AMONG THE ARISTOCRACY
THE regiment had been back from the manoeuvres for five weeks,
recruits had been enlisted, and the military and social festivities
of the winter season in Berlin had begun. No one had looked forward
to the beginning of winter more anxiously than George. Although he
had been in the "Golden Butterflies" nearly six months he was still
as much a stranger to all his comrades as on the first day, for all
his attempts to fraternise with them had been frustrated by their
passive resistance. Now that the winter festivities had begun he
hoped to get into more friendly relationship with the officers.
To-day, Captain von Warnow, who had an elegant house with beautifully
large rooms, was giving a dance, and had invited the whole regiment.
Everybody was delighted, for entertainments at the Warnows were quite
different from the usual official parties.
The Warnow's niece, Fräulein von Wiedemann, a tall, slender, very
beautiful brunette of three-and-twenty, was staying with them, as
she did every winter. The young baroness was an acknowledged beauty,
and although during the last year or two she had lost some of her
charms, she was still considered a very beautiful girl. Her whole air
and bearing were distinguished, for she was an aristocrat through
and through. The Wiedemanns belonged to a very old family, and she
had been strictly brought up in the principles of her class. Her
father had been formerly an officer in a Guards regiment, for whom a
great military future had been prophesied, but one day he had made
a mistake during an inspection of his battalion, and now, as during
his military career he had spent all his own limited private means,
he lived with his wife and daughter in a small town on a pension
of about four thousand marks (£200) a year. His only son was an
officer in an important Artillery regiment. Great poverty reigned in
the household of the pensioned major: the allowance which his son
required to keep up appearances in his regiment swallowed up half
his pension, and the other half, in spite of all efforts, was not
sufficient to defray the ordinary expenses of living. Consequently
the major was up to his ears in debt.
At first he had not troubled himself much about this. Hildegarde,
his beautiful daughter, would one day make a great match, and would
then pay all his debts. But the years passed, and the splendid match
did not come off. Hildegarde would never marry well as long as she
remained in a little provincial town; then Frau von Warnow, who was
connected with the Wiedemanns, and was very fond of Hildegarde, came
forward and said she would find a suitable _parti_ for her. Five
years ago Hildegarde had gone to Berlin for her first visit; on all
sides she had aroused admiration, their Majesties had noticed her at
court festivities, but she was not yet engaged.
Not that suitors were lacking; one after another had endeavoured to
win her favour, but each in turn drew back when he heard of her lack
of dowry. None of the officers of the Guards--and neither Frau von
Warnow nor Hildegarde would have looked at anyone else--was rich
enough to marry a girl whose marriage portion consisted of her beauty
and a whole family plunged in debt. For it was not only the father's
debts that a son-in-law would have to pay, but a brother's, for the
latter was known as a giddy spendthrift and gambler. Hildegarde's
father could not in the least understand why after her first winter
in Berlin she returned home without a _fiancé_. He had so absolutely
reckoned upon a wealthy son-in-law that the non-realisation of his
hopes seemed to him like a terrible blow dealt him by Fate, and it
was long before he recovered from it. But at last hope had sprung up
once again in his heart, although there was really no prospect of
anything for either him or his daughter. Hildegarde's brother also
looked to her for deliverance; it surely must come one day, and he
was so deeply in debt that he could only just keep his head above
water by opportunely winning something at cards; but that could not
go on for long. His rich relatives helped him now and again with £50
or so, but he never dreamed of using this for paying his debts, but
usually gambled it away directly he got it. Whenever he was in a hole
he would write to his sister: "Fulfil the hopes that are centred upon
you; save us all, and do not be so haughty in your demands. It is
true that the idea of a middle-class brother-in-law, who has probably
never worn dress clothes and has moved in a quite different social
circle, is abhorrent to me, still I'd put up with him if only he had
money and was willing to help us."
Hildegarde scarcely ever read these letters nowadays, for she know
beforehand what they contained. Her father was in the habit of saying
exactly the same things when a bill came to the house, or her mother
asked for money for housekeeping, or the servants demanded their
wages. He always said on such occasions:
"Put away your aristocratic pride until you have got a husband.
There are any number of rich middle-class men who would be only
too delighted to get for their miserable money a beautiful and
aristocratic wife who would introduce them into Society and give them
a good social position. When you have got your husband then you can
be as aristocratic as ever you like, in order to impress him, and the
more you show what a sacrifice you made when you accepted him, the
more he will love and honour you."
Hildegarde could scarcely restrain herself from crying out: "What
am I to do? I can hardly do anything more than allow myself to be
exhibited and admired. I can't very well actually offer myself to
the men. I am often so terribly ashamed that I scarcely know how to
endure such a life, and what you say seems horrible to me. I cannot
understand how you can talk to me in this way; you ought to have
more respect for your daughter than to do so. It's money, money,
everlasting money; and to pay your debts I am to sell myself to the
first best man who offers sufficient for my body."
On such occasions violent speeches were on the tip of her tongue,
but she always restrained herself, for she knew what a terrible
struggle her father had, and how he lay awake for hours racking his
brains how to make both ends meet. When he had first left the army
he had delayed trying to get an appointment, for then he considered
it beneath his dignity to become the agent of an insurance company
or something of the sort; now it was too late, and he was not young
enough to get work. To the end of his life he was condemned to lead
this miserable existence of an officer who had been pensioned early:
there was neither career nor money for him. His wife suffered almost
more than he did; she was an elegant, distinguished-looking woman,
who longed to be back in Berlin and to share in the magnificent
entertainments where she had been so much admired. A violent dispute
had taken place between her and her husband when he retired to the
provincial town; she would deny herself, she would put up with all
kinds of deprivations, but she longed to breathe again the air she
had formerly enjoyed. "Only wait a year or so until Hildegarde is
married, and then we will go back again to Berlin," her husband had
said to her again and again. And at last she had given in. At first
she had firmly resolved to live very economically in the little town,
but by degrees she was again the distinguished and elegant woman of
society who could not alter her mode of living and her _toilettes_.
She spoke to her daughter continually of her prospective marriage,
and there were hours when she did not scruple to reproach her child
violently: "How is it that other young girls, who are not nearly so
beautiful and elegant as you, get married? You must be either very
stand-offish or you must make it too apparent that you want to get
married. Both attitudes are unsuitable."
Hildegarde suffered terribly from the speeches and all the family
circumstances, but she suffered even more on account of the visits to
her relatives. It is true it was a pleasure to be in a rich household
once again, to hear nothing of money worries; but letters from her
parents followed her to Berlin with the request that she should
borrow money for them from their relatives. Then again the gaieties
were quite spoiled for her, because every evening before going to bed
her aunt used to say, "Has nothing of importance happened to-day?"
And even if her aunt did not actually say this, and tried not to let
her see what she felt, Hildegarde noticed that it was no longer a
pleasure to her aunt to take her about, for she saw the uselessness
of all her efforts, and would have preferred her niece not to have
visited her again.
This year Hildegarde had determined not to go to Berlin; her pride
and her vanity revolted against being a burden to her relatives
again, and playing a despicable, yet pitiable, _rôle_. She had often
noticed both the contemptuous and the sympathetic glances with which
she had been greeted when she paid calls; some people privately
joked at the idea of her not having given up thinking about a
husband, others, knowing her straitened circumstances, felt sympathy
for her.
"Under no circumstances will I go to Berlin this year," she
declared to her parents. "I am too proud and too ashamed to exhibit
myself again at all the parties, and yet get neither a lover nor a
purchaser!"
The dispute lasted all day long, but at last her father, who was
threatened with a warrant for distraint on account of a wine bill
for five hundred marks, fell on his knees before her and begged her
to save him. Then at last her opposition gave way. But she felt so
wretched and miserable, so degraded and despondent, that during the
long railway journey she constantly wept.
"My dear child, you have never before looked so out of sorts; what
is the matter with you?" her aunt had asked her, and she had only
been reassured when Hildegarde feigned a violent headache. Her
aunt breathed more freely, but next morning and the following days
Hildegarde's looks did not satisfy her, and it was impossible to
conceal the fact that she was no longer the blooming young girl that
she had been. Her aunt looked at her sympathetically, and more to
herself than to her niece she said, "It's high time--high time!"
"Yes, it certainly is," chimed in Hildegarde, "for I cannot bear
this life any longer. If I do not get engaged this time--and I am
convinced I shall _not_--I am going to get a place as a governess or
a companion, or something of the sort. This I know--I won't go home
again."
"Hildegarde!" Frau von Warnow looked with utter astonishment at her
niece, who was sitting opposite her. She was very pale, her eyes had
dark rings underneath them, there were melancholy, despondent lines
round her mouth. "Hildegarde, do think what you are saying. You, to
take a place. You, a Wiedemann! that is quite impossible; on our
account alone it would never do, and you must consider us."
Hildegarde did not answer, but her eyes expressed resolution and
determination, and Frau von Warnow poured forth her fears to her
husband. "Just fancy," she said, "Hildegarde is determined that
this will be the last time she visits us, and she is capable of
carrying out her determination; if she does so, it will be a serious
reflection upon us, and people will reproach us with not having given
her enough money. They will say, 'How can such rich people as the
Warnows allow a near relative to take a situation and earn her own
living.' People will think us cold and lacking in all decent feeling,
and will say that even if Hildegarde could not have stayed at home,
the proper place for her was with us."
Captain von Warnow looked indignant, and as a sign of his
vexation he thrust out his underlip and twisted and twirled his
faultlessly-pointed moustaches. "My dear Clara, pray spare me these
matters; settle the affair with Hildegarde. I have more important
things to think about--in a few days the major will be present at the
drill, and, as you know, it may go off all right, but it may _not_."
"Quite so," his wife agreed. He did not perceive the irony of her
words.
"Ah! I am glad you see that; then you will understand that at present
I am more interested in the success of my men than whether Hildegarde
accepts a post or not. You understand, don't you?"
His wife quite understood. For a long time her husband had been
somewhat tired of acting as guardian to Hildegarde. He was very fond
of her, but her family got on his nerves; he hated those perpetual
begging-letters, but he always gave money, partly out of affection
for his niece, partly because he felt he owed it to his position.
He could not bear the idea of his cousin, whose ancestors had
been distinguished in the Thirty Years' War, being summoned by a
tradesman; such a thing was out of the question. He would have much
preferred that his wife had never taken upon herself the difficult
task of getting Hildegarde married, for then he need not have been
brought into close connection with her family. He could not help it,
but whenever he received a letter from the Wiedemanns he felt as if
he were dealing with something that was not quite clean, and as soon
as ever he had read the letter he washed his carefully-looked-after
hands with great ceremony.
Frau von Warnow was very much perturbed about Hildegarde; she could
not possibly be allowed to take a situation; that would compromise
them too much: at the same time she did not want her to live with
them. There was only one way out of the difficulty; Hildegarde must
get engaged during the coming season, but the question was--to whom?
The night before her entertainment Frau von Warnow lay awake, turning
over in her mind as to who should take Hildegarde in to dinner, and
it was only toward morning that a happy thought occurred to her. It
was such a simple one that she could not understand why it had not
occurred to her before. Winkler, of course, must marry Hildegarde,
and at breakfast she disclosed her plan to her niece, who listened
to it with indifference; this man or that was just the same to her
if she could be rescued from her miserable family circumstances,
her wretched poverty, and was not obliged to hear the oft-repeated
and monotonous reproaches flung at her head. A quiet, resigned
smile played on her finely-cut lips. "So this time the deliverer was
called Winkler. I should much like to know what he looks like, though
probably to you that is a matter of no importance. Is he nice?"
Frau von Warnow was somewhat embarrassed for a moment. "I don't know
him yet."
"And yet you recommend him to me as a husband?" The words breathed
irony and bitterness.
Frau von Warnow quickly recovered her presence of mind. "What do you
want? He is very rich, his father is said to be a millionaire, he's
simply made for you. Have I never spoken to you about him? Didn't
I? Well, I suppose I forgot his name. One has as a rule, thank
heaven, so little to do with these middle-class persons that one
does not trouble to remember their names. Winkler, however, belongs
to our regiment, he is in my husband's company; you know Eric's
views concerning middle-class officers, but he is obliged to admit
that this Winkler performs his duties most satisfactorily, and that
probably in the course of a few years he will have won promotion.
For Eric to say that is the highest praise. Up to the present, as
you can quite understand, he has remained a rank outsider, although
he must have been quite six months in the regiment, for social
prejudices cannot be cast on one side so quickly. Winkler has a
difficult position here; if you became engaged to him everything
would be altered in a moment--he would then be distantly connected
with us; through you he would belong to one of the most distinguished
families, and as your _fiancé_ he would not only be invited by the
most exclusive people, but--how exactly can I express it?--he would
be made quite at home among them."
The last words were uttered with some difficulty by Frau von Warnow,
and she was not quite honest in what she said. She knew, indeed,
that she herself would never look upon Lieutenant Winkler as a
relative, and that all the other aristocratic families would regard
the marriage as a _mesalliance_; they would either not receive him
at all, or confine themselves to entirely formal intercourse and the
exchange of the necessary courtesies. But that was a matter of entire
indifference; the important thing was to provide for Hildegarde.
Frau von Warnow was silent for a moment. She was quite exhausted by
her long speech; then she turned to her niece and said: "Well, what
do you think of my plan?"
Hildegarde said nothing; what would have been the use of saying, "It
is hateful to get engaged to a man in this way; a man whom I do not
know, whom I have never seen, and therefore I cannot tell whether I
should like him or not." Her aunt was so occupied with her project
that she did not notice Hildegarde's silence, she did not even wait
for her answer, but said, "Of course, therefore, Lieutenant Winkler
will take you in to dinner."
"But will it not look odd if I go in to dinner with an officer who
has so lately entered the regiment when several of the older men will
not be able to take in a lady?"
Frau von Warnow bit her lips with vexation. Hildegarde was quite
right. She must not allow her project to be too apparent, and after a
moment's thought she said:
"Yes, that won't do, certainly. Baron von Masemann must take you in
to dinner, and Winkler must sit on the other side of you. As he comes
to our house to-day for the first time and belongs to Eric's company,
it will not attract attention if I give him a specially good place at
dinner. Moreover, I intend to say a few friendly words to him before
all the other guests. Perhaps, even, I shall get Eric to welcome him
in a little speech."
But Eric objected. "That's going a little too far. I couldn't justify
myself to my comrades if I did that, and I should arouse a violent
protest. I cannot avoid asking Winkler to my house as he belongs
to the regiment and is an officer in my company; but to toast
him--to-day when, with the exception of the servants, he is the only
middle-class man in our house--that is out of the question."
Von Warnow was, indeed, absolutely opposed to his wife's plan of
betrothing Hildegarde to Lieutenant Winkler.
"Winkler a connection of mine! No, thank you. Later, I suppose, I
shall have to be on quite intimate terms with the fellow. It would
be far better for Hildegarde not to marry at all than to marry a
plebeian."
He walked up and down the room indignantly, and only recovered his
composure when his wife, quite against her real feeling in the
matter, for she already saw the bridal pair standing at the altar,
said:
"You jump to a conclusion too quickly. When that happens we can
consider the matter."
The entrance of the servants, who had still many preparations to make
for the entertainment, brought the conversation to an end, and it was
now quite time to dress. So the husband and wife did not meet again
till the first carriage rolled up to the door.
"Wherever is Hildegarde?"
At last she appeared, just as the first guests arrived. She looked
charming in her cream robe, though there was a somewhat tired and
anxious look upon her face.
Carriage after carriage rolled up to the door, and the spacious
reception-rooms were soon filled. All the guests knew one another and
were frequent visitors at the Warnows, and conversation was soon in
full swing. Most of them had not seen each other during the summer,
and there were no end of questions as to where they had been during
the holidays. They talked about the prospective gaieties of the
season, of the court festivities, the programme of which had just
appeared.
Lieutenant Winkler was apparently the last to arrive. He had
purposely come late so that he might be introduced to the whole
assembly at one and the same moment. He knew scarcely any of the
ladies, for only the least important of them had included him in
their visiting list. Was it by chance or intentionally that just
as he came into the room dead silence reigned? George noticed that
the ladies suddenly broke off their conversation and looked at him
coldly. For a brief moment he was embarrassed, for even the lady of
the house was unknown to him. Which was she? Then Frau von Warnow
came towards him, and Lieutenant Winkler took a step forward and
kissed her hand.
"You are heartily welcome, Lieutenant Winkler. I am delighted to see
you among us."
Everybody heard the words as Frau von Warnow had desired, and so
nobody would be astonished later on if she were somewhat specially
attentive to him. She exchanged a few words with the lieutenant, and
then she introduced him to the ladies. Last of all she turned to her
niece.
"Dear Hildegarde, allow me to introduce to you Lieutenant Winkler."
Hildegarde had purposely kept in the background. She had even
attempted to avoid the introduction. It was disagreeable to her
even to approach a man whom they had just been discussing in such a
way that morning, and she could scarcely conceal her embarrassment.
George did not observe this. He bowed and went into the corridor
to take off his helmet and scarf. Hildegarde breathed more freely.
Thank heaven! the first meeting was over, and she made up her mind to
devote herself to the man who took her in to dinner and not trouble
about Lieutenant Winkler. But when they went into the dining-room
and took their places at the table, beautifully decorated with
freshly-gathered flowers, Hildegarde saw, only too soon, that during
the year in which she had not seen her companion he had not become
more amusing or wittier. Baron von Masemann belonged to a very
ancient family and was a conscientious officer, but otherwise he was
a nonentity. All his efforts were directed towards being considered
the best-mannered man among a set of well-mannered men, and this
was a somewhat difficult task in a regiment that numbered counts
and barons. Thus he felt it behoved him, by his whole behaviour and
bearing not to abrogate his dignity in the slightest degree. He was
haughty and reserved because he considered this to be well bred, and
he spoke little, for he thought an aristocrat should speak little
but observe much. So now at the dinner-table he merely inquired
of his companion in the politest possible manner how she had been
during the long period when he had not had the pleasure of seeing
her. He asked her how long she meant to stay in Berlin, and when he
had received this information, which did not in the least interest
him, he considered he had done his duty. He remained silent, and
when Hildegarde tried to entertain her companion he listened with
an artificial air of interest, and as a sign that he was paying
attention to her he now and again threw in a "Yes" or "No," or other
equally striking remarks.
"Baroness, would you be so good as to pass the sauce-tureen?"
Hildegarde, with an "Excuse me," turned to her right and took the
bowl from George to pass it to her neighbour on the left.
"May I trouble you again?" Once more she turned to the right and
looked at George for the first time; until now she had studiously
avoided him, and she was astonished at the intelligent expression
and the seriousness of character which his eyes revealed; there
was nothing of the Guardsman about him, for their only ambition was
to appear _blasé_ and amusing. Another thing about him pleased her:
that was the look of genuine admiration and respect with which he
regarded her. She noticed that he was attracted to her, and that her
beauty made a deep impression upon him; she was extremely pleased to
find that, unlike most young lieutenants, he had not begun by paying
violent court to her, and acting the part of the irresistible male
who has only to use his eyes to attract every girl to him.
"Appearances may be deceptive, of course," thought Hildegarde, "but
I have picked up a good deal of knowledge of human nature during the
last few years, and if I am not mistaken this is a good and sensible
man." She suddenly became desirous of talking to him. Apparently he
had not the courage to address her, perhaps he did not know what to
say to her a complete stranger, so she must begin the conversation.
It occurred to her that she might try and win the young officer's
heart, and also his money, so that at last she might rescue her
parents and brother from their dire poverty.
A crimson flush mounted to her cheeks, and she bent low over
the plate so that he might not observe it. Lieutenant Winkler
misinterpreted her embarrassment and said frankly: "I beg your
pardon, if my glances have perturbed you in any way. As excuse
I can only say that never before have I seen so much beauty and
grace united in one person; I had no intention of making you feel
uncomfortable."
The words sounded so frank and honourable; but far from having the
desired effect, they produced just the contrary feeling; once again
the blood rushed to her cheeks, for she felt she was playing a poor
part towards this young officer. At last she recovered her composure,
and with an attempt at badinage, she said: "What, you begin to pay
compliments before the champagne comes! still, one can't help liking
them when they are expressed so pleasantly."
"I am so glad that you are not angry with me," was his reply.
And now that the ice was once broken they began to chatter to each
other. George possessed the gift of conversation to a high degree
as Hildegarde soon noticed; he had a very pleasant voice, and this
added to her pleasure in listening to him. From every word that he
spoke she could see that he was a thoroughly cultivated man, who
had studied much and took an interest in a great many subjects. In
knowledge and general intelligence he was certainly far superior
to his companions. "If I had not gone into the army I should have
studied political economy," he said in the course of conversation.
"My father has a large manufactory and employs countless workmen;
he is unceasingly occupied in trying to improve their social and
material position; he sees that they have cheap and good dwellings;
he has built libraries, given play-grounds and open-air spaces for
the children; in short, he has done all that was possible to improve
their condition. Of course, my father has talked to me about all
these things; he gave me all sorts of books to read, and explained
what I could not understand. As I said to you, if I had not gone into
the army I should have interested myself in the social question."
"Why did you go into the army, and are you satisfied with your
career?"
He answered her second question only. "I have now been six years
in the army, and cannot say with a simple 'Yes' or 'No' whether my
military duties will satisfy me permanently. Naturally, I hope and
believe they will, but if later I see I have made a mistake, then I
shall leave the service, and take over the management of the factory,
for my father has given me a completely free hand. Of course, what I
do in the future naturally depends upon whether I get promotion in
the regiment as you will understand without any further explanations
from me."
He skilfully turned the conversation to another subject and told
her more about the factory. Hildegarde listened with great interest,
for everything that she heard was quite new to her. She had not the
faintest conception of the life and labour of other people, and until
then had never indeed thought about such things. In the circles in
which she moved people either lived on their money or regarded work
more or less from the point of view of suitability to a person's
birth, or they lived as _grand seigneurs_ in poor circumstances, and
regarded it as beneath their dignity to work for money.
The time passed very quickly; Hildegarde confined her attentions to
George, and forgot all about Baron von Masemann. The latter made
several attempts to address some feeble remarks to her, but when he
saw that she went on talking to George he closed his mouth tight. He
generally occupied himself at dinner with observing carefully how his
younger companions behaved and whether their manners and behaviour at
dinner called for any report. This was his speciality, and on account
of this he was feared, for there was scarcely any entertainment which
did not give him an occasion for rebuking his comrades next day.
As he was considered a great authority on etiquette, people were
really very grateful for his instructions, but unfortunately he had
a terribly sarcastic and ironical way of delivering his words of
wisdom, which irritated the younger officers far more than a torrent
of abusive words.
Hildegarde looked up quite astonished when she suddenly saw that the
guests were rising. How often had she not longed for the dinner to
end when she had sat by the side of a lieutenant who told her about
his stupid recruits or stale stories which had no connection with one
another. Now, on the contrary, she was sorry that the dinner was over.
A little dance concluded the entertainment, and it was towards
midnight when the guests departed. Scarcely had the last gone when
Frau von Warnow embraced her niece warmly. "Hildegarde, I am happy.
I was continually watching you two at dinner and during the dance.
Lieutenant Winkler couldn't take his eyes off you. Mark my words,
this time the thing will come off; it was easy to see that the man
was infatuated with you. To-morrow I shall write to your father."
These words affected Hildegarde like a stream of cold water. For the
first time for many a long day she had really enjoyed a party, and
during the pleasant conversation she had quite forgotten her parents
and her own miserable circumstances; now that the whole thing stood
out clearly in her mind she was utterly depressed.
"Remember what I say, Hildegarde, in less than three months you
will be engaged. If you had always been as amiable and friendly to
men as you were to-day to Lieutenant Winkler you would have been
married long ago. Well, to-day you played your cards well; Winkler is
certainly in love with you."
If Hildegarde had received a blow on the forehead she could not have
felt it more than these words. During the course of the evening she
had completely forgotten her aunt's project with regard to Lieutenant
Winkler, and now she was accused of trying to ensnare him, and
this insulting insinuation was regarded by her aunt as the highest
praise. An indignant answer half rose to her lips, but as usual she
restrained herself. She had long ago given up trying to justify
herself; her aunt would not have believed her, she would not indeed
have understood it.
She was delighted when at last she could go to her own room, where
she burst into a flood of passionate tears. She was conscious of
having done nothing wrong, and yet she felt as if she would like to
sink into the earth for shame.