More Sail than Ballast: a story

Front matter

More Sail than Ballast : A STORY. BY C. A. MONTKESOE, Author of "Hot Weather Lesson Books," "Some Hobby Horses and How to Ride Them." "One ofthe many who navigate the Ocean of Life with 'more sail than ballast ; ' his voyage contradicted every rule of seamanship, and necessarily ended in a wreck." — Carlyle. LONDON: W. H. ALLEN & CO., 13, WATERLOO PLACE, S.W. 1889. [ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. LONDON : THOMAS SCOTT AND CO., PRINTERS, WARWICK COURT, HOLBORN, W.C. DEDICATION. 0 — TO MARY, MY FIRST READER AND MY FIRST CRITIC, THIS, MY FIRST NOVEL, IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED.

Preface

. rTIHE following story is founded on fact. Students of Carlyle will find no difficulty in discovering tbe mine from whence I have drawn my ore. For local colouring I have been indebted to Korner's lively reminiscences of his childhood days in Ludwigsburg, and to Vely's interesting memoir of Francesca von Hohenheim. For those who like to know the end of a story I will here mention that the reform so oddly introduced into the Duke's court proved a lasting one, and that, on the death of his Duchess, Duke Charles Eugene married Francesca von Hohenheim. C. A. M.

Chapter I

" I'll warrant that his good behaviour Will justify your future favour ; And, for his parts, to tell the truth My son's a very forward youth ; Has Horace all by heart — you7lt wonder — And mouths out Homer's Greek like thunder." — Warton. •jlrN the very heart ofthe bills of Swabia, surrounded Jj£ by bright vineyards and golden cornfields, nestles a tiny village, which we will call Oberingen. It is pretty and old-fashioned now, with its painted wood houses and gabled roofs; it was pretty and old-fashioned a hundred years ago, when the scene of our story opens. The middle of the eighteenth century — a troubled time in the north of Germany, where the Silesian war is at its height, and tbe devastating arms of the great Frederic are pushing on and on, and slowly but surely carrying everything before them : a sad time in Prussia for the wives, and the mothers, and the sisters left lonely, when every day almost brings fresh reports ot r. I than Ballast. 2 great battles fought, and valuable lives sacrificed— but a quiet and peaceful time for the little village on the hills.

Not a sound or note of war comes down into the sheltered valley, and the hand of death would seem to have forgotten to knock at the gates of the old Pfarrer Haus, in which, for twenty-five years, Daniel Ritter has occupied the posts of parson and school-master. Twenty-five years ! As the Pfarrer and his wife sat in the tiny sitting-room, and warmed themselves by tbe stove, talking together of the years that had rolled by, it seemed to them as if it were only yesterday that they had taken possession, as bride and bridegroom, of the pretty little parsonage, with its sunny slope of garden. "And yet," as Frau Ritter remarked, " already the children are growing up." " Crowing up !" echoed the parson. " they are grown up. Is not even little Minna seventeen, and our Hans — ; well, has he not done with college-life to-morrow ?

And can he not preach as good a sermon, or better, than bis old father ? Ab ! it seems strange enough that he should have the right, if he chooses, to mount my pulpit, and speak to the people here who remember him as a child." " It is two years since I have seen my boy," said Frau Ritter ; " and it is curious, but to-night I can think of him only as the little yellow-haired lad, who, at seven years old, could not read, though he could invent verses, and sing them, too, to melodies out of his own head." " The melodies were not always as original as his mother would fain have thought them," said the parson, smiling. " Yet some few were not so bad. You remember the anniversary of our wedding morning, fifteen years ago ? We were awakened by our children's voices. They were singing a lay — a pretty enough lay — and the boys from the school chimed in at the chorus.

When we praised it, little Minna cried with triumph, ' It is by Hans, father ! All his own ! You said he could not teach us to sing in parts.' Bless me ! I was so pleased, I wrote the notes down. I believe I have the paper still." And the parson went to an old oak secretaire, and after something of a hunt, found a rough bit of paper, with a few musical notes. He looked at it with a proud face. " The minor key is oddly introduced," he said. u Yet the effect was good, I told you then the boy would live to do us credit, but you were always fearful for him." " How I cried !" broke in Minna, a baby-faced, blue eved girl, who had been spinning silently while her parents talked. " Oh, how I cried, mother. You said Hans had been better employed doing his tasks at school, and that an hour's singing was badly paid for by a week's idleness."

" I was right enough there," said Frau Ritter, firmly. " Yet the lad has proved no dunce," cried the father ; here is prize after prize, medal after medal, he has sent home, and to-morrow he brings himself. His heart is iu the right place after all." " God bless the lad !" said the mother ; but she sighed a little still. Her boy was the genius of the village, the handsomest, cleverest fellow in the place, and yet she was not content. Was she hard to please ? He had ii been successful at college ; his father was more than satisfied ; why could she not rest ? Was it a mother's part to pick holes in his conduct, to see faults others passed over, to think his triumphs (so easily won) worth little, never to be able to forget the hole he made in the scanty purse? Other mothers paid their son's debts with cheerfulness, why did she persist in thinking Hans' recklessness so serious a blot in his character?

" Some one else will be glad to see Hans back," observed the Pfarrer, with a sly glance at his daughter — " some one outside the village — eh, Minna?" "Who? Lota! Father, how can you? She does not care for him a bit, I am sure of it !" " Yet the right name sprang to your lips ! Fie, are you jealous, little one? Brothers cannot be expected to love their sisters better than all womankind." " I am not jealous, indeed, father ; but Lota ! I do not care about her for a sister-in-law. She has no heart ; and, besides, she never even talked of Hans till he began winning prizes. She used to laugh at him and call him ' dunce.' " " Well, well, one must not ' wear one's heart upon one's sleeve for daws to peck at.' I am sure of one thing — our Hans will never woo in vain." " Hans is too young to think of a wife yet," said Frau Ritter, gravely.

" And Lota will be going away soon," said Minna, more cheerfully ; " do you know, father, she is learning French ; she says German is hardly spoken at all now in the capital ; but she would not let M. Leblanc teach ber. She says he has a vile Swabian accent, and talks patois rather than French; she has got a Parisian gouvernante. The Baron says Duke Charles would fain make another Paris of Ludwigsburg ; no, not a Paris, another place with a difficult name to pronounce." " Versailles ?" suggested the Pfarrer, and as Minna nodded her head, still not venturing on so hard a word, he went on : — '' Yes, yes. Duke Charles, forsooth, must have everything French — French dresses, French talk, and, as to that, French morals, too. I would not have you go to Court for something, child, and I only hope, Fraulein Lota will come back no worse than she goes.

She is too pretty by far to dance attendance on the old countess, her aunt, and to hear infidelity talked by would-be French wits. Give me the old German Court at Stuttgard. It was worth a dozen of your brand new Versailles." " And Hans, father — would' you Hke Hans to go to Court ? " " A man must go where his duty calls him, child : yet I confess I should be loath to see him in that den of iniquity." " If he could only stay here and help you at home. Would not that be delightful. You know you often say the work is getting too much for you ; all days in the week at the school-house, and two long sermons on Sundav- IfonlvHans could live at home and help you." " Your tongue goes too fast, Minna," cried the mother from her chair. " I have dropped a stitch in my knitting. Come and help me pick it up ; my eyes are not what they were ; " and as Minna stooped over her, she added in a low voice which could not reach the Pfarrer's ear, " Do not build castles in the air, child.

Hans is no home bird, and 'twere a pity your father should found hopes on his assistance. It is but natural at twenty-four to wish to see the world." Minna blushed, and tbe parson, puffing out a volume of smoke, began to talk again. " Twenty-five years is it, wife, since you and I set up house here together? God be thanked, we are richer in friends now than then, and if we have enemies I should find it hard to name them." " Tell me, father," cried Minna, " which is the happiest day you have spent here in all the twenty-five years ( " A hard question, child ; for, thanks to Heaven and your mother, my happy days have been many. Not the least was that day, only a year ago, when our Hans sent word that he had read his prize essay before the university, and that the King himself had given it praise."

" And you, mother, which day do you think the happiest ? ' ' " Perhaps," said Frau Ritter, " it was the day when my own dear mother lay my first born son in my arms, and we talked together of all he should be to us." " As to your happiest day, it is yet to come, Minna," said her father, patting the golden head, which had found a resting place on his shoulder. " I think it will be to-morrow," said Minna, " when Hans comes home. All my happy days (my happiest days, I mean) have been spent with him." Hans ! Hans ! ! Hans ! ! ! No one in the whole of the Pfarrer Haus could think or speak of anything but him. Out in the village it was nearly as bad. The parson's son was the darling of the parish, and his college success was in every mouth. The stout old tenant farmers talked of him as they tossed off their beer, and said they should not be wanting new songs when Herr Hans came home.

The girls looked forward to footing a measure with the handsome young student when Sunday should come round again. Even up at the castle our hero was the subject of conversation, though the Baron von Steinberg and Fraulein Lota, his daughter, were not quite so enthusiastic in his praise. The baron had a nephew at the same university, and, perhaps, he knew a little more of Hans' college life than the simple Pfarrer. As to Lota, Minna would have told you she was never enthusiastic about anyone. She prided herself on " understanding Hans Ritter thoroughly." " To understand " meant with Lota to know a person's faults if not his virtues. " Master Hans will find life in Oberingen not very amusing, I fear," observed the baron, as he and his daughter took an evening stroll along the marble terrace, which overlooked the wooded Swabian Hills. '• From all your cousin tells me he will leave more than one broken heart behind him."

"I suppose he is really clever?" asked Lota, doubtfully, " or Fritz would hardly be so jealous of him." "Clever! Yes. No man could win the reputation be has done at Erlangen and not be clever; but he has no stability. He will never be worth much. He drifts with the stream ; he is no leader." " I never thought he w-ould be a parson," said Lota, a little scornfully, " but I suppose it is tbe Herr Pfarrer's wish." " He may as well begin life in that capacity as in any other," said the baron. " I doubt he will be nothing long. By the bye, he had a boyish liking for you, Lota. There must be no more of that nonsense this vacation. Do you hear ? " " By your own showing," said Lota, coldly, " his likings are apt to be evanescent. I do not flatter my self that my charms have not long ere this been eclipsed by those of the broken-hearted beauties of Erlangen !

" " I would not, at any rate, have my daughter ranked amongst those conquests of his," said the baron. " Dear father, pray have no fear," answered Lota, haughtily. There was a silence of some moments ; then, with a shiver, " It is turning quite cold," said Lota, " I will go in ; good night," and with a half offended air she left her father, and went indoors. The great boar-hound, keeping guard over tbe marble steps which led to the terrace, rose as she passed, and wagged his tail, expectant of his usual caress ; but Lota did not pay him any attention ; and, as he was a clever fellow, her countenance probably warned him he had best take no liberties ; so, after watching her out of sight, he trotted back to his master, secure there, at least, of due appreciation. Lota, meanwhile, went straight upstairs to her own room.

A dreary looking room it would have appeared to modern eyes, with its huge four-posted bed, elabo rately carved and hung with heavy blue curtains, its oak panelled walls and square uncomfortable looking furniture. In one corner was an old oak chest, securely locked ; ever since she had been big enough to wield the heavy key, Lota had kept her most sacred treasures and her most private letters inside this heavy box. " Noah's Ark," Minna used to call it, and it had once been her great ambition to explore its recesses, but no eye save Lota's was ever allowed to peep beneath the lid ; even as a child, Lota had been fond of little mysteries. For many months she had not opened this chest, but to-night she fitted the key once more into the long deep hole which led to the lock, and after a little straining of the wrist, turned it and lifted the heavy lid.

The chest was filled with a variety of things, for Lota never troubled herself to arrange or to thin its contents. An old doll's head she had wept over as a child lay in one corner, the white lace dress she had worn at her confirmation lay carefully folded in another ; here was the ebony casket which held her mother's pearls, and there a little worked embroidered bag in which were enclosed her own private letters. It was this little bag for which she was searching ; she opened it and took out a bundle of old yellow letters ; then, from the bosom of her dress she drew another letter more lately received, and sitting on the edge of the chest, she read it through before she put it away. " Dein Ritter " it was signed, a signature which might bear two interpretations — insert a comma after "Dein and it became " yours, Ritter " — leave it as it stood, and it read " Thy Knight."

It was a pretty letter, one any girl might like to read when addressed to herself (other people's love letters are seldom interesting) full of allusions to old times and hopes for the future- As Lota read it, the annoyance in her face cleared away, she got up, went and looked at herself in the mirror and came back with a smile. " And he has been breaking hearts in Erlangen, has he ?" she said to herself. " I might have guessed it; he has gained in self confidence since he wrote last. Well, it matters little to me, as long as he keeps his own heart whole ; I suppose he would say that is in my keeping, not his own ! " and then she unfastened the little yellow bundle, and smiling at her own " senti mentality," read one or two slowly through. And to morrow he was coming home ! " The villagers will be quite excited ! " said Lota. She did not allow (even to herself) that Hans Ritter's return was in tbe least interesting to her.

Chapter II

" Yet these tree towers, Their long bird-echoing minster aisles — the voice Ofthe perpetual brook, these golden slopes Of Solomon-shaming flowers — that was your saying, All pleased you so at first." — Tennyson's "Becket.'' 3*fT) RIGHTLY dawned the dav which was to welcome _X_7 Hans Ritter home. There was quite an air of festivity over the village. Pastor Ritter (in his capacity of schoolmaster) had granted a holiday on the occasion, and, as the harvest was not yet ripe, and there was no work for the children to do in the fields, they had amused themselves with erecting triumphal arches and decking the roadsides with bright wild flowers. There was a hazy idea in the little village that the parson's son had distinguished himself immensely by going to the great college and taking honours there, though, after all, there was nothing very remarkable yet accomplished.

Minna and ber mother were up early ; it took time to make those dainty cakes and the almond bread wliich Hans declared was never so good as when made by his mother's hands, and then there were the finishing touches to be put to his room, the best lavender scented sheets to be aired (for now that Hans came home so seldom he must have the best of everything), and the little white curtains fastened into the window. The parlour, too, must be dusted and made to look even more spick and span than usual ; the old oak settle rubbed till it shone, and the polished floor worked up till to tread on it was as dangerous as to walk on ice. At last all was ready ; Frau Ritter had donned her best dress and kerchief, and sat herself down to her spinning wheel in the porch, waiting till the coach should bring ber boy home, but Minna could not sit still ; tired as she was with the bustle of the day, she must keep on ber feet still.

" I will run and see if Lota will not come with me to the schoolhouse," she said, " and we shall meet the coach as it stops." Frau Ritter made no objection ; for ber own part, she preferred to sit quiet and wait for her son. She had so much to think of, so much to say — to her nothing would have been less satisfactory than a meeting in the publicity of the village street ; but Minna was different. In spite of her fair, fluffy hair and great blue eyes, Minna was more Swabian than German. Like many Swabians, she had the French characteristic of excitability, the French love of talk, and dress, and pretty things ; she was affectionate, bright and winning, but she had none of her mother's German stability. Minna generally stood too much in awe of Lota (who was, after all, more her brother's friend than her own) to visit her at her own home ; but it is possible that to day she was led by a double motive.

She did really wish to secure Lota for a companion (Hans would be so pleased if she brought her), but also she had a longing to catch a glimpse of herself in one of those lovely, full length French mirrors which the baron had intro duced in the castle. Minna was much too shy to pull the big bell which hung over the portal, and which could only be reached by a judicious jump ; but as she had hoped, the great gates stood open, and she knew she should find her friend alone in the little octagon room which jutted out of the huge and dreary drawing room. Now the mirror was in the drawing-room Should she run in and take a quiet look at her little person before she summoued Lota? She thought she would. Treading softly, she went through the big hall and long corridor, hung with family portraits, and gently pushed open the door of the drawing-room.

To her dismay, the room was not empty, nor the mirror unoccupied. Lota stood in front of it, trying the effect of a dark red rose in her glossy black hair. No girl cares to be caught in an act of vanity. Lota started as the door opened, and a blush betrayed her annoyance. " Oh ! Minna, is that you ? Why do you come in here ? I was not expecting anyone." " What a lovely rose !" cried Minna, diplomatically leaving the questions unanswered. " Where did you get it ? Our roses are barely budding yet. Do leave it in your hair : it looks so pretty." " I was only trying how it looked, to amuse myself," said Lota, colouring again. " The days are so long, one is puzzled what to do. But, of course, I shan't leave it in my hair," and she took it out hurriedly, and threw it on the ground. " What a pity !" exclaimed Minna.

"I am sure Hans would have admired it. Lota, wTill you come with me as far as the ' Wurtemburg Arms,' and wait for the coach ?" " What ! Stand and wait for Herr Hans with flowers in my hair and garlands in my hands, like tbe school children ? No, thank you ! He is conceited enough already." " I thought you would like to be the first to meet him," said Minna, half hurt ; " and as to conceit ! It is unkind, and silly, too, to talk like that. Yrou know Hans is not conceited, though he might well be." " Listen to the child ! " cried Lota, scornfully. " Why, your brother has done no more than other people, my dear : if as much. No ! Hans may come and see me if he pleases, but I shall not go out to meet him." " You need not think he will miss you !" said Minna, angrily ; " I will go by myself." It was hard on her.

She had had her hot walk for nothing. She had neither secured ber companion, nor had she had her peep in the magic glass. "I will go with father this evening," said Lota, softening, " to please you, Minna. But I reallv can't go and meet him. Here, child; look at yourself in the glass : that is what you came for. Do you think I don't know, you little goose — decked out in your best clothes for Hans ? There ! Stand there and look ! What do you think of voursclf?" " I don't know," said Minna, surveying with critical eyes the plump little figure in the glass. " My hair is very rough " (and indeed, brush as she would, the soft golden hair was never anything else but rough.) " Lota, since Hans has been away, you have quite grown up, but I don't believe I look a bit older than when he saw me last," and she gave herself a discontented little shake and moved away.

There was only two years' difference between them, but Lota's regular features and French dressed hair gave her at least five years' seniority in looks. At nineteen it is flattering to be taken for twenty-three. " You dear little thing," said Lota, giving Minna a patronising little kiss, " You look very much as you always will, and Hans will be the better pleased not to find you altered. Brothers don't care for their sisters to grow up — but you will be late if you don't start soon." " So I shall," said Minna, " Good-bye. We shall expect you this evening," and with a last look at the glass, she ran away and was soon out of sight. She had been talking so long that actually as she reached the school house, the mail coach was in view. Slowly, slowly the tired horses were crawling up the hill.

Would they never get to the top ? Great clumps of golden buttercups grew in the meadow near ; to wile away the time Minna stooped and picked some, thread ing them idly, stalk to stalk. Then she tossed them down the road and laughed at the omen. She was only seventeen, and perhaps a little inclined (it was the fashion of the age) to sentiment. " Flowers of gold to tread on," she said. But, alas ! they were trampled and trodden under foot before Hans passed that way. The driver ofthe mail coach recognised the parson's daughter, pulled up his horses and shouted something ashe passed, but Minna, with shaded eyes, was looking beyond him, and when she saw Hans was not on the box seat, nor on the top of the coach, nor even inside, she would wait tohearno explanations, but ran hastily into the old school house (the scene of many a sad hour) threw herself down, buried her face in the cushions of the master's chair and sobbed as if her heart would break.

And all the time, as the coachman had been trying to tell her, Herr Hans had only got out at the bottom ot the hill and was already within half a mile of the gate. £g>§§73p'"

Chapter III

w Pleased with himself; whom all th« world can please — " Goldsmith MANS RITTER had got out of the coach, and was walking up the hill wliich led to the village. He was not alone, for, although he had forgotten to mention the fact at home, he was bringing a visitor back with him, a fellow-student from Erlangen, Karl Seek. Lota Von Steinberg used to say, in his school days, that no one could ever guess what Hans' friends would be like. You could only be sure of one thing : the present friend was never like the last, and no ally of Hans ever in the least resembled himself. Certainly, a greater contrast than the two men now walking up the hill it would be difficult to find. Hans Ritter was tall and slight, with a promise of strength in his broad chest. He held his head proudly, and walked with a certain swagger, rather affected just then by the Erlangen men.

He had open blue eyes — a little wanting in depth, perhaps — a complexion which, where it was not tanned by the sun, rivalled his sister's. His fair hair he had disguised in the fashionable bag-wig of the period. He was dressed in the most correct clerical c attire ; but his merry face suited ill with his dress, and gave the impression that the costume was donned rather for theatrical purposes than of grave design. His companion was a stooping, sallow-faced student. He wore spectacles, which did not, however, altogether hide the keenness of his dark eyes ; the expression of his mouth was as firm as that of Hans was undecided. But he had a gentle look, too, which made you feel that if his vocation also were the church, he would make a very benign old parson by-and-by. At their heels, very close to Hans, trotted (must it be owned of thee, dear Shock ?) an unmistakeable cur !

A black, curly haired dog, of no breed at all, with a square head and an odd, good-tempered, clever face. As Shock is to play a large part in this story, it may not be amiss (though we cannot tell his pedigree) to relate his history as the two friends walk slowly up the hill. Shock had once been the property of an English travelling showman. Hence his English name. Hans Ritter had made the acquaintance of his master in a characteristic manner. He had just come across him in a tavern. Some Germans had been bullying the dog, and the Englishman, unable to give sufficient vent to his indignation in a language only partially known, had had resort to blows : a dangerous plan in a strange country. He was worsted, and, moreover, the city guard interfered, and he would have been marched off to a prison-cell had not Hans interposed.

The young student had been watching the whole business, and was indignant at the result. A few gulden procured the man's release. Hans never saw him again ; but a few weeks later a little ragged child brought him the dog, with a note tied round his neck. " The English beggar is dead," the child said ; " but he asked me to find you out, and bring Shock to you. I wanted to have him, but we are too poor." The child was crying over Shock's curly head ; but Shock, as though he knew his late master's wishes, pushed himself out ofthe boy's arms and curled himself at Hans' feet. The note was in English. Hans' acquaintance with the language was small ; he had to fetch bis dictionary before he could decipher it. But, perhaps partly from the trouble it gave him, it made a deep impression. " You were so good as to interfere," wrote the Englishman, " on my dog's behalf.