Life in a German Crack Regiment

by Graf von Wolf Ernst Hugo Emil Baudissin

"Because my father is proud of his own name, which he has made an honourable one."

The count rubbed his feet with some embarrassment, then he said: "Of course, your father is quite right as far as he himself is concerned, but he ought to think of you. You would take quite a different position in Society if you were a baron or a count. The world lays great stress on this, and in my opinion it is quite right. For you, especially, now that you belong to a distinguished regiment, a title would be of the greatest value."

The count talked to George for a long time, and the latter saw clearly that the adjutant in saying all he did was not following a sudden impulse, but was acting on mature reflection, and had evidently consulted the wish of the colonel or one or other of the military authorities. George felt the blood mount to his cheeks. He felt ashamed that his companion had the audacity to talk to him in this way. Good heavens! was a title then, which could be bought for a few hundred thousands, really of much more importance to these aristocratic lieutenants, who were ciphers when they got out of their uniforms, than a good, old, simple middle-class name which was honoured and respected by the whole commercial world?

He could not help saying in reply to the adjutant: "My father has often enough been offered a peerage, but every time he has refused it."

"I cannot understand such a thing." The count stuck his eyeglass in more firmly and looked at George with speechless astonishment. "I really cannot understand it," he repeated, and George saw that he spoke in bitter earnest. He really could not understand how a man could refuse a title, simply because he was proud of his own plain name.

For a long while the adjutant sat silent, then he finished the conversation with the remark: "Well, perhaps you will write to your father again about this matter, or, better still, perhaps you will talk to him. You may be able to change his mind."

George did not answer, but he knew how his father always laughed at the people who directly they had made money had no other ambition in life but to get a title. He felt that the words which the adjutant had just addressed to him were almost an insult, and yet when he considered them quietly, he could not altogether take umbrage at them. He saw every day of his life how the aristocracy had the preference in everything; how even in these enlightened days a title possessed many advantages, and that it was given to men of wealth as a distinction and an honour. And even in the army was not a title of advantage to a man? If three officers, one of whom had a title, went in for a post, was not the aristocrat always chosen, and if by the rarest chance a middle-class man was ever successful in such a case, was he not at once ennobled? The position of an officer is only suited for a man with a title. The old adage was very suitable for present days—the plebeian in the army who did not distinguish himself in some extremely remarkable manner would never get promotion as soon as the most ordinary commonplace titled officer.

And was it any different in Society? George had now been to quite enough social entertainments to know how everyone bowed down to a title; how even the youngest aristocratic lieutenant was considered superior to a staff-officer of plebeian birth. And how often had he not noticed how people hummed and hawed at the sight of him, and could not understand how it was he belonged to such a distinguished regiment. Although the words had been softly spoken he had once heard a young girl at a ball whisper to a friend: "If Lieutenant Winkler asks me to dance, I shall say my programme is full; I shall certainly not dance with a middle-class officer."

All the women regarded him as an outsider. A bare nod was their only greeting, even the one or two who shook hands with him did this without breaking off their conversation, and with an expression which showed they thought they were doing him a great favour. But he was just as much isolated in the army as in Society; his comrades chattered and laughed with the ladies, had all kinds of little intrigues with them, made engagements with them, while he wandered about alone and bored. He was an "outsider," and nobody troubled to introduce him.

The only person who was always pleasant to him was Hildegarde. They had often come across one another, and a sincere friendship had sprung up between them. The two "outcasts" Hildegarde called himself and her to her relatives. George was never introduced, and she herself occupied a curious position in Society. She was no longer quite a young girl, and interest in her charms had vanished. People invited her out, it is true, but that was largely because they could not do anything else, but privately they always hoped she would not accept the invitation. When she did go to parties, contemptuous remarks were made behind her back. Hildegarde acted as if she were quite unconscious of them, but she understood the glances that were directed towards her, and even when she did not actually hear the words, she knew very well how the people shook their heads over her and whispered to each other. It was a great effort of self-control to go to these entertainments, and after every party she said to herself: "To-day is the very last time I will go; to-morrow I shall go home."