Part 8 (1/2)

Here was a fine piece of gossip, and strange to say, in this, too, things were as before; it was not the first time that Major Schrader and Frau von Gropphusen had afforded material for conversation.

Dr. von Froben continued: ”But you must not think, Reimers, that in such matters I am a bigoted moralist. Ideas of morality are subject to just the same fluctuations as----”

And he dealt out what remained in his memory of a newspaper article, the writer of which had entirely misunderstood Nietsche.

After the toast of ”The King,” a momentary silence fell upon the company, contrasting strangely with the clatter of voices which had preceded it.

During this lull in the conversation the word ”China” was spoken somewhere near the colonel, and all eyes involuntarily turned to Madelung.

He sat there stiffly with his cold face, a cynical smile on his thin lips. ”Dangers!” he cried in his hard voice, which had the shrillness of a musical instrument that has lost its resonance, ”Dangers! I knew nothing about them.”

He laughed drily.

Captain Heuschkel, who was always worrying about his fat horses, inquired: ”Well, against such an opponent, surely cover had to be considered most of all. Wasn't it so? that cover was of more importance than action? Ten thousand of those yellow fellows were not worth a single trained soldier, surely?”

”Or one of my horses,” he added in his own mind. He would probably have committed suicide if he had seen one of his horses shot by a dirty Chinaman.

”Surely it was a question of good cover, wasn't it?” he insisted.

”No,” answered Madelung in a loud voice. ”It was a question of keeping your fingers out of your mouth.”

”What on earth had that to do with it?” put in Captain von Stuckardt, rather hesitatingly.

Madelung bowed with ironical politeness.

”Infection with the typhus bacillus,” he replied, ”was the princ.i.p.al danger in China, Captain von Stuckardt.”

After a little pause the shrill voice continued: ”We had a senior-lieutenant in our cantonment, belonging to some Prussian grenadier regiment, a gay fellow, and, indeed, quite a useful officer besides.”

Madelung paused a moment, and again his dry, mocking laugh resounded.

Then he continued: ”He had a queer fad. He cultivated one of his finger-nails, that of the little finger of his left hand, with the greatest care. Just like a Chinese mandarin. At last the nail was fully a centimetre long, and made holes in all his gloves. Now, whenever a speck of dirt lodged in this nail, he was in the habit of removing it with his teeth. It wasn't exactly a nice thing to do; but, you see, he had a pa.s.sion for that nail. I often said to him, 'My dear fellow, do keep your finger away from your mouth--it's just swarming with typhus bacilli.' He did try, but sometimes he forgot; and so in the end he was caught.”

Every one looked inquiringly at Madelung, and he added: ”He died of typhus.”

He sipped his wine, and continued, rather more gently: ”I firmly believe that it required greater self-control in that senior-lieutenant to refrain from putting his little finger into his mouth than to lead his men under the heaviest fire against one of those Chinese clay and mud walls.”

Then he raised his voice again, as if ashamed of the rather gentler tone of his last words, and concluded, harshly and shrilly: ”Besides, it really is a bad habit, putting one's fingers in one's mouth.”

And again he sat silent and stiff, twirling the little silver wheel of the knife-rest.

The feast then took the usual course.

After the table had been cleared some of the officers remained in the mess-room sitting over their wine, while others went off to the reading or smoking-rooms with a _schoppen_ of Pilsener. In the mess-room the talk became more and more noisy, while in the adjoining rooms quieter conversation was the rule. A couple of inveterate card-players started a game of skat; and in the billiard-room Captain Madelung amused himself alone, making cannon after cannon. At his first miss he put down his cue and waited impatiently for the colonel's departure, that being the signal for the official close of the festivity. Madelung left almost immediately after Falkenhein, and the majority of the married men followed his example.

At last only lieutenants remained, except Major Schrader and Captain von Gropphusen. The one other senior officer, Captain Mohr, did not count. He had not quitted his seat the whole evening, and still went on persistently drinking with the a.s.sistant-surgeon, an exceedingly stout man, with a face scarred by students' fights. The scars were glowing now as if they would burst.

The subalterns could feel quite at their ease, for Schrader and Gropphusen were no spoil-sports.

Manitius now sang his ”Behuet dich Gott,” rather unsteadily, accompanied by Frommelt, who was quite tipsy. The song was a great success, for the young _avantageur_ was overcome by emotion, and began blubbering about a certain Martha whom he loved prodigiously, and whom he must now abandon, because he would never be permitted to marry a barmaid. On this Schrader suddenly tore open his uniform and offered him nourishment from his hairy breast, and the boy sank weeping into his arms.