Produced by Charles Bowen, from scans obtained from The
Internet Archive.
Transcriber's notes:
1. Source is Web Archive
"http://www.archive.org/details/jenorsedan00beyerich."
2. [oe] is the diphthong oe.
'JENA' OR 'SEDAN'?
FROM THE GERMAN OF
FRANZ ADAM BEYERLEIN
LONDON
WILLIAM HEINEMANN
1905
_All rights reserved_
Publisher's Note
_The German original of this novel had a larger circulation in the
first year of its career than any novel of our days, close upon one
quarter of a million copies having been sold. It was praised by some as
a superb piece of imaginative literature of the realistic school: by
others it has been anathematised as a libel on the great army that made
Modern Germany. The truth about it is probably best summarised in the
words of a reviewer of the_ "_Daily Mail_":
"_The author holds up the mirror with impartiality, without
fear or passion, and with an unmistakably friendly intention,
and asks_, '_Where art thou going? Towards Jena or Sedan?_'"
_It is perhaps unnecessary to remind the English reader in
explanation of the title that Jena stands for French supremacy and
German defeat--Sedan for German victory and a French débâcle; but he
should be warned that in this truthful mirror of life there may be
details liable to shock insular notions. The author could not shrink
from such in the fulfilment of his task, which was to give the
truth--the whole truth and nothing but the truth. His work must be
judged not only as a novel (and assuredly as such it is a most
admirable and artistic piece of work), but it must be regarded also as
the cry of a patriot who loves his country above anything in the
world. This is most completely realised in the following opening
sentences of a long and careful review given to the original by the_
"_Spectator_":--
"_The Englishman who is acutely distressed by the report of
shortcomings in the German Army can hardly be human. The frank pleasure
which the Germans took in our troubles is too recent to be quite
forgotten, even by a people so forgetful as we are. But for all that,
only those who crave for the_ '_wicked joys of the soul_,' _which grow,
the poet tells us, near by the gates of hell, can lay down Herr
Beyerlein's story without a sense of sadness. In spite of its freshness
and its humour, there breathes through it that note of disappointment,
almost of lassitude, which is not seldom audible in Germany to-day. If
is as though the nation, which has travelled such an astonishing
distance in the last thirty years, were pausing to ask_, '_Is this all
that has come of it?_'
"_Herr Beyerlein's theme is the decadence of the German Army. That
it is decadent he has no doubt at all, and he is a close, careful and
not unfriendly observer. But the writer who deals boldly and broadly
with the German Army is in reality dealing with a much larger subject.
The British Army is a piece cut from the stuff of which the nation is
made, and shaped to a particular end. In Germany the whole material of
the nation passes through the Army, and is to some extent shaped and
coloured in the process; if does not come out precisely as it went in.
German military training is an iron pressure to which men cannot be
submitted for two years at an impressionable age and remain unchanged.
Symptoms of decay in the Army point, therefore, not only to possible
disaster abroad, but to demoralisation at home; and it is with this
aspect of his subject that Herr Beyerlein is chiefly concerned._"
JENA OR SEDAN?
CHAPTER I
"Must I go, must I go,
Away into the town?"
(_Swabian Folk-song._)
Franz Vogt was on his way home. He carried a neatly tied-up parcel
containing the under-linen and the boots that he had been buying in the
town. He had trodden this same road a countless number of times during
his life; but now that he must bid good-bye to it so soon, the old
familiar surroundings presented themselves to him in a new light.
Of course it was not good-bye for ever, nor was it even as though he
were going to America. At the most he would only be away for his two
years of military service, and between-whiles there would, he supposed,
be leave now and again; moreover, this was not the first time he had
left the village. But there was one circumstance peculiar to this going
away--he was obliged to go.
Franz Vogt did not trouble his head much about the why and the
wherefore of this obligation. He reasoned it out thus: Germany had
enemies--the French and the Russians, to wit--who might some day and
for some unknown reason begin a war; therefore, of course, it behoved
Germany to keep watch and ward, and for that soldiers were necessary.
Furthermore, there was a certain consolation in the thought that
this authoritative call took no respect of persons; the sons of
the two richest peasants in the village had been called up just like
himself--they to the Uhlans, he to the field-artillery.
The life, however, must be so different from anything hitherto
experienced that one could not but feel a little nervous about it. For
the men on leave whom he had come across were never tired of talking
about the hard words and harder usage that fell to a soldier's lot.
Never mind! hard words break no bones. He was strong and active; no one
had done better than he in athletics. One must take things as they
come, and perhaps after all they won't turn out as bad as they have
been painted.
The young man pushed his hat back from his brow and began to whistle
as he stepped forward more briskly.
It was fairly warm for October. The broad dusty road that led onward
up the hill lay shining as brightly in the sun as if it were July and
the corn rising on either side, tall and golden. But instead the
stubble showed in paler streaks against the darker ground that was
already prepared for a new sowing. Further on in the valley green
meadows stretched away to the border-line of a forest.
On the hither side of those woods, but disappearing at last in the
dense verdure, ran the straight line of the railway. A cloud of white
smoke could just be seen above the trees, and then the train would
glide out into the open. By that line Franz Vogt must travel on the
morrow to the place where he would have to sojourn for the next two
years; and again the thought, "How shall I get on there?" forced
itself upon his mind, and absorbed his thoughts until he reached the
cross-roads where stood the paternal dwelling. Years ago, when toll was
still levied on the highway, it had been the gate-keeper's cottage; and
Franz Vogt's father, the last turnpike-keeper, had bought it from the
State when the toll was abolished. Nearly twenty years had gone by
since the white-painted barrier had been let down at night for the last
time, but the little house remained the same in appearance. His father
had even stuck the old barrier up in the garden, and had nailed at the
top a box for the starlings to nest in; every spring a pair of birds
built there.
And his father himself, how little he had altered! Only the beard,
which he wore after the fashion of the old Emperor William, had become
more and more grey, and the hair of his head had retreated from the
crown in an ever-widening circle. But the old man who now stepped to
the door held himself as stiff and erect as ever; the eyes looked forth
from beneath the bushy eyebrows with a stern yet kindly gaze, and the
deep voice rang out with military precision and sharpness.
"Why, boy," he cried, "you're looking quite dashed! Shaking in your
shoes about to-morrow, eh? See what comes of having a woman for your
mother! Come along in." He preceded his son into the parlour, and made
him exhibit his purchases.
"Dear, very dear, all these odds and ends!" he grumbled; but finally
declared himself pleased that Franz had preserved intact a good portion
of the money entrusted to him.
"That you can keep," said his father; "for you know at first you'll
have nothing more from me. By-and-bye, perhaps, a few groschen now and
then; but first you must learn to shift for yourself. That's always
good for one. I had to get along on my pay the whole time, from the
first year to the fifteenth. Now go up and pack your traps, and make
everything shipshape."
At supper the fare was no more sumptuous than usual; but Franz was
surprised to see that his father had set out two smoked sausages
instead of one.
"To-morrow, boy," said the old man, "you'll have regimental black
bread. Good nourishing stuff! You'll soon like it." And pointing to the
two long fat sausages, he continued:
"And the remains of those sausages can go in your box. You shall
pack them up."
The two men ate off wooden platters, and cut up their bread and
sausage with their pocket-knives; there was nothing to do afterwards
but to gather up the fragments and carry the plates into the kitchen.
An old woman came every morning to do the housework and prepare the
midday meal, and every afternoon the turnpike keeper waited with
repressed impatience till the door had closed behind her. Then he felt
better.
When Franz had put the sausage in his box and come downstairs again,
he found his father with cap in hand, ready to go out.
"Come, boy," he said, "let's stretch our legs a bit."
They went past the village, and wandered for a while in silence
under the starry heavens. Then the old man began to speak less briskly
and decidedly than was his wont.
"Look you, my boy, to-morrow you will be standing on your own feet,
as it were; you'll be responsible for yourself. For it's like this:
before one has served one is a silly youth: but afterwards, a man.
Therefore you want something that you can steer by; and I tell you,
you must make a rule for yourself that you can look to. The printed
ones--they're only just by the way. Always ask yourself: is it right,
is it honest, what you're doing? If yes, then fire away! And when you
don't know exactly one way or the other, then just think: could you
tell your old father about it and look him straight in the eyes?"
He had a heavy load of cares and hopes on his mind for the welfare
of this son, the only thing left him to love; but he broke short off.
He felt himself incapable of expressing clearly the result of the
experience gained during his sixty years of life. He lived himself by
that gathered wisdom, and it had passed into his flesh and bone; but
the right words failed him when he would have imparted it to his son.
Friedrich August Vogt and his twin sister had been born in 1840, the
little-prized children of an unmarried mother, who had vanished one day
and left no trace. Probably she had died in a ditch. The children were
taken into an orphanage, on leaving which the girl had gone to service,
while the boy had become a soldier and climbed the ladder of promotion
to the rank of sergeant, receiving the silver medal for bravery, and at
St. Privat the iron cross. In command over others he proved strict and
just; and though assuming an outwardly harsh, bearish manner, he looked
after those who were under him with indefatigable and almost fatherly
care. His whole endeavour throughout those fifteen years had been to
stand blameless, not only in the eyes of his superiors, but, what was
more important still, in his own.
His comrades disliked the quiet, serious man, and Vogt himself was
just as little drawn to their frivolous ways; nor had women any
attraction for him. He was sufficient unto himself, and looked neither
for friend nor wife; but though he had grown up independent of love, he
yet craved to win for himself some modest amount of grateful
recognition within the narrow limits of the service, and he felt
richly rewarded if a reservist when bidding good-bye gripped his
hand and muttered a few clumsy words of gratitude. Of such were many
good-for-nothings whom he had saved from dangerous follies and their
inevitable punishment, not by rough words, but by kindly counsel. When
he eventually doffed his uniform he had nothing with which to reproach
himself; no neglect and no overstepping of duty, no injustice and no
improper leniency; he had good cause for self-satisfaction.
He was given the post of turnpike-keeper in recognition of his good
service, and could then carry out a long-cherished wish: he took his
sister to live with him. But he did not long enjoy her companionship.
She left him after but a few years, during which she succeeded--not
without difficulty--in bringing some sort of brightness into the life
of her grave brother. She foresaw that he would in all probability
lapse into deeper and deeper gloom when she was no longer there; and on
her deathbed she joined his hand with that of a girl some years younger
than herself, with whom she had struck up a firm friendship. They
respected the wishes of the dead, married, and lived together happily,
thinking themselves the most fortunate of mortals when a son was born
to them. But August Vogt was doomed to loneliness, for his wife died
when the boy was just old enough to go to school.
Shortly after this Vogt inherited a small property from his wife's
father, and the toll on the highway being at the same time abolished,
he bought the now superfluous house cheap from the State, and set up as
a peasant proprietor. He had now a new source of pride: that this land,
which he watered with his sweat, should bring forth abundantly; that
his cattle, whom no strange hand might touch, should be the sleekest
and fattest of all. Solitary and unaided he laboured in house and
field, as if wishing to defy that fate which had torn from him the
only two people he had loved. As he could love them no longer he had
rather be quite alone, save for the little chap who trotted after him
everywhere, and--looking almost as grave and preoccupied as his
father--copied with his tiny gardening tools everything he saw his
father do. In course of time the child became a more and more useful
helper, till at last the two in equal comradeship spent their entire
energies on the land, by whose produce they were almost exclusively
nourished, with the addition of the milk from their own cow.
In the evening they sat opposite to each other, resting after their
toil. Occasionally, with a youth's eagerness for adventure, the younger
man would ask the elder to recount those military experiences to which
the decorations in the cash-box bore testimony; but the father gave
only scanty and unwilling replies. He bethought himself how in those
days of St. Privat they had stormed a burning village, rushing through
a fine field of ripe oats, and how a man had fallen next to him--a
boyish drummer--with a bullet in his throat. In dying he had grasped
and torn up the golden ears; and he held a bunch of them in his dead
hand, all dyed in his blood like some red flag.
Oh yes, he was proud of his medal and his cross, notwithstanding a
sort of doubt that he could not suppress. An ever-widening gulf now
separated him from that famous past; and it gave him a certain sense of
discomfort, in the midst of this life of creative labour, to think of a
time devoted chiefly, after all, to death and destruction.
It was from this feeling that he had abandoned his first intention
of making his son follow his own old profession. There was no hurry.
When the youngster was serving his time, he could decide to join on if
he liked.
And now one thing was certain: it was very tiresome that his son
should be called up just at this moment. Of course he mustn't let the
boy see it; but he felt it hard, all the same. The recruiting-sergeant
had pointed out to him that he could claim his son if he could show
that the lad was indispensable to his work. But August Vogt was too
honourable for that. Certainly he was sixty years of age; but even had
he been ninety he would have managed to keep things going. Still, it
was hard.
The father was probably heavier of heart than the son, as they paced
through the night together; but when they stood once more before their
door, after making a somewhat lengthy round, he only said: "Well, well,
young 'un; you'll often think of this. Now sleep well, your last night
at home." And as his son went off upstairs he added softly to himself,
"My dear good boy!"
Early next day Franz Vogt departed.
The greater number of the recruits left the train when it reached
the capital, and it was only a small company that proceeded onwards to
the little garrison town.
Two or three non-commissioned officers received the detachment when
it ultimately arrived at its destination. The recruits were then formed
into squads and conducted to a large exercise-ground. The main body,
hailing from the coal-mines and factories of the neighbouring mountain
district, had already arrived by special train. There must have been
about four hundred men altogether. Two or three officers, and numerous
non-commissioned officers with helmets and shoulder-straps, were
standing about. An endless calling over of names began. Those who were
told off to the first battery were taken first, and were led away as
soon as their number was complete. Then came those of the second
battery, then the third, and so on. The other recruits stood looking
dully in front of them, while those whose names were called out pressed
forward through the ranks with feverish haste, jostling every one else
with their boxes and bundles.
Franz Vogt listened at first full of expectation. Each time he
thought that his name would be the next; but when the third battery had
marched off without him his interest began to flag, and he thought he
would take a look round. What he saw was not very encouraging. The
large square exercise-ground was strewn with a fine black dust,
coke-refuse, evidently; on three sides it was surrounded by a wooden
paling through which bare fields could be seen, and, in the direction
of the town, miserable-looking vegetable-gardens in all the desolation
of autumn. On the fourth side was an irregular row of buildings; first
a long shed with windows at wide intervals, before which stood a
sentry, who gazed across at the recruits with great curiosity; next a
forge, from the door of which a grimy blacksmith and his assistants
were watching, and a soldier in a grey jacket was leading out a black
mare that had just been shod; then came another shed with large gates,
one of which was open, and a number of men inside were busily engaged
around a gun with cloths and brushes.
At length the names of the men belonging to the last--the sixth
battery were read out. Franz Vogt counted them for want of something
better to do--his own was the nineteenth on the list; he answered with
a loud "Here!" and hurried forward. The corporal, who was arranging his
men in ranks of six abreast, was a little man with a red face, flashing
eyes, and a heavy dark moustache over a mouth whence continually issued
objurgations and reprimands. When Vogt with quick comprehension placed
himself at the beginning of a new row he gave a nod of satisfaction,
and the young recruit felt mildly gratified that he had at any rate
begun well.
As soon as the recruits told off to the sixth battery were in order
they were marched off, two non-commissioned officers in front, one on
either side, and another behind. It looked almost as if they were
prisoners with a military escort.
The road went through part of the town and then took a curve round a
corner into a street that led out into the open country. Broad fields
stretched on either hand, those on the right separated from the road by
a stream, alongside of which ran a branch railway line. Beyond these
fields rose steep, sparsely-wooded hills, showing in some places the
bare rock.
A good way up the valley the walls of a large mass of buildings
gleamed white in the sunshine. The little corporal in front turned
round and cried, "Those are your future quarters, boys!"
Vogt felt glad they were not in the town with its close alleys, but
out in the open country, where one could feel nearer the fertile
mother-earth; where the eye had an uninterrupted out-look, and where
one could watch the sprouting and blossoming of springtime.
A whirl of dust now issued from the barrack gates and drew rapidly
nearer. An officer, and behind him a soldier, both mounted, came along
at a trot. When he had almost reached the detachment of recruits the
officer reined in his bay horse, and as they passed by let his eyes
rest for a moment on each one of them in careful scrutiny. He
acknowledged with a curt nod the salutes of the non-commissioned
officers as they marched quickly past. Although not a big man, he sat
his horse with dignity; while a huge red moustache and piercing eyes
that flashed through his _pince-nez_ lent him an aspect of considerable
fierceness. Vogt thought to himself, "He looks strict, but not exactly
bad-tempered," when the little corporal turned round once more and
said: "Boys, that was your captain--von Wegstetten."
The escort of armed and spurred non-commissioned officers had
already made Vogt feel as if he were going to prison, and the entry
into the barracks made it full clear that he was, at any rate, under
stringent discipline, and must henceforth renounce a large measure of
individual freedom. The opening gates were of iron, and were adorned
with sharp spikes on the top, so as to make climbing over impossible; a
sentry, too, stood at the entrance. The gates opened on to a spacious
courtyard surrounded by buildings. Not a green thing was to be seen,
and the gravelled yard was as naked and barren as the buildings
themselves, whose blank windows suggested deserted rooms. Only a few
were graced with white curtains, which gave promise of habitation. Even
the young chestnut-trees that had been planted round the borders of the
courtyard throve but poorly; now and then a yellow leaf fell to the
ground, although the woods outside were still a mass of green.
The quarters of the sixth battery were exactly facing the entrance,
but the inner yard was evidently held sacred, for the recruits were
taken round it by a paved pathway.
The little corporal now marshalled them carefully in two rows, and
announced to an older man in a green jacket trimmed with red braid who
was standing in a doorway: "The recruits are here, sir."
"Are they all there?" asked the other, as he came down the steps.
"All here, sir," replied the little man.
The sergeant-major passed slowly along the ranks, and examined each
recruit with a searching glance. Vogt looked him fearlessly in the
face. He reminded him of his father. He, too, could look one through
and through like that; but one need never cast down one's eyes if one
has a clear conscience.
The recruits were next conducted into the barrack-rooms, where to each
was allotted a locker of his own, in which a white napkin and a spoon
had already been placed. After putting their bundles into these
lockers, they were taken straight to the dining-hall. Each gave in his
white napkin through a serving-hatch and received it back again full,
almost burning his fingers with the contents before he could put it
down on the well-scoured wooden table. Beans and bacon was the fare,
and it tasted rather good. No wonder, when the men had been travelling
ever since early morning.
Vogt's neighbour during the march came and sat next him on the wooden
bench. He wiped his short black beard, and nodded to Vogt.
"This goes down pretty quick, doesn't it?" he said, as he spooned up
his food.
"Rather!" answered Vogt. And the other went on, as he pointed to his
empty napkin:
"If only our two years would go as fast!"
They soon made acquaintance. Weise was the man's name, and he was a
locksmith from a factory in the neighbouring coal-district. But they
only had time to exchange the barest preliminaries of intercourse when
they had to get up again, go and wash their dishes and spoons at a tap,
and then return.
Outside in the court-yard, in front of the quarters of another battery,
some recruits who had arrived still earlier were standing, looking
hungrily towards the kitchen.
"We've come off better than they," remarked Weise. "Things are going
well with us, it seems."
Now again they had to go outside, and the reading over of names began
once more. This time the standing-orders were given out, and during
this performance their captain came into the barrack-yard. He
dismounted, and walked up and down, sometimes behind and sometimes in
front of the recruits, occasionally standing still and examining a man
with special attention. It felt very uncomfortable if the little
captain paused too long behind one; but--so much they had learned
already--it would not do to turn round.
It was a considerable time before the last standing-order was given
out, after which the sergeant-major desired those who wished to attend
to the horses and to be drivers to stand on one side, and those who
wanted to be gunners to take up their position on the other. Vogt and
his new friend Weise placed themselves with the gunners, Vogt in this
acting after his father's advice. "Youngster," the old man had said,
"first and foremost be a good gunner. Then if you want to go on serving
and become a corporal, you will get on faster than you would otherwise.
You will know your gun and will only have to learn to ride."
Vogt began now to long for the end of all this. He felt tired in every
limb, and would never have believed that waiting and standing about
could take it out of one to such an extent. But what had gone before
was child's play compared with the tiresome business of getting fitted
with a uniform, which now began. Vogt himself came off rather well: the
trousers, measured according to the length of the outstretched arm,
fitted exactly, as did also the second coat he tried on; the leather
belt with sword attached he buckled on at once, and cap and helmet were
soon forthcoming, but he had to put on several pairs of boots before he
found the right ones. Then the corporal tossed him over a drill suit as
well, and he was ready.
But with some of the men nothing would fit. The tallest of all found
the sleeves reaching just below his elbows, and when he tried the next
size, the coat hung in folds across his chest. Others had square heads
on which the round helmets rocked about, until they were jammed on by
two or three good blows of the fist. One sturdy, thick-set, big-bellied
fellow it seemed impossible to suit; everything was far too tight for
him.
"What have you been hitherto?" asked one of the non-commissioned
officers.
"A brewer," answered the fat man.
"Did you drink all your beer yourself, then, eh?" inquired the other;
and the man who gave out the clothing flung over a fresh suit, saying,
threateningly: "Well, if that doesn't fit, by God! you shall drill in
your drawers!"
He made the trousers meet with difficulty, and the coat was abominably
tight; but the corporal gave him a dig in the stomach and said: "Cheer
up, fatty! that'll soon go. They'll get rid of your paunch here in no
time!"
When Vogt left the kit-room with his regimentals on his arm the
erstwhile perfect order of the shelves, and of the symmetrically-folded
piles of clothing, had been transformed into a scene of the wildest
confusion. "A pity so much labour should be wasted," he thought.
And in what a wretched state were the clothes he had now to wear! The
green cloth of the coat was so shabby that in parts it was positively
threadbare; dark patches had been put in near the arm-holes, and the
once red facings were quite faded. He examined them dejectedly and
shook his head; he had expected something very different, and certainly
he would not cut much of a figure in this get-up. He pulled a stool up
to his locker, and began to take his things off. Weise sat down near
him, already a full-blown soldier. The smart young fellow could adapt
himself to anything, and had known at once how to give just the right
saucy tilt to his forage-cap.
"Fine, eh?" he said, laughing, as he struck an attitude and gave his
moustache an upward twirl.
But now once more the little corporal's penetrating voice recalled
the recruits from their short breathing-space; those who were ready
dressed must go down into the yard again, and then began another
putting-to-rights all round. The presiding non-commissioned officers
were in despair, for one of the men had one leg shorter than the other,
another had crooked shoulders, and a third drew forth the exclamation:
"Why, the fellow is humpbacked!"
The corporal called across the court-yard to his comrades: "We've got a
hunchback here in the sixth!"
And the poor devil, a firmly-knit, broad-shouldered fellow, who had got
somewhat round-shouldered from sheer hard labour, stood inwardly
raging, and letting them pull him about as they liked; straighten his
back he could not.
"A fellow-townsman of mine, that Findeisen there, a stonemason," said
Weise.
He and Vogt came off well in this inspection. Their things fitted
exactly.
"Thank God some of them have straight bones!" sighed the corporal, and
sent them indoors again.
"You can be packing up your civilian clothes," he called after them,
"and getting them ready to be sent away."
In the passage Vogt stopped: "Which is our room then?" he asked.
"Oh, number nine; we're all in nine," answered Weise. He pushed the
door open, and with mock ceremony invited his comrade to enter.
At this moment the opposite door opened, and a tall thin soldier
stepped over the threshold. Weise started. "What! you, Wilhelm?" he
exclaimed in astonishment.
The other said, "Well, why not? Didn't you know?---- How are you,
anyhow?"
They shook hands warmly, and it seemed to Vogt that they looked at each
other as if there were some private understanding between them. Curious
for an explanation, he inquired, "Who's that? He's an old hand, isn't
he?"
Weise replied: "Oh, he's an old friend of mine; Wolf is his name. Yes,
he has served since last autumn."
He had been speaking quite gravely; but quickly regained his cheerful
manner, and soon after left the room.
Vogt put his civilian clothes into his box and snapped the padlock with
a click. With that he felt that the last link that had bound him to the
old life was broken. He was a soldier now. He looked round the room
that was to be his home for two years: the floor of bare boards; the
grey-plastered walls, hidden for the most part by the rows of lockers,
and their only decoration a portrait of the King over the door and two
unframed battle pictures fastened up with tin-tacks. These had
evidently been torn out of a newspaper. Two large tables surrounded by
stools stood in the middle of the room; and at one of the two windows,
which were bare except for their striped roller-blinds, a smaller table
was placed with a common chair before it, the seat assigned to the
corporal in charge of the room.
The others now began to come up from the court-yard. They were fifteen,
all told; but as there were sixteen cupboards in the room, one man must
be still to come. Most of them had to finish packing their civilian
clothes; when that was done they sat down in the darkening room, tired
and silent, hardly even caring to make acquaintance with one another.
The fat brewer had placed himself at the table next to Vogt and Weise.
He was overcome with heat, and said he would rather hang himself than
endure this horrible drudgery for two whole years. But Weise chaffed
him in his genial way: "How do you know you could find a tough enough
rope, brewer? you're no light weight!" And presently the brewer grew
less melancholy; now that he could sit down things did not look so
formidable, and he only groaned pathetically: "Oh, if I'd only a mug of
beer--just one!"
At last Weise suggested lighting up. The two lamps gave but a scanty
light; yet even that helped to dispel the gloomy thoughts of the men.
And soon the little corporal appeared, with two of the "old gang"
carrying loaves of bread, of which every man received one.
It tasted very good, this hard black bread, to which each recruit had
some little relish of his own to add--butter, or dripping, or perhaps a
sausage. Only one sat regarding his dry loaf disconsolately: Klitzing,
a pale, spare young fellow with hollow cheeks, whose uniform was a
world too wide for him. Vogt, who sat beside him, cut a big piece from
his smoked sausage and pushed it to his neighbour: "There, comrade,
let's go shares!"
Klitzing at first declined; but at last he took it, and thanked Vogt
shyly.
"Why didn't you pack up your clothes?" asked the latter.
"I have no friends," replied Klitzing, "and I only came out of hospital
on Monday."
"Poor fellow! all the more reason for you to eat. What were you?"
"A clerk."
"Well, we'll stick together, and you'll get along all right," said Vogt
kindly. This pale clerk attracted him more than did Weise. Klitzing had
frank honest eyes; one could not but feel sorry for his pallor and
languor; how was he going to stand the hard work?
The men were still sitting over their meal when the little corporal
brought in another recruit, a tall overgrown lad with a pink and white
boyish face, apparently several years younger than the rest. The
corporal spoke less gruffly to him, and showed him his locker with
something like politeness. Apparently there was something special about
this Frielinghausen, as he was called; even the uniform he wore was
rather less patched and threadbare than those of the others. However,
the new comrade seemed in anything but a cheerful mood; he dropped into
a seat at the darkest end of the table, leant his head on his hand, and
did not touch the loaf which the corporal placed before him.
Most of the recruits regarded him with unconcealed mistrust. What kind
of stuck-up fine gentleman was this, who sat there as if his comrades
didn't exist? He was no better than they. Only Vogt and Klitzing looked
at him with compassion; who could tell what trouble this Frielinghausen
was suffering from?
Weise became only the more gay. He took on himself to enliven the feast
with jokes and drollery, and they all listened willingly; it kept off
dulness, and the disagreeable thoughts that assailed them.
The corporal, too, listened awhile, well pleased. Then he called to the
joker: "Hi, you black fellow! come here a minute!"
Weise sprang up, and his superior looked him up and down, not
unfavourably.
"You're right," he said; "it's no good pulling a long face; a soldier
should be jolly. Tell me, what's your name?"
"Weise," answered the recruit.
"Weise? Gustav Weise?"
"Yes, sir."
"Oh, indeed. Well, all right; sit down again."
Weise went back to his place, feeling somewhat snubbed. Why had the
corporal suddenly looked so glum when he heard the name? There was
nothing peculiar about his name. He did not trouble his head very much
about it; but his cheerfulness passed away.
The last thing to do on this first day of their soldier's life was to
give up their civilian clothes, with the address to which each box was
to be sent. Klitzing knew no one who could receive his belongings; so
they remained in the custody of the battery.
At length the day drew to a close. Shortly before ten o'clock "Lights
out and go to bed!" was called. They hung up their jackets and went
upstairs to the dormitory.
This was a spacious room, which extended, directly under the roof, the
whole length and breadth of the building. Vogt had the good fortune to
secure a bed in one of the outer rows close to a window, and he
beckoned to Klitzing to take possession of the bed next him on the
right. That on the left, in the corner, had been allotted by the
corporal to Frielinghausen. The recruits were not long in getting to
bed; though the "old gang" were more leisurely in their proceedings.
It was only on lying down that Vogt discovered how tired he was. The
lean clerk on the right fell asleep immediately. Frielinghausen,
however, seemed wakeful. Vogt listened. No, he was not deceived: the
tall lad was weeping. For a moment he felt inclined to question his
comrade about his trouble; but he feared a repulse, so turned over on
the other side. After all, it was not for a man to weep, especially a
soldier!
Once more he started from incipient slumber; he thought he heard the
cow in her stall, clattering her chain. Surprised, he collected his
wits. "Of course," he then said to himself, "it is the tattoo. I am a
soldier."