"Now, now, George," admonished Olga, "you must not exaggerate because you are angry."
"I am not angry, I am only sad that things are so bad with our officers. But I really believe I have under-stated the case. The lieutenants can read, but can they also write? Look at these begging letters and promissory notes which I just showed you; you will find beauties of style there, compared with which those of the everlasting fourth-form boy of the comic papers are mere nothings. But that is not all. You will find such spelling as would bring down public rebuke upon a third-form boy. You may laugh, Olga, but what I tell you is the sad fact. Of course, my remarks only referred to the lieutenants, and not to the superior officers, but how often have I not noticed even among them how terribly embarrassed they are if they have to make a report suddenly. Every word is such an effort to them that one feels truly sorry for them. Yet, in spite of all this, in spite of the lack of the simplest culture, all this arrogance and self-complacence! Naturally, every one ought to be proud of his calling, but this pride ought not to degenerate into a perfectly fanatical arrogance. Formerly people spoke of the young, well-educated, knightly lieutenants, the perfect cavaliers. Where are they now? You must go with a lantern and search for them. I have scarcely known one during my time of service, and the few who enter the army straight from their home, fresh and unspoiled, are only too quickly infected with the spirit of caste, and the demon of haughtiness takes possession of them. Ask the parents whose sons have become officers whether they are not often shocked at the conceit and pretentiousness of the young fellows for whom the best is not considered good enough; whether they have not often bitterly repented having allowed their sons to choose a profession which often estranges them from their own parents, who are too often only regarded as the source of money for their frivolous or luxurious lives."
"George, you are exaggerating absurdly," said Olga, rebukingly.
"Do you really think so? I can only say I have often known young lieutenants who are really ashamed because their fathers are teachers or something similar, but in spite of this they are not ashamed to send home for more money in order to maintain a good appearance. They wish—no, according to their view they must give the idea of coming from good families. I was once at dinner and I heard with my own ears how a lieutenant pretended his father was a pensioned officer because he felt embarrassed at having to say he was a doctor."
"Fi, that's a beautiful idea."
Count Wettborn had, therefore, an easy task when he came to persuade George to go on furlough. He was much astonished when he heard that George was quite determined to send in his resignation, and to enter his father's factory; but, naturally, he made no attempt to dissuade him.
"And when do you think of sending in your request?"
"In a day or two. My father writes to me that he is commanded to an audience with His Majesty, and that he will be here at the beginning of next week. Although I am a completely free agent in this matter, and can go and come as I like, still I think it is my duty to inform my father of my resolution as soon as possible."
"Certainly, certainly," agreed Count Wettborn, "a week sooner or later makes no difference."
And that was just what the officers thought when they heard that Winkler was going. Whether he remained a week more or less—that was a matter of no importance—the thing was, they were going to get rid of him.