felt he was caught, for it was not considered the correct thing to go off in this fashion, but he said nevertheless, "I meant to go home."

The other looked up astonished. "Have you come to the end of your tether? Have you lost all your money, then?"

"I never play, sir."

"What!" the other almost dropped his eyeglass in his astonishment, and looked at George for a long time speechless. "What!" he said once more, then he continued: "Come here and sit by me – you must tell me – how you manage to get along without playing cards, or rather how can you resist the temptation!"

"That's not a difficulty for me, sir, gambling has absolutely no attraction for me. A couple of years ago I was at Monte Carlo, and watched the gambling for hours together, but I never had the slightest desire to stake a penny."

"What, really!" Again the other looked at him as if such ideas were beyond his comprehension. "Really, I can't understand it. What then do you do with your money if you don't play cards?"

"What I don't spend during the month I put into the bank."

"Well, but what's the use of that – I mean what's the fun of it? Why don't you spend all your money? You're not a tradesman but a young lieutenant. Well, all I know is, that if I had your money I shouldn't put any in the bank."

"I say, Kirchberg, wherever have you hidden yourself?" said a comrade who just then came into the room. "We are still playing Half-part: the first lot of capital has gone to the devil. Have you got any money about you?"

"Is the Uhlan still winning?"

The other scratched his ears. "Yes, horribly."

Kirchberg lit another cigar. "Then we will first let him get to the end of his tether. Let him first win other people's ducats, and then we'll try to win them back again. Who is at the present moment in his toils?"

"Little Willberg. The fellow's had extraordinary luck to-day; he stakes each time on seven, which has been thrown down five times in succession. He's just revelling in gold, and the Uhlan naturally wants to win back the money."

"Is Willberg calm?"

"How could he possibly be? He's trembling with excitement in all his limbs."

"What a pity! for then all's up with him. However, I want to see the thing."

He got up and went back into the card-room, and almost involuntarily George followed him. He felt as if he wanted to help Willberg, to whisper in his ear, "Be prudent; stop in time; put your winnings in your pocket; you have plenty for the present."

But Willberg had not the least intention of stopping. For a start the luck had been against him, but now he won time after time. The other officers had long ceased to play and were watching these two. Willberg was excited and nervous, feverish and trembling. The Uhlan, on the contrary, was absolutely calm, immovable as brass; not an eye-lash quivered, and his hand did not tremble in the slightest degree when he pushed over the winnings to his antagonist. He had to count out huge sums of money. The amount that he had won as banker had long vanished; the bank-notes which he had brought from home had dwindled down to a tiny heap. Gold and paper money was heaped up in front of Willberg, probably to the amount of about twenty thousand marks.

The Uhlan counted out his money. "I can stake for the last time a thousand marks on the seven. If I lose and have to pay out seven thousand marks, I shall break the bank."

An indescribable excitement took possession of them all. Never before had they seen the Uhlan lose so much, and the "Golden Butterflies" were filled with pride that one of their officers should have caused this extraordinary state of things.

The last stake! The seven had so often brought Willberg good luck, surely it would stay with him to the end.

"A thousand marks on the seven."

The banker shuffled the cards. "Eight!" and he shovelled in the money.

"A thousand on the seven again."

The cards showed the six! For one moment the Uhlan's eyes glittered. Now he knew he had won the game. It could not last more than a quarter of an hour, for he had won back all he had lost. It really would have been inconceivable that he could have lost to-day, especially to a mere child like this, who gambled so imprudently and thoughtlessly that he must lose everything he had won. And Willberg went on losing; the heap of money shrunk more and more. Several times some of his comrades were on the point of saying, "Stop; save at least a couple of thousand marks." But that wouldn't do; it wouldn't be fair. As earlier they had allowed the Uhlan, who was their guest, to get to the point of losing everything, they could not now warn Willberg.

"Now, Herr Willberg, have you the courage to go on?"

He sat there, white as a corpse; every drop of blood had vanished from his face. He had lost all; his £50 note of which he had been so proud; not the smallest gold coin did he possess.

"Will you go on playing?" the Uhlan asked for the second time.

Willberg looked round. Perhaps one of his companions would lend him some money. But the adjutant stepped in: "No, that's enough for you to-day. Some of us others will now try our luck."

They went on playing, but Willberg went into an ante-room and sank down on a sofa. Suddenly he was overcome by a nervous reaction; he buried his face in his hands and burst into convulsive sobs.

George was standing not far from him, and looked at him sorrowfully and sympathetically. He could not in the least understand – he had not the faintest comprehension of how a man could become so infatuated with a game of cards; but in spite of this he was sorry for the poor fellow whose pecuniary difficulties were no secret. For one brief moment he had been rich; now he was poorer than ever, because he had experienced the feeling of possessing money, if only for the time being. It was on the tip of his tongue to go up to his comrade and offer him help; but he had not the courage to put himself forward in this way; he did not wish to risk a snub. And he was quite sure he had acted wisely when Willberg, having recovered his self-possession, got up to go home and went out as if he had not been aware of George's presence. Was he ashamed of his reckless gambling or his tears? He went off without bidding George adieu.

The latter was therefore greatly astonished when next morning Willberg visited him in his rooms. From the first moment he guessed the object of this visit, and his guess became a certainty when he saw his visitor's pale face. After a few casual words of greeting the latter came to the point.

"Last night you were with us, though only as a spectator, so you know that I lost all my winnings, but I also lost another thousand which I had just received, in order to pay some pressing accounts. I have tried to borrow the money from one of my friends, but the Uhlan has cleaned them all out in the same way, so that not one of them to-day has as much as a thousand that he can call his own. Even our chief is going about with empty pockets. So I have come to you to ask if you can lend me this. I must tell you, quite openly and straightforwardly, that I cannot name the exact day when I can return you the money, but I will do so as soon as ever I can, I give you my word."

"But, please, I really do not require that."

George had risen, and went to his desk to get a note, which he handed to his companion.

The latter shook George's hand gratefully. "You have done me a great service." And after a slight pause, he continued, with unmistakable embarrassment, "I have just one more request: I may rely on your not telling anyone that I have borrowed from you?"

"How could I do such a thing?" asked George, astonished.

But the other did not appear perfectly satisfied with this answer. "Don't take it amiss, but I beg you to give me your word that you will not tell anyone of my visit to you?"

George looked at him with intense astonishment. How could Willberg ask such a thing? However he said: "If it is any satisfaction to you, I will certainly give you my word, though I cannot see any reason for it."

Willberg breathed more freely and took leave, after thanking George most warmly.

CHAPTER V

Hildegarde and George

Several weeks passed and George was still "sent to Coventry by the regiment," as he called it. He still had not a single friend with whom he had any close relations. His hope that Willberg, whom he had helped out of his difficulty, would get on more friendly terms with him, was not fulfilled. On the contrary, the latter had less to do with him than usual, although he had not yet paid his debt. George did not trouble about this. He had already had many disagreeable experiences in these matters in his old regiment; but as he himself had grown up in quite different circumstances, he did not really grasp the attitude of the "Golden Butterflies" with regard to money. They had no hesitation, even in the presence of the orderlies, in borrowing from each other. Very often, indeed, they made no scruples about saying to their servants: "Spend this or that amount on my behalf," but the money was not always returned to the orderly the same day. They got credit wherever they could, and borrowed from all possible sources. In the chief restaurant, where they often passed the evenings rather than stay at home in barracks, many of the officers owed the waiter fifty or sixty marks actually in cash, besides what they owed for food and drinks. And it was just those who owed the waiter most, who lived most extravagantly, ate the dearest food and drank the most expensive wine, and when they went off it was always, "Muller, put down twenty marks to my account, you know you'll get it all right." But the question was, when? Some of the officers had owed this money for months, and they never thought of paying back; so long as they wore a uniform, surely the money was safe enough. George noticed with astonishment that the officers in Berlin were just as lax in these matters as they had been in his former regiment. Once in the little garrison town, in a restaurant much frequented by the military, there was a row with the landlord; the officers boycotted the place and swore that the fellow shouldn't get another penny from them. But not a single one of them thought of paying his debts, part of which were due to the landlord, part to the waiter. It was only when the landlord complained to the colonel that he obtained redress, but even then it was in a curious manner. The colonel did not order his officers to pay their debts within twenty-four hours, but he gave them six weeks in which to discharge their liabilities. And so the landlord and the waiter, who really needed their money, had to wait patiently all that time.

George remembered another incident that had taken place only a few weeks ago. One morning a senior lieutenant had appeared at lunch much excited, and said that the hairdresser to whom they all went had written and dunned him on account of a miserable debt of a few pounds, and had threatened him with a summons through the post, as he was in great difficulties and wanted his money at once. The officer openly admitted that he had had the hairdresser's bill several times, but had never paid him a penny. But, in spite of this, there was a storm of indignation at the hairdresser's daring to write to him. Why should the fellow want his money in such a hurry? Couldn't he wait? The few pounds were quite safe, and nobody ever sends a man of position a summons through the post. The end of the story was that the "Golden Butterflies" were forbidden to patronise the hairdresser's shop, but, in spite of this, the officers who owed money there did not discharge their debt.

Certainly in all matters connected with money they had few scruples and lax views. Debts were only considered as such when they consisted of actual money; they never reckoned in what was owing to a tradesman. The fellow was there, of course, to give credit; he had to wait two or three years, sometimes much longer, before getting his money. He ought to be delighted if the officers came into his shop, and ought to be willing to pay something for the honour of having such customers, and getting a good advertisement. They got credit everywhere, and once it happened that a lieutenant owed his own servant twenty marks. The incident was revealed when the recruits were dismissed. The colonel when discharging the recruits said: "Has any one of you any claims on the regiment? if so, let him make it now." Then a young recruit stepped forward and said in a loud voice: "I am still owed twenty marks by my former lieutenant, which he borrowed from me a few months ago when I had some money from home." The matter was investigated, and found to be quite correct; the fellow was paid his money and the lieutenant received a severe rebuke. But everyone thought it was an unheard-of thing for a discharged soldier to bring a complaint against his former lieutenant. Nobody, however, asked if the man were in a position to bear the loss of twenty marks.

George remained completely isolated among his companions. Nobody troubled in the least about him. His astonishment therefore was all the greater when one day after lunch his adjutant sat down beside him, and engaged him in a long and very friendly conversation. He could not quite account for this mark of distinction, but he quickly understood when Count Wettborn suddenly said to him: "I have for a long time meant to ask you why your father does not try to get a title. The thing is certainly not easy, but your father is well thought of by His Majesty, and it would be easy to overcome the difficulty if your father would be disposed to give a couple of hundred thousand marks for some charitable object. Your father could certainly do that – why doesn't he?"

"Because my father is proud of his own name, which he has made an honourable one."

The count rubbed his feet with some embarrassment, then he said: "Of course, your father is quite right as far as he himself is concerned, but he ought to think of you. You would take quite a different position in Society if you were a baron or a count. The world lays great stress on this, and in my opinion it is quite right. For you, especially, now that you belong to a distinguished regiment, a title would be of the greatest value."

The count talked to George for a long time, and the latter saw clearly that the adjutant in saying all he did was not following a sudden impulse, but was acting on mature reflection, and had evidently consulted the wish of the colonel or one or other of the military authorities. George felt the blood mount to his cheeks. He felt ashamed that his companion had the audacity to talk to him in this way. Good heavens! was a title then, which could be bought for a few hundred thousands, really of much more importance to these aristocratic lieutenants, who were ciphers when they got out of their uniforms, than a good, old, simple middle-class name which was honoured and respected by the whole commercial world?

He could not help saying in reply to the adjutant: "My father has often enough been offered a peerage, but every time he has refused it."

"I cannot understand such a thing." The count stuck his eyeglass in more firmly and looked at George with speechless astonishment. "I really cannot understand it," he repeated, and George saw that he spoke in bitter earnest. He really could not understand how a man could refuse a title, simply because he was proud of his own plain name.

For a long while the adjutant sat silent, then he finished the conversation with the remark: "Well, perhaps you will write to your father again about this matter, or, better still, perhaps you will talk to him. You may be able to change his mind."

George did not answer, but he knew how his father always laughed at the people who directly they had made money had no other ambition in life but to get a title. He felt that the words which the adjutant had just addressed to him were almost an insult, and yet when he considered them quietly, he could not altogether take umbrage at them. He saw every day of his life how the aristocracy had the preference in everything; how even in these enlightened days a title possessed many advantages, and that it was given to men of wealth as a distinction and an honour. And even in the army was not a title of advantage to a man? If three officers, one of whom had a title, went in for a post, was not the aristocrat always chosen, and if by the rarest chance a middle-class man was ever successful in such a case, was he not at once ennobled? The position of an officer is only suited for a man with a title. The old adage was very suitable for present days – the plebeian in the army who did not distinguish himself in some extremely remarkable manner would never get promotion as soon as the most ordinary commonplace titled officer.

And was it any different in Society? George had now been to quite enough social entertainments to know how everyone bowed down to a title; how even the youngest aristocratic lieutenant was considered superior to a staff-officer of plebeian birth. And how often had he not noticed how people hummed and hawed at the sight of him, and could not understand how it was he belonged to such a distinguished regiment. Although the words had been softly spoken he had once heard a young girl at a ball whisper to a friend: "If Lieutenant Winkler asks me to dance, I shall say my programme is full; I shall certainly not dance with a middle-class officer."

All the women regarded him as an outsider. A bare nod was their only greeting, even the one or two who shook hands with him did this without breaking off their conversation, and with an expression which showed they thought they were doing him a great favour. But he was just as much isolated in the army as in Society; his comrades chattered and laughed with the ladies, had all kinds of little intrigues with them, made engagements with them, while he wandered about alone and bored. He was an "outsider," and nobody troubled to introduce him.

The only person who was always pleasant to him was Hildegarde. They had often come across one another, and a sincere friendship had sprung up between them. The two "outcasts" Hildegarde called himself and her to her relatives. George was never introduced, and she herself occupied a curious position in Society. She was no longer quite a young girl, and interest in her charms had vanished. People invited her out, it is true, but that was largely because they could not do anything else, but privately they always hoped she would not accept the invitation. When she did go to parties, contemptuous remarks were made behind her back. Hildegarde acted as if she were quite unconscious of them, but she understood the glances that were directed towards her, and even when she did not actually hear the words, she knew very well how the people shook their heads over her and whispered to each other. It was a great effort of self-control to go to these entertainments, and after every party she said to herself: "To-day is the very last time I will go; to-morrow I shall go home."

But the terrible anxiety which always reigned in her home kept her at her aunt's. "I would rather endure these secret remarks than see the poverty and misery at home, and bear their reproaches." At intervals she confessed to herself that she stayed on George's account; not that she could say she was exactly in love with him. The question of marriage had been so much and so often talked about, that love seemed a ridiculous thing, and it all depended on whether the man had money or not. The holiest of feelings had been so unreservedly discussed in her presence that she believed that her heart was no longer accessible to love. In George she saw a reliable friend. He was always very attentive to her; as soon as he saw her by herself he came to her side, and she felt his glance continually on her. His glance seemed to say: "I do not know, of course, what anxiety is troubling you, but I know that you are feeling sad and lonely here, just as I am, and I want, therefore, to do what I can for you."