"After all," said Falkenhein to me later, "I was just as proud of my first medal in the year 1870!"

"But this deluge of orders," he continued, "that was showered upon the China Expedition leads to a lot of self-delusion. It magnifies an insignificant event to an unnatural degree. Trivial successes stand out as if they were great victories, and cause exaggerated notions of individual infallibilty. This was exactly what happened in the Dutch campaign of 1787, upon which followed the disasters of Valmy and Jena."

Jena!----Guntz said that too. Moreover, the colonel does not deny that the Expedition achieved all possible success. But he considers most objectionable that self-a.s.serting propensity to boast about it a.s.sociated as it so often is with an unctuous piety. "Of course," he said, "it's only one of the signs of the times; and it is just these times that don't please me. All this outward show in religion is detestable. It was just so in Berlin and Potsdam in the time of Bischoffswerder and Woellner."

That again was before--Jena.

_June 13th._

For the first time the colonel asked me about my experiences in the South African War. He was reminded of it because a lieutenant belonging to the South-West African Defence Corps happened to call upon him at the practice-camp. I could only say that I had brought away with me from the Transvaal an unspeakable abhorrence of war.

"Of war in general?" asked Falkenhein.

"Yes, indeed," I answered; and then it suddenly struck me what a preposterous reply this was for an officer to make. I qualified the a.s.sertion by saying I had a.s.sisted at the most unfortunate period of the Boer War, during the panic that followed Cronje's capture, and had got to know only the seamy side of warfare: demolished farms, trampled-down fields, no real steady fighting, scarcely any skirmishing even, but just one continual rout.

The colonel listened to my torrent of words in silence. Then at last--"Good G.o.d!" he said, "a thoughtful man _must_ detest war--all war. But it does not do to be sentimental. Sentimentality in this matter is synonymous with stupidity." He spoke of this for a long time, then about other topics, and finally wound up by saying: "There are many such enigmas in this world that must remain unsolved for the present, and with which men are yet forced to deal in a practical manner, even at the risk of making mistakes. So that we just have to choose a sensible middle course. We must be neither too superficial nor too profound. And above all, we must not think too much!" Unfortunately, I am not the man for such compromises.

_June 16th._

The colonel lunched with me in the canteen, sitting on benches in the middle of the wood; our fare being bread, sausage, and some excellent lager-beer. Close by were several one-year volunteers, and two or three non-commissioned officers with them. They looked uncomfortable, for they are forbidden to be on familiar terms with the non-commissioned officers. The colonel, however, did not mind it much.

"I believe," he said, "that it cannot always be avoided." Then he spoke of the one-year volunteer system, which in his opinion is a two-edged sword. It furnishes most efficient reserve-officers,--it has that advantage, certainly. But the drawbacks are as follows:

It is apt to demoralise the non-commissioned officers. True, bribery is strictly forbidden; but that is a mere empty form, a prohibition which is daily infringed, such infringement being purposely overlooked, whether for good or evil. The non-commissioned officer then ceases to depend on his pay alone; and that puts temptations to dishonourable conduct before many a perhaps otherwise conscientious man, besides inevitably engendering dissatisfaction with his profession.

Furthermore, the one-year volunteer system takes away just those men who, with their higher intelligence and culture, might most effectually oppose the socialistic propaganda that goes on in the ranks, and who might in a certain sense exert an enlightening influence on those around them. The colonel regards all prohibitions and regulations against the inroads of the revolutionary spirit in the army as more or less futile. The only practicable expedient is the influence over the privates of thoroughly trustworthy elements in their midst. The fact that the one-year volunteers live in barracks among the privates certainly makes severe demands on the patriotism of the younger ones; but then it renders careful surveillance possible, and affords a valuable insight into the life of the common soldier, into his ways of thinking and his views of the world in general. Falkenhein maintains that for the same reason this arrangement, although in some respects inconvenient, is highly desirable for the _avantageur_ as a future officer. The French military authorities, who have lately inst.i.tuted a similar system, have, in his opinion, done perfectly right.

The hardships of the life serve both to sift out the incapables, and to produce officers who are more mature, more manly, and who do not look upon their inferiors as utter aliens.

The inspection of the regimental shooting went off without a hitch. In his subsequent criticism the general spoke of the pleasure it invariably afforded him to inspect the 80th Regiment of the Eastern Division Field-Artillery,--a pleasure of which he had never been disappointed. He ended by saying: "I congratulate both the regiment and yourself, Colonel von Falkenhein. The regiment, because it has such an excellent commanding officer at its head; and you, because you have made your regiment such a splendid body of men." Hardly a very brilliant or very witty remark, this; but it sounded pleasantly, and one could not reasonably expect higher praise.

Falkenhein was in the best of good humours. "Come, Reimers," he said after lunch, when he had accompanied the general to his carriage, "We'll give my two bays a little exercise. They've had none yet to-day."

The two officers started off at an easy trot towards the b.u.t.ts, chatting as they went.

"Here's something that will interest you, my dear Reimers," said the colonel presently. "Wednesday, the day we arrive home, is your day to go to the Guntzes. Mariechen has written to say there will be a surprise in the evening--vegetables of her own growing and poultry of her own rearing. The child makes one's mouth water, after our fare at the mess! The ladies promise us asparagus, home-bred chickens, new potatoes, salad, rhubarb shape, and a bowl of strawberries, too--everything home-grown. They drew lots as to which of the fowls were to be sacrificed, and are anxiously awaiting the arrival of the men, because not one of the kitchenmaids will consent to wring the neck of a chicken. My daughter also thanks you very much for your kind message; and I was to give you her kind remembrances, and to thank you heartily for taking such excellent care of her old papa." Reimers thanked him in a low voice.

"It is wonderful," continued Falkenhein pleasantly, "what a change a little creature like that girlie of mine can make in one's home. It used to be quite immaterial to me where I slept whether here, in barracks, or in my own house. After my dear wife died I never cared to be at home. And now this little girl makes things so pleasant again that I once more enjoy being within my own four walls."

The lieutenant did not think this at all extraordinary. And as the colonel went on chatting gaily about his little daughter, Reimers, so silent hitherto, became quite talkative. Falkenhein turned and glanced at him now and then. The young man threw his heart and soul into his subject, and his eyes shone as he related various little instances of Marie Falkenhein's amiability and charm.

Suddenly Reimers paused. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask the colonel at once for this jewel of a girl. It would, indeed, be the most natural end to their conversation, and he felt sure that he would meet with no rebuff. But then he had not meant to approach the colonel on the subject so long as he was a mere simple lieutenant. He would at least wait for his promotion to senior-lieutenant. Therefore he held back the proposal he had so nearly made.

It fell out that the very next day an official telegram arrived, promoting Reimers to the rank of senior-lieutenant. Colonel von Falkenhein was the first to congratulate his acting adjutant, and it astonished him that an event of the kind, bound to occur in the natural order of things, should throw the sedate Reimers into such a state of excitement.

The new senior-lieutenant, too, was surprised at himself, having hitherto imagined that he regarded such externals with considerable equanimity. The delight with which he now fastened the stars upon his epaulettes was little less than that with which, seven years earlier, he had attached the epaulettes themselves to his uniform, feeling himself the happiest man in the whole world.

When Senior-lieutenant Reimers reported himself to the colonel, Falkenhein made him an unexpected proposition.

"My dear Reimers," said he, "you know that Kauerhof is now the eldest senior-lieutenant in the regiment. Before he gets his captaincy he will have to return to ordinary duty for a time, and I must therefore look about for another adjutant. So I thought of you, my dear Reimers. You have been so entirely satisfactory as acting adjutant that I cannot wish for a better man. But what do you think of it yourself?"

Reddening with pride and pleasure, Reimers replied: "If you are kind enough to think me worthy of such a mark of distinction, sir, I can only promise to do my best."

The colonel nodded, and continued: "I can well believe in your good intentions. But now, how about the Staff College?"

"Under these circ.u.mstances," replied Reimers quickly, "I will of course gladly give up the Staff College."

"That's just what you shall not do!" returned Falkenhein. "You shall go to the Staff College. It is my wish, in your own interests and in that of your career, my dear Reimers. Perhaps the matter could be arranged by your postponing your examination for a little while. You will probably in any case have to wait patiently for quite six years to come before you get the command of a battery. Be my adjutant for the first two years of that period, and then go in for your examination. By that time I shall probably be no longer in the regiment. Well, what do you say?"

Reimers agreed with pleasure. There seemed nothing but good fortune for him that day. Apparently all his wishes were to be fulfilled. Would it not perhaps be best to propose at once for the hand of Mariechen? Was not this just the right moment, after receiving such a conspicuous proof of Falkenhein's esteem and goodwill? But finally a piece of pure punctilio prevented him from carrying out his intentions. It was not at all correct to make a proposal of marriage at the time of receiving an official notification.

At luncheon that day it was continually, "Your health, Reimers!" "Good luck to you, Reimers!" or the orderly would be at his elbow with a message: "Captain Blank, or Lieutenant So-and-so, would like to drink a gla.s.s of wine with you, sir." And Reimers pledged his friends gaily across the table. He had invited Guntz and little Dr. von Froben to a bottle of champagne, and grew more reckless as time went on. When lights were brought for the cigars Guntz said to him: "You're a bit screwed, my boy. You'd better go and sleep it off."

But Reimers had become exceedingly jovial. "Oh, it's nothing at all!"

he declared. "I'm going for my ride now It was postponed on account of the announcements to-day."

"That'll do nicely, my son," said Guntz; "that will put you right again." And he looked on smiling as the new senior-lieutenant swung himself into the saddle. The first attempt miscarried, and even the successful one was accomplished with difficulty; but the rider sat firmly enough in his seat when he got there and Dorothy had no tricks.

Guntz waved merrily to his friend as he turned off into the forest.

The mare's hoofs sank deep into the soft sand; she soon allowed herself to fall into a lazy pace, and Reimers did not press her. Dorothy stretched out her neck and drew the bridle through her rider's fingers; he let it hang loose.

Reimers now became aware for the first time that the gla.s.ses and half-gla.s.ses in which he had answered his friends' congratulations must have amounted to a considerable number. If he tried to concentrate his thoughts on any particular subject, they slipped away from him in the most perverse manner. He reflected vaguely that this was the kind of mood in which he had of old committed all manner of pleasant follies and youthful indiscretions. And why not? Was he not young, and a free man?

How delightful was this solitude after the noise and smoke of the mess-room! It was now about six o'clock, and a heavenly June evening.

The sun was still high, but the heat was no longer oppressive; the air felt soft and caressing. The dense forest on either hand was wrapped in stillness; no sound penetrated between the slender stems of the trees; the horse's tread in the soft sand made only a slight swishing noise.

At a crossing of the ways the mare came to a standstill, stretching out her nose towards a narrower lane, and snuffing the air. Finally she turned off the sandy road on to a gra.s.sy bridle-path. Reimers gave her her head; this was probably a short cut to the neighbouring village.

Now the wood became thinner. Cleared patches or young plantations alternated with the groups of tall pine-trees, and presently a fairly large meadow appeared on the left. The hay had already been carried; but in one corner the last remains of the crop had been collected and heaped together. This little hayc.o.c.k exhaled a penetrating fragrance, the essence of forest, gra.s.s, and sunshine, which the mare sniffed at longingly.

Suddenly there came over Reimers an irresistible desire to stretch himself out in the hay and rest there for a little. Without further thought he dismounted, pushed some hay to the mare with his foot, pa.s.sed the bridle round the trunk of a pine that stood solitary at the edge of the field, and threw himself down on the soft gra.s.s. He pillowed his head on his cap, and buried himself deep in his rustling couch. He drew out along stalk and chewed at it; it still retained the sweet gra.s.sy taste. Thin wisps fell across his face, and between them he looked up into the blue sky, lazy and contented. Perfect stillness reigned around him; only as from time to time he turned his head the dry gra.s.s crackled and rustled, sounding in his ears like the snapping of twigs and branches.

At last his eyes became painful from staring so long into the dazzling blue of heaven. He shut them; all now was red instead of blue, and to lie with closed lids was grateful and delicious after the blinding light. He cast one sleepy glance at the mare. She stood there flicking her sides with her tail, and kept trying vainly to get some hay from the ground into her bit-enc.u.mbered mouth. He thought of slackening the curb for the poor beast, but was too lazy to stir.

While he was dozing off it seemed to him as if something light and fluttering pa.s.sed him by; and for a moment he became aware of another perfume added to the scent of the hay--something faint, yet distinct.

But he kept his eyes closed; nothing external mattered to him.

Reimers was awakened by a gentle p.r.i.c.king and tickling. It felt as though a wisp of hay were pa.s.sing lightly over his mouth, backwards and forwards. He s.n.a.t.c.hed at it, and a long stalk remained in his hand. His eyes were slightly dazzled; he was gazing straight at the sun, already considerably lower in the sky.

Lazily he looked around him. Thank goodness, the mare was still there, her head turned towards him, her ears p.r.i.c.ked attentively.

And here--close beside him? A woman sat there; a dainty little figure, dressed in some light silken fabric, on her fashionably-curled golden hair an enormous straw hat, above which nodded brilliant scarlet poppies. She sat with her back to him, and was trying to pick out the longest stalk from a tuft of gra.s.s that grew at the edge of the meadow.

Reimers rubbed his eyes. Devil take it all! was he still dreaming? A subtle odour came wafting from the rustling silk of her attire, a breath of depravity, as though hailing from the corrupt life of some big city; a bewildering, insinuating atmosphere, that had of a sudden overpowered the delicious freshness of hay and pine-trees.