TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
* Obvious printer errors have been silently corrected.
* Original spelling was kept.
* Variant spellings were made consistent when a predominant
usage was found.
* Italics are represented between underscores as in _italics_.
* Small caps are represented in upper case as in SMALL CAPS.
LIFE IN A GERMAN CRACK REGIMENT
LIFE IN A GERMAN
CRACK REGIMENT
BY
BARON VON SCHLICHT
(COUNT VON BAUDISSIN)
NEW YORK
DODD MEAD AND COMPANY
PREFACE
LIEUTENANT BILSE, Beyerlein, and Baron von Schlicht,[A] the author
of the present work, with their many less-known followers, have
managed among them to create what may be regarded as a novel of a new
species--the "critical" military novel. What is commonly called the
"military novel," has, of course, long been known in Germany, but
it differed considerably from the new species. The older military
novel gave more or less lively pictures of camp, garrison and casino
life, and the gay young lieutenant who generally figured as hero
was much adored by ladies (as indeed he still is). But between the
lieutenant of romance and the lieutenant of stern reality there is
a gulf. Readers have now before them the lieutenant of reality, and
the uplifting of the veil on his interesting, if not very edifying,
personality and doings, has aroused in Germany a curious storm of
indignation, especially in army and official circles. Indeed, as may
be remembered, Baron von Schlicht was "insulted" over the present
work in the Reichstag itself, and the affair went so far that a duel
nearly followed. The widespread interest taken in these revelations
of military life is testified by the number of copies of the present
work (40,000) which have been sold in Germany, though its circulation
is now forbidden there; while for his outspokenness in this novel it
is rumoured that Baron von Schlicht has to meet his trial in Berlin
very shortly.
[A] This is a pen-name. The author's actual name is Count von
Baudissin.
Though widely known as the author of various military sketches and
stories of a more or less light and humorous turn, in the present
case Baron von Schlicht shows little trace of his characteristic
vein. Here, rather, he devotes himself seriously to making what is in
effect a detailed and apparently dispassionate _exposé_ in regard to
the manners and morals of officers of the old nobility in the German
army. The indignation aroused against him is all the greater as he
himself belongs to the old nobility which he so freely criticises,
and he has the further advantage of speaking from inside knowledge of
the officers' caste (Offiziers-Kaste) to which he himself belonged
during his military career. Lieutenant Bilse wrote from outside this
circle of the old nobility; thus Baron von Schlicht's work fills a
gap which Lieutenant Bilse's book still left open.
R. M.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
PREFACE v
I. BY COMMAND OF THE EMPEROR 9
II. INTRODUCED TO THE REGIMENT 28
III. AMONG THE ARISTOCRACY 47
IV. A GAME OF CARDS 71
V. HILDEGARDE AND GEORGE 95
VI. MILITARY MORALS 128
VII. AN ARISTOCRATIC HOUSEHOLD 166
VIII. THE WAGES OF SIN 221
IX. THE HUMILIATION OF THE "GOLDEN
BUTTERFLIES" 241
X. AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE 278
XI. FAREWELL TO THE ARMY! 311
LIFE IN A GERMAN CRACK REGIMENT
CHAPTER I
BY COMMAND OF THE EMPEROR
THE "Yellow Butterflies," as Franz Ferdinand Leopold's infantry
regiment was called on account of its yellow epaulettes, was
celebrating its anniversary; the day when, more than forty years
ago, it lost in a famous battle a third of its rank and file and
more than half of its officers. The memory of the heroic deeds of
the regiment could not be allowed to perish; the younger generation
were continually reminded of them, and thus the celebration of the
anniversary of the famous battle was accompanied by the toast: "In
remembrance of the fallen; for the encouragement of the living." The
fallen, for what they had done, were given every year a magnificent
wreath tied with a gigantic ribbon of the regimental colours; the
living, who had as yet done nothing, were given a splendid dinner
with equally splendid wine: and when the enthusiasm aroused by the
official speech of the colonel, under the influence of the champagne,
had done its work, the officers all declared again and again that
when the regiment went into battle they would know how to die as
bravely as their comrades--and they really meant what they swore.
To-day the anniversary was being celebrated with especial
magnificence, for new officers' quarters were to be opened, which
were to be used exclusively as a mess-room. Only at mid-day, as
he was preparing his oration, did it occur to the colonel that
the dedication of this building, which was intended for purely
pleasurable purposes, was not altogether in harmony with the solemn
anniversary of the dead. He could not very well say, "In order to
honour the noble dead we open to-day our new mess-room, which, I
hope, will be a financial success." Certainly that would not do. Then
a way out of the difficulty occurred to the colonel; he would simply
say, "And we vow to the fallen heroes, that within these walls we
will above all practise the spirit of comradeship, and the soldierly
virtues, which animated them and fitted them to perform their heroic
deeds." That would make a suitable impression; and so in a pleasant
frame of mind he betook himself to the mess-room where there was
much excitement and bustle. In the morning the usual formalities
had been followed; almost all the former officers of the regiment
had appeared, the closely allied regiments had sent deputations,
and nobody had come with empty hands. A veritable shower of silver
ornaments had been poured upon the "Golden Butterflies," and now all
were thronging into the reception-rooms, greeting mutual friends,
admiring the presents, and awaiting the arrival of the important
officials.
Dinner was to take place at seven o'clock, and on the stroke of the
hour the representative of His Majesty appeared. Originally the
Emperor had promised the regiment the honour of his presence, but at
the last moment he had been prevented from attending.
The music began, and in a long procession the company went into the
dining hall. A cry of admiration broke from the lips of everyone at
the sight of the magnificent apartment with its gorgeous decorations
and beautifully laid table.
The officers of the "Golden Butterflies" who led in the guests
swaggered a bit, and drew themselves up as much as to say, "Yes,
this is what we're like, that's how we do things. We have been quite
long enough housed in a fashion unbecoming to our rank. But now,
where is the regiment that can boast of such apartments?" They knew
that on account of their old mess-room, in which, according to the
declaration of a cavalry officer of the Guards, no self-respecting
man could feel really happy, they had often been slighted. Formerly
they had been the worst off in this respect; now they were the
best. The "Golden Butterflies" beamed; each word of compliment and
admiration which the guests expressed sounded like heavenly music in
the ears of the officers, and each seemed as proud as if it were due
to him that at last they had a new mess-room. And in truth, each had
done his share, for if all of them did not appreciate so highly the
calling and honour of an officer as in bygone days, yet the officers
and friends of the regiment in earlier times could never had raised
such a large sum as was required for the erection and furnishing of
this building. As the bearers of old and honoured names, each of the
officers was conscious of his position and his duty, for the "Golden
Butterflies" were proud to be considered one of the haughtiest and
most exclusive of regiments in the whole army.
With pride they regarded their guests, all of whom bore important
names. A lieutenant of the Uhlans, Baron Gersbach, whom all knew as a
great gambler, stuck his eyeglass in his eye, examined the persons at
the table, and then turned to his neighbour; "Really a highly select
company; not a single man belonging to the middle class is present."
"Yes, but there is--one----"
The Uhlan stuck his eyeglass more firmly in to his eye to discover
which it was.
"Who is it?" he asked at last.
"The architect who built the place."
"Ah, well, he hardly counts. But why did you invite him to dinner?"
"We thought about the matter for a very long time, but we came to
the conclusion we could not do otherwise. The fellow formerly served
in this regiment for a year, and out of attachment and love for the
regiment he drew up the plans free of cost, and he has also charged
nothing for all the trouble he has taken. Well, we had to show
ourselves equally obliging."
The Uhlan nodded approvingly. "Yes, I quite understand, and such
an invitation is not only the easiest, but the most magnificent
form of thanks. To the end of his days the fellow will live on the
remembrance of this evening, and besides that it is a splendid
recommendation for him to have dined with us. I must say, considering
his class, he seems a very decent sort of fellow; fancy, his hands
are manicured! What's his name?"
"I think it's Klipper, Lipper, Wipper, or something of that sort."
"Oh, well, it doesn't matter. By the way, have you heard," went
on the Uhlan, "what is said to have happened in a line regiment at
a festival dinner? A fellow--I don't like to use the word comrade
in such a connection--well, as I was saying, a fellow made a fool
of himself, and in his drunkenness--for I must call his condition
by that name--he gave an ensign a sounding box on the ears at the
dinner-table because the latter, in his opinion, did not jump up
quickly enough when the besotted beast pledged his health."
"It's incredible!"
"Nevertheless it is true."
"Do you know what will happen next?"
Baron Gersbach shrugged his shoulders. "What can happen? They cannot
fight a duel, for it is impossible for an ensign to challenge his
superior."
"Yes, that is so," agreed the other.
"There are only two possible ways of settling the thing: either
the lieutenant, if he should ever become sober again, must beg the
ensign's pardon in the presence of the officers and all those who
witnessed the affair, or the lieutenant must flee, and then the
ensign must settle with himself whether he will go on living with
the blow on his cheek unavenged. But in any case his career is all
over--at any rate in our regiment. An ensign who had suffered such a
box on the ears would not be made an officer."
Both were silent for a moment, then the signal was given to fill the
glasses. The two officers drank each other's health, and the Uhlan
continued: "One can't help feeling very sorry for the unfortunate
ensign; he is said to have been entirely blameless in the whole
affair, and to attack an ensign is really far worse than to insult
one's equal. But these things happen to-day because they are not more
careful in the choice of men who are going to be officers. To-day,
anybody who has the necessary cash, and belongs to a family that has
not come into conflict with the police, can become a lieutenant."
The other acquiesced. "Alas, it is such a pity that the necessity
of increasing our army forces us to choose officers from the middle
class."
The Uhlan emptied his glass again, and then said: "You are quite
right, although it cannot be denied that some of the middle class
are very decent. I must own that I became acquainted with a couple
of fellows--in our regiment of course they would have been quite
impossible--but I met them several times in the train----"
The officer of the "Golden Butterflies" looked up with astonishment.
"Do you mean to say that you travel second class?"
"Who, I?" At first the Uhlan was quite disconcerted, then he laughed
loud and long: "What a joke! Do you suppose I travel second class?
Perhaps you'll give me a free pass? Or do you think I act as an
agent, perhaps? If I were to write this to my dear papa he would be
highly amused."
It was long before the Uhlan had recovered his composure, then he
said: "When I said just now I had got to know these fellows in
the train, I was speaking figuratively. I meant a mere passing
acquaintanceship, and as I told you these people were really quite
nice, it was very amusing to me to talk with a fellow from the
provinces who lives in such different circumstances. I was highly
amused when they told me how they spent their month's salary of fifty
or sixty marks. Just think, why, my hairdresser gets that!" Then
quite suddenly he broke off and said: "By the way, we were disputing
yesterday at mess as to how long it really was since the last officer
belonging to the middle class had his discharge from your regiment."
"On 15th May it will be four years."
The Uhlan looked up astonished. "Just fancy, you remember the exact
date!"
"Well, one does not easily forget such a joyful date."
"You are quite right, but haven't you got a _bourgeois_ fellow among
the ensigns?"
"Not a single one. The colonel has laid it down that under no
circumstances whatever will he receive such a man."
"Very sensible of him. First of all, such a fellow would not suit
here at all; secondly, he would be a great source of annoyance to
you; thirdly, he himself would feel highly uncomfortable. The proper
thing is for people to remain in their own class. And the common
people who will not understand that talk about 'Caste' feeling and
the 'Aristocratic Spirit'!--well, let them talk, what does it matter
to us?"
After a slight pause the officer of the "Golden Butterflies" said:
"Do you know I have been thinking a good deal lately about that
'Caste' feeling and aristocratic prejudice. Whenever the Guards give
a dinner the glasses are raised to symbolise that the spirit which
inspires the officers must remain ever the same. Now I think this
means that not only must we ever cherish love and fidelity for the
ruling house, but also that we must ever remain 'first-class men,'
with the same ideas as we hold now. As bearers of noble names, and
belonging to the most important regiment, we must ever be conscious
of our exclusive position, and so stand firmly together, and we must
maintain strictly the barrier that divides us from the middle class.
Let us drink once more to this hope; that the Guards may ever remain
what we now are--bearers of the oldest names, 'first-class' men!"
The conversation of his neighbour had been far too long for the
Uhlan, who had scarcely listened to what he was saying; nevertheless
he re-echoed his words, "Let us drink." But just as he was about to
raise his glass a universal shout arose; the colonel had risen and
given the first cheer for the head of the army, and the second to the
representative of His Majesty, who was there present.
After a short pause the latter rose to thank them for the honour
they had done him, then he continued: "His Majesty has commanded
me to express his extreme regret that he cannot be present to-day
at the anniversary festival of the regiment; His Majesty has been
pleased to command me to offer to the regiment that has always
distinguished itself in war and peace his royal greeting, and to
assure the regiment of his imperial favour and his imperial good
wishes. His Majesty is quite sure that in the future, as in the past,
he may always depend upon the regiment, and he knows that each of you
is ready now as ever to sacrifice his life for his country and his
king, therefore His Majesty trusts that the spirit that has always
distinguished this regiment--the spirit of good fellowship--shall be
always fostered, and especially, here in these rooms."
The exalted personage paused, and a murmur of approval ran through
the assembled officers and guests who were standing up to listen to
the speech.
"Now the health of the regiment is going to be drunk," they all said,
and they looked to see whether their glasses were full, for it was
due to each man that in his own regiment his glass should be full.
But the expected conclusion of the speech was not immediately
forthcoming; the exalted personage was visibly embarrassed, and it
was apparent to everyone that he had still something to say, but
could not for the moment find the right words. At last he regained
his composure, and said: "Gentlemen, finally, His Majesty has
commanded me to inform you that to-day he has transferred to your
regiment Lieutenant Winkler, the son of His Majesty's commercial
adviser, who was formerly in the 25th Infantry Regiment. And now,
gentlemen," continued the Prince, in a louder tone, and visibly
relieved, "lift your glasses to the prosperity of this magnificent
regiment, whose officers unite in themselves the best names in the
land, and whose subalterns and rank and file present a shining
example of the most faithful fulfilment of duty--here's to the
regiment. Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!"
They felt as if they had been throttled; such a sorrowful "hurrah"
had never before been heard, and it was a fortunate thing that the
loud-sounding fanfare echoed through the hall.
The "hurrahs" were over, His Highness had taken his seat again,
but the rest remained standing, staring at each other as if they
could not have heard aright, as if each wanted to learn from his
neighbour's face whether what he had just heard could really be the
fact.
"We have become a plebeian regiment."
Nobody knew who pronounced the word first, but at once the phrase
passed from lip to lip--"We have become plebeian."
It was just as if a jug of cold water had been thrown into their
faces, and indeed when at last they sat down to the table again
and the music struck up a merry _potpourri_, they could not grasp,
they could not take it in, this inevitable thing--that once more a
"commoner" was in the regiment.
All their gay spirits had fled; indeed it appeared to the officers
of the "Golden Butterflies" as if a quite new spirit had taken
possession of the building. The festival had lost its splendour;
it seemed as if the silver itself suddenly shone less brilliantly,
as if the glass were less finely cut, and as if the hall no longer
possessed the unique elegance that had hitherto distinguished it.
A painful silence reigned at the table, the "Golden Butterflies"
did not venture to talk to their guests, for they knew they would
be besieged by questions as to who and what this Winkler really
was, where he came from, whatever could have caused His Majesty
to transfer him from his frontier garrison town to this proud and
distinguished regiment. It must have some signification. They did not
venture even to look at their guests, for they knew that in the faces
of the latter would stand clearly written: "You are no longer what
you were; you cannot indeed help it that you have become plebeian,
but the fact remains, and your position will be affected by this in
the future."
If only the news that they were to receive a plebeian lieutenant had
been communicated to them privately--but no, it had been announced
publicly, in the presence of all the assembled guests, so that there
was no possibility of denial or subterfuge. It was a direct slap in
the face for them, and for the former officers, some of whom had come
from a distance to be present at the dedication of the new buildings.
And now into that new house a new element had been introduced. A
commoner! Why had the regiment deserved it that the glory that had
hitherto distinguished it should be removed? On the former occasion
when a plebeian lieutenant had dwelt among them for a short time they
had all suffered, and it was esteemed a special mark of the Emperor's
favour that on the personally expressed wish of the officers he had
been transferred to a line regiment. When they were again relieved
of the stigma, each had sworn to live more zealously for the honour
of the regiment so that a plebeian should not for a second time be
received in their midst. Now this very thing had happened.
The Uhlan had regarded for a long time his neighbour who was looking
gloomily in front of him; now he felt impelled to utter a sympathetic
word, and everything that he felt in the depth of his heart he
put into the remark, "What a pity! you were all so jolly in your
regiment."
The officer of the "Golden Butterflies" shrugged his shoulders. What
did these words mean but this: "The beginning has been made, other
commoners will follow this one, and even if he does remain the only
one, you will never be again what you once were."
The Uhlans were considered a frightfully exclusive regiment, and
the "Golden Butterflies" had made the greatest efforts to maintain
friendly and cordial relations with them. At last they had succeeded,
and to-day the Uhlans almost to a man had appeared; the most
aristocratic of regiments had been _fêted_ with a costly dinner; and
now, scarcely had the friendship been sealed when it was immediately
threatened.
All breathed more freely when at last they rose from the table;
the "Golden Butterflies" were most anxious to talk to each other,
and learn something more of their new comrade. Somebody or
other must know something about him; the fellow must have some
sort of reputation--as much as was possible for a commoner, of
course--otherwise His Majesty would not have interested himself on
his behalf.
It was in this way that the men who had fallen into two groups--the
guests, and the present and former officers--expressed their
opinions; each had something to say as to his idea concerning the
event.
The "Golden Butterflies" surrounded the adjutant of the regiment,
Count Wettborn; he had become quite white, and was nervously
fidgeting with the laces of his faultless patent-leather boots.
After the colonel the matter concerned him most closely of all; he
was often the representative and delegate of the officers, and now,
was he to become a representative of a Winkler, he, a count? He was
tall, of proud, imposing appearance; on his breast glittered as his
latest decoration an order of the Fourth Class, which he had won
as leader of the ball at court. For two years he had occupied this
proud position; it was not only a great honour for him, but also
for the whole regiment, and when he had stepped back into the rank
he had been named adjutant, and all had heartily concurred in this
promotion, deeming him the most worthy among them.
"But, count, do tell us, you must know something, who is this
Winkler, then?"
Anxiously they all looked at the count; dead silence reigned, they
scarcely dared to breathe.
"Gentlemen," at last said the adjutant, "whatever the colonel and I
know we have just learnt from His Serene Highness. Old Winkler is a
manufacturer."
They felt as if a stone had been rolled from their hearts. A
manufacturer! It was not up to much, certainly, and not to be
compared, of course, with the social position of a country gentleman
or a chamberlain; but still, Krupp had been nothing more nor less
than a manufacturer, and the German Emperor had called him his
friend before the whole world. A load was taken from their hearts;
but immediately they all saw that the count had still something on
his mind, and that the question of being a manufacturer had some
connection with it.
"And what does the fellow manufacture? Cannon or machines?"
"Neither--trouser buttons." If a flash of lightning had suddenly
struck the officers they could not have started more quickly and with
greater horror.
"Good heavens!" They looked around to see if any of the guests or the
orderlies were close by, and then they crowded round the adjutant
again.
Belitz, a very tall officer, was the first to recover himself; he was
on very good terms with the adjutant, almost his friend indeed, and
so he ventured to say, "Don't play any stupid jokes upon us, we are
not in the mood for them, and such things should not be said in jest.
Now do really tell us what the old fellow manufactures."
The count looked at the speaker calmly. "My dear fellow, I am not
in the least in the mood for a joke, but I told you the fact. Old
Winkler manufactures buttons, of course, wholesale. He has three
large factories, and employs thousands of workmen, who are said to be
splendidly looked after. For several years he has been on the Town
Council, and for three he has been commercial adviser to the Emperor;
quite lately he contributed a hundred thousand marks to a charitable
institution which is under the special patronage of His Majesty, and
he has also promised a contribution of twenty thousand marks for the
next five years. He refused an important order that was offered him,
and when he was asked in what way he could be thanked, he answered
that it would be an intense pleasure to him if his only son might be
transferred from a frontier garrison town to Berlin, so that he could
see him more frequently. His wish could not be refused, and so his
son has come to us."
After a slight pause, during which the deepest stillness reigned,
the adjutant continued: "The transference of Lieutenant Winkler to
our regiment is at the personal request of His Majesty. It behoves
us, therefore, not to criticise His Majesty's commands. I beg you to
remember this, and to restrain any expressions of opinion."
It was perfectly clear and unmistakable that the adjutant spoke in
the name, and at the request of the colonel, and silently one after
another retired.
But the silence was far more expressive than words. Dejectedly the
"Golden Butterflies" walked about; they had not the spirit to ask
their guests to remain when, much earlier than usual, the latter
prepared to depart. It was a matter of complete indifference whether
they stayed an hour longer or not; the spirit of the thing had
vanished; the festivity was ruined. The rooms were soon empty, one
after another departed, only the "Golden Butterflies" remained. And
they, when at last they were quite alone, asked themselves again,
"Why have we deserved this?"
In one corner of the room, all huddled up on a sofa, sat young
Willberg, the darling and favourite of all, a young lieutenant of
six-and-twenty, whose father had been in the regiment and had won the
Iron Cross of the First Class on that memorable day. Young Willberg
had evidently indulged somewhat freely in wine; he was in a state of
abject misery, and wept and sobbed like a child.
"Willberg, whatever is the matter?" his comrades asked him
sympathetically, as they came nearer him.
He raised his face which was usually fresh and youthful-looking, but
now the glittering tears ran down his cheeks, and in a heart-breaking
tone of voice he sobbed out: "My regiment, my beloved regiment."
Not a single one of those who stood around him could offer him a word
of consolation--they were all as mournful as death.