THAT CONCEITED STRIPLING!

THAT CONCEITED STRIPLING!

Gustav Nieritz portrays here a vitriolic relationship between lieutenant and sergeant of the kind that fascinates me: it's the typical stripling lieutenant with the typical veteran sarge under his command... but these two find one another insufferable, the former being a cowardly and arrogant "conceited stripling" and the latter a benevolent father to his men. Subversive, isn't it?
The Iagos in my retellings of Othello have actually grown from sociopathic villains who do evil for the lulz into driven by either homoerotic desire beyond their reach, such vitriolic chemistry as seen in this pair (which would give the Iago character a good reason to do what he did!), or both. The latter case, like that of Lieutenants Kurt Kotler or, in my production, Gustav Adolf von Ringstetten (who is based upon Kurt Kotler and upon Jaime Lannister in both appearance and character arc, to say the least), is a great deconstruction, or even subversion, of the naive stripling lieutenant as codified by Cassio's character (even greater than the case of previous Ringstetten Lieutenant, Gerhard, who shows how this character is broken and loses innocence by the rage of war, the disgrace of defeat, and the pass of years).
Here, the young lieutenant is a haughty, conceited stripling; while Sergeant Hoyer is a kindly, altruistic older man, whose sympathies the author are for, and a father to the men of the unit: the typical roles of the lieutenant and sergeant in fiction are here flipped, switched, and subverted. Like Joffrey, in Westeros, is revealed to a complete subversion of Prince Charming, and then, of the good child ruler... this character is the typical innocent and optimistic young lieutenant turned into an insufferable inept leader, an arrogant coward. Yet in the end, the haughty lieutenant is redeemed, like Jaime Lannister (or like Gustav Adolf von Ringstetten), forgetting his coldness and prejudice (he has grown considerably less haughty and more conciliating):

They were employed in discussing the first spoonfuls of their soup, when the door was thrown hastily open, and a young officer strode into the room, clanking his heavy spurs.

"Drummer," he cried, "beat the rappel—quick!"

These words produced an universal consternation among the soldiers; the spoons fell from their hands, and all sat as if petrified, staring in ludicrous dismay at the messenger. Sergeant Hoyer was the first who recovered himself sufficiently to stammer out. "Are you in earnest, Lieutenant? Are the men to march again tonight, after all the fatigue they have had today?"

"I never joke with my inferiors!" — replied he young lieutenant, haughtily—" Remember that, if you please; and remember too, that when you speak to your superior officer, it is your duty to rise from your seat. Haven't you learnt so much as that yet?—Don't you see that you are setting a bad example to the men, which I suppose is the reason why the boors remain sitting so quietly in lay presence,—zounds! you rascals, I'll teach you discipline!"

Hoyer and the soldiers rose from their seats like automatons strung on a wire. Without moving a muscle, the old sergeant listened to the insulting words of the young lieutenant, whose father he might well have been, both in age and experience. No sign of anger or impatience was visible in his countenance, which had, however, become somewhat pale. When the officer had finished his polite speech, he answered in a respectful tone :—

"May not the men finish their supper, Lieutenant ?''

"No!" answered the lieutenant, "it must be left for the Frenchmen, who will arrive presently, and for whom we are to make room. I shall stay here, and see that nothing is touched."

The hungry soldiers cast many a longing, lingering look at the table, as they reluctantly prepared to depart. The before-mentioned proprietor of the goose made an attempt to sneak into the kitchen, in the hope of rescuing his prize.

"Whither away?" asked the lieutenant, calling him back. "Into the—kitchen," stammered the man; "I was going—

"Stay where you are!" commanded the officer. At this moment he observed that the drummer was still present. "Why, you young scoundrel!" roared he, half drawing his sword, "will you be off this instant?" The lad seized his drum, and vanished precipitately.

"One can easily see," muttered the soldiers among themselves, "that this is our lieutenant's first campaign, or he would not bully his men as he does; he had better mind what he's about. He would'nt be the first tyrant picked off by his own men on the battlefield."

The insulting behaviour which the good sergeant had to endure from the conceited stripling, annoyed him more than all the rest. 

"Do you remember how angry our lieutenant became the other night, when Hoyer thought he was in fun; and how positively he forbade anything like making fun, though, after all, the difference in rank between him and father Hoyer is not so very great. And I'm sure you don't allow anybody to make fun with your loaded guns.

This assertion by no means benefited him, and he was prevented from saying more, by the young lieutenant, who had, on a former occasion, insulted Hoyer—

"Why, you young blockhead," angrily interrupted this merciful man, "do you suppose we are come here to save the lives of the Russians, or to conquer and destroy them?—Besides, a soldier has no right to act for himself, but should pay blind obedience to the orders of his officers. If your own father or brother were among the enemy, your sword or bayonet should be pointed at him, just as though he were a stranger." Augustus was horrified at the bare idea of such a thing. "I would rather be shot a hundred times," thought he, "than kill my good father, or my brother."

It was on the 4th of September, 1812, that towards evening the booming of cannon announced the commencement of the battle. The earth seemed to shake and tremble at the dreadful din. 

At length the cannonade ceased, and, as far as the eye could reach, innumerable watch-fires flashed up. The soldiers lay grouped around, but suspense kept most of them on the alert. As the night wore on, however, many a soldier, spent with fatigue and watching, closed his eyes to enjoy a short slumber, perhaps for the last time on earth. The watchfires went out one by one, and deeper grew the silence, broken only at intervals by the challenge of a sentry, or the neighing of a horse. But when the first faint glimmer of light in the east, announced the coming of the eventful day, every one was up and stirring. The piled muskets were appropriated, each by its owner, and the whole army was drawn up. The colonels walked up and down the ranks of their respective regiments, exhorting the men to faithfulness and duty; the sergeants read out the lists of their companies, and the word "Stand at ease!" was given. 

The second night passed quietly away, but on the third morning, at sunrise, a dreadful carnage began. Twelve hundred pieces of heavy artillery vomited forth flames and death, reddening the heavens with their glare. Every now and then a messenger of death would fly whizzing past the regiment, who stood motionless leaning on their muskets.

 The young lieutenant, of whom we have already made mention, seemed in the same predicament (felt very uncomfortable, his sinews seemed all unstrung, so that his knees knocked powerlessly together). With trembling hands he lifted his spirit flask to his parched lips;—the soldiers were not slow in observing these indications of cowardice.

"Our downy-bearded lieutenant has the cannon fever, "--whispered they one to another.

It was on one of these fearful days, that a coach with three horses, harnessed abreast, in the Russian fashion, stood at the door of a house. Presently several soldiers of the Rhenish corps appeared, carrying a wounded officer, whom they laid gently in the carriage, under the superintendence of a surgeon. A little girl took her seat beside him, and a soldier with his arm in a sling and his head bandaged up, was assisted on to the box.

"But will the colonel be able to bear the journey?" anxiously enquired a youngster in a drummer's uniform, who was no other than our friend Augustus.

"Never fear, my lad"—answered the surgeon. "The colonel can do no good here, and even when he gets well he can never take the field again. It is best for him to return to his home, where he can be properly attended to."

"Farewell, Mary!" said Augustus turning to the girl. "Take good care of our honoured colonel, and do all you can to lighten the journey for him. I shall see you again when you have returned to your parents, who have no doubt rebuilt their mill by this time. Farewell then, till we meet again."

The tears stood in the boy's eyes, as she leant forward to kiss him.

"Alas, Hoyer, I am very sad"—said he, turning to the soldier on the coach-box. "All who were fond of me—you, the colonel, and Mary—are going away.—How is all this to end? The lieutenant is not kind...

"Don't grumble, my lad," answered the sergeant, looking down from his high seat. "It's sinful to grumble. For haven't you as yet escaped better than any of us, without a scar or a scratch? I'd change with you in a minute.—I shouldn't so much mind this gash in my head, but I've lost three fingers, which makes a helpless cripple of me. Well, good bye, till we meet again." And the sergeant held out his left hand which Augustus shook heartily. As the carriage rolled slowly away, he walked beside it for a short distance.

The French army had now reached the banks of the Berezina, and two frail bridges were hastily thrown across the river. Whilst this was being accomplished, the number of fugitives and carriages of every kind, waiting to cross, increased more and more. Every one wished to be the first on the opposite bank, and none would give way an inch, so that the road was soon completely choked up with horses, cannon, waggons, and men. Almost at the end of the confused mass stood a carriage; some Frenchmen had taken away the horses, which were not yet quite exhausted, to harness them before a cannon. In the carriage lay the colonel, wounded and helpless.

"Look to your safety, my children,"—said he to Mary, and to Sergeant Hoyer, who still kept his place on the coach-box, "Leave me to my fate,—I have learnt to look death in the face without quailing, even should he come armed with a knout instead of his scythe."

"God forbid, honoured colonel!" replied Hoyer. "He must be a bad soldier, who would leave the father of the regiment in the lurch. Besides, we are caught here like mice in a trap, and can neither advance nor retreat. We must wait, till the enemy's bullets have cleared the way."

The colonel only answered with a deep sigh. "Are you hungry, dear child?" asked he, turning to Mary. The poor girl shook her head in reply, though her famished looks told plainly to the contrary.

Night came on, and with it the confusion increased. It reached its highest pitch when the Russians began, on the following day, to rain a shower of bullets among the dense mass of fugitives. Thousands were thrown down, trampled under foot, and run over, and thousands perished by the enemy's fire.

"Save yourselves who can!" was the cry. The wounded men and women were driven without mercy from the carriages, which were then piled in heaps and burnt.

Several soldiers approached the carriage in which the colonel lay, when Hoyer jumped angrily up. "Comrades!" shouted he, "would you burn us like rats? In this carriage lies my honoured colonel, who has fought sixteen battles, and received thirteen wounds in the service of Bonaparte. Have you no regard for an officer of the legion, that you can't leave him to die in quiet, and respect the coffin of a brave soldier?"

The Frenchmen, some of whom understood German, looked at each other irresolutely, spoke a few words among themselves, and went away. Hoyer watched them narrowly.

"Mary," cried he eagerly, "did you see what yonder Frenchman was doing on the powder wagon?"

"No," answered Mary.

"Do you see nothing there—my eyes have become so weak."

"I see a thin smoke, like that from a lighted pipe."

"I knew it," muttered Hoyer—"Lord have mercy upon us."

"The bridge is burning! we are all lost!"—was now the cry, and a wild lamentation arose.

"Yes, we are done for now,"—said Hoyer to himself. "In ten minutes, we shall be burnt, or at least blown into the air. Well, at any rate, we shall not die of cold, and perhaps it's all for the best, for we shall be the sooner out of our misery; and moreover I pity the poor innocent child. But what's to be done? Wounded as I am, I can't even leave the carriage without help, and poor little Mary here can't force her way through the crowd to take away the match.—Well, I'll try if any one will do it."

"Halloa,—" continued he, as loud as he could— "the powder waggons yonder will explode presently. Who will save all our lives by pulling away the match which those rascally Frenchmen have lighted?"

These words produced an effect entirely opposite to the sergeant's intention. A panic fear came upon all who heard them, and all endeavoured to escape from the dangerous neighbourhood by precipitate flight. In a few minutes only the wounded and exhausted men remained, so that the space around grew somewhat clearer. But the match smouldered slowly on, and Hoyer began to despair of any succour arriving in time to save them.

"Are you afraid to die, Mary?" asked he.

"No,"—replied the child in a weak voice.

"Hurrah!" cried Hoyer joyfully,—" Are you still alive, my boy—Throw yourself on the ground, and perhaps you may yet escape. The match on the powder wagon yonder will set fire to it in a couple of minutes.—Hurrah, now I should like to live a little longer myself—would'nt you Mary?—Even the colonel would rally, if he could see the boy."

Surrounded as they were by the horrors of death, the three friends forgot everything in the joy of meeting one another. The colonel, however, was past all emotion; he lay in the carriage, almost insensible. But their joy did not last long. Shots were fired more and more frequently, and at length a cannon ball grazed the carriage, and shattered one of the hind wheels.

The Russians, who were plundering the wagons, and making prisoners.

Hoyer's deep voice grumbled from the box— "Directly, captain; only wait till I've got my sword!"—Even the colonel cried in delirium— "Forward, lads, forward! Strike down all! Give no quarter!"

A troop of men, all wearing coats of coarse cloth over shabby uniforms, and carrying stout sticks, now appeared in view. They were German prisoners, who had been set free at the conclusion of the war, and were now returning to their homes. As they drew near, four persons separated themselves from the rest, and approached the mill. They were Augustus, the Colonel, Sergeant Hoyer, and Mary. The child flew with a scream of delight into the arms of her parents, who could scarcely believe their eyes, when they saw the daughter whom they had so long mourned as dead. Explanations were hurriedly given, and Augustus was overwhelmed with thanks and praises.

As they were about to resume their journey, a party of their former companions came up, and looked curiously at them, wondering how they had procured such a luxury as a carriage. One man stepped forward, and begged the colonel that he might travel with him. This was no other than the haughty lieutenant, who had by this time grown considerably less haughty and more conciliating.

"Sir"—replied the colonel—" the carriage does not belong to me, but to my two comrades here. If they will take you, I have no objection."

This time the officer did not consider it "altogether beneath his dignity" to speak kindly to his subordinates. They welcomed him cordially, and willingly granted his request.