Not for the World; a story of Saxony in the year of the War, 1870. By D. C. T

Front matter

MR. NEWBY WILL SHORTLY PUBLISH. In 1 Vol. Price 10a. 6d. ELMORE. A Novel. Bi the HONBLE. MES. CLIFFORD BUTLER, Author of " A Tale of Two Old Songs," &c. In 1 Vol. Price 10s. 6d. SOWING IN TEARS. By HELVBLYN. In 1 Vol. Price 10s. 6d, BROTHER OR LOVER? By the Author of " Annine," &c. In Fc. 8vo. Price 5s. RICHARD CŒUR DE LION. AN HISTORICAL PLAY In Two Parts— Each in Five Acts. And THE DRUID. A CHORAL TKAGEDY. By HENRY J. VERLANDER, M.A., Author of " The Bride of Rougemont," " William of Normandy," &c. — Railways, postages— in a word, all the numerous facilities ofthe age — have almost annihilated distance, and, as a natural result, caused an individual trade between country customers and London establishments. Those who do not visit town, so as to select and purchase directly, send for patterns from which they can give their orders.

But as all apparent advantages on the one hand have more or less their corresponding drawbacks, so this system is not without its bane. Pushing tradesmen make a market by offering goods at lower rates than they can possibly be sold at to realise a fair profit. The bait traps the unreflective, and the result is that the receipts en •masse are not equal to the tempting samples. There is no new invention in this ; it has been practised in wholesale merchandise and by candidates for contracts, as the proverb hath it, since there were hills and valleys. But we grieve to add it is sometimes resorted to by those whom one would credit for more integrity. Ladies, therefore, need exercise caution, and place confidence only in houses of oldestablished fame, for rapidly-made businesses are not generally reliable.

And to what does this assertion amount more than to the fact that nothing great can be effected not only without labour but without time, and that Rome was not built, as the old saying says, in a day ? Messrs. Jay, of Regent-street, whose name is well known amongst the few on the list osbondjide establishments in the metropolis, have adopted a plan for assisting country ladies in choosing for themselves London fashions and fabrics. And their customers may rest assured that they will thus be enabled to obtain goods of every quality, both low and high priced, at the most reasonable terms — that is, the terms of small profits for quick returns — and that they may firmly rely upon the thoroughly corresponding character of sa mples and supplies. — From tlie Court Journal. NOT FOR THE WORLD; A STORY OF SAXONY IN THE YEAR OF THE WAR, 1870.

Chapter I

I think no one who takes up this volume will expect an elaborate description of Saxony and its inhabitants, but in case the reader should, I think it better to say at once, that when I was there, I was but a girl, and can only tell of what I have seen. The way I came to visit Saxony was this. My father, Henry Thompson, was a solicitor in London, and was the son of B a country clergyman, who having been much in Dresden in his youth, had married a Saxon lady, of the name of Von Rosterwich. When my father was young he had visited among his mother's re lations, and had often told me stories of them when I was a little girl. The Yon Rosterwichs were of good old Saxon family, and possessed a fine property called Konigstein, near Dresden. My grandmother's brother was Baron Von Rosterwich ; he had married young, and his wife was dead, and when my father stayed there, Fraulein Von Rosterwich, the Baron's sister, was keeping house for him and his one little boy.

I do not think my father Avas agreeably impressed by this aunt of his ; I know, at least, he did not give me an agreeable impression of her, for on one occasion when I had been particularly naughty, I overheard him say to my mother, he thought the only thing that would do me any good would be to be flown at by my aunt Minuschka, a remark which made a lasting im pression on my mind. I was sixteen years old ; I and my father and mother, and seven little brothers and sisters, were living in a villa at Brompton, when there came an invitation from this aunt for me to go and live with her in Saxony. She wrote kindly, saying that she, being left alone a good deal, would be glad of my company, and would do her best to make me happy. Well, my dear mother was loth to part with me, but I was one among many, and she did not like to refuse such a good offer.

She took a long time to consider it, so long, that months slipped away, and it was not till the following year that it was decided I should go. In the meantime I had heard all that I could from my parents of this strange aunt. They thought her a proud woman of uncertain temper, always having lived in great seclusion. My mother thought her perhaps somewhat narrow-minded and peculiar, but thoroughly conscientious and straightforward,, and exceedingly fond of her nephew, Fedor, the b present Baron Von Rosterwich, who at this time was three or four and twenty. So, late in the summer of 1870, I set off to make acquaintance with these unknown relatives. What I did and saw there, will be portrayed, however faintly, in the following pages. Bath Hotel, Rotterdam. Here I am, having survived the horrors of the steamer, and, as you see, being alive to tell the tale.

Anything so disgusting as the passage across I never before encountered. It was very rough, and almost everyone was ill We got on board about ten, and I went to my berth directly, and had a nice sleep, until the steamer started, or rather until the Harwich train came in, when there was a rush of people on the boat. I had a top berth, and was scarcely ill at all, though we went rocking backwards and for wards all night, playing at see -saw. There were two French women in our cabin — great fat creatures — who jabbered French as fast as they could, until they were sick, and then went on moaning and groaning in the most disgusting manner. Rotherdam is a quaint looking place, and it is curious to hear all the people talking Dutch. It is exactly like the pictures one sees of Holland. The men wear those curious wooden boots, and the women tight little white caps, tied under their chins.

What we saw of the town Avas very pretty and picturesque, and it all looks remarkably clean and fresh. — Strasse, Dresden. My friends and I left Rotterdam on Saturday afternoon, as we intended, and went on to Obephausen, which we reached in the evening, meaning to go on by the next train to Leipzig ; but when it came in, we found it contained an enormous number of French prisoners, so that there was no room for us. The guard told us we could go on by the next train, which left at half-past one ; but it was for the wounded, and in going by that we should be liable to be de tained some hours. Nevertheless, we decided on doing this. Whilst my friends were settling this matter I went into the waiting-room and found one very sleepy woman, in a brown waterproof cloak, and three or four men lying on sofas and chairs.

Presently three young Germans came in, who were all, I think, rather intoxicated ; at all events, they went on talking and laughing and dancing about in a very odd way. One of them danced up to the woman, and gave her a most affectionate hug ; but she did not seem to mind it at all, and I discovered afterwards that he was her husband, for when our train did arrive, and we entered it, they got into the same carriage, with two sleeping babies, which she lifted from one of the sofas. There Avas great difficulty in ar ranging these babies to her satisfaction ; they took up nearly the whole of one seat, and their papa was very careful in tucking them up with shawls. The babies were quite model babies, for they did not cry once, but lay all night quite still, with their little pasty-looking faces puckered up, fast asleep.

Before we started, we walked up the platform, in the lamp-light, and the carriage doors being open, we saw the train was full of the wounded. It made us realize how dreadful war is. Early in the morning the train stopped at Bielefeld some time, and women with white caps came bustling up with coffee, in great cans, and biscuits and cigars, for the wounded. I got out, and walked along some little way ; the poor men seemed so glad to have the coffee. Some were lying down on the seats. Most of them seemed wounded in the arm. One poor fellow had had his leg cut off ; many of them were quite boys, and it was very sad to see them all bandaged up, but they looked very cheerful and contented. I asked one of the German women to let me carry coffee to some of them, and I held out a cup to a poor lad, who was looking out with anxious eyes, and who took it too eagerly even to notice that it was an English girl and not a German who offered it.

At Minden we got out, and set off in search of an hotel. It is a large garrison town, and was literally full of soldiers ; a great many we passed were being drilled on an open green. We walked about some time before we saw an hotel to our mind, a man behind us carrying our wraps, &c. We entered one at last, the name I did not know then, and do not know now. The coffee-room was full of men, smoking and having breakfast, not a single woman was to be seen. Most of them were soldiers, and they were all jabbering German. After we had breakfasted and rested a little, we walked out to see the Cathedral, which one of our party much wished to examine. The day was Sunday, and service was going on. There Avere lights burning on the altar before the Crucifix, and over it was a splendid window. But we could not get in very far, as it was full of soldiers, all standing in the nave or great wide space before the choir.

We got just within the door, and there remained, I shall never forget it. There was something so solemn in seeing all these men assembled, on their road to the war, from which so many of them would never live to return. They were fine, well set-up men, but there was nothing of excitement or elation in their expression ; most seemed sad and grave, and they had such a stedfast look in their faces, as though they meant to go right ahead, and do their duty, and not flinch at anything. On leaving the Cathedral, we went back to the hotel. I thought I could stand smoke pretty well, but that room being full of men smoking was really too much, and we went into the porch, where we sat till the time to start away again. We drove down to the station in a b rickety kind of omnibus, and resumed our travels.

Whenever we stopped we found the place crowded with people come up to see the wounded or the prisoners. At Madgeburg we stayed some time, and saw four thousand French prisoners. There were crowds of people watching them, and they were pelted with apples, pears, and plums. They seemed very jolly all things considered ; their long coats and loose red trousers looked very shabby. At Leipzig we left the train and went to an hotel to sleep. Passing through the town we saw a place like a barrel with a small hole in it, through which passers by were to slip in cigars for the wounded, so I bought some and slipped them in for the poor fellows. We reached Dresden on Monday afternoon, and now came the parting with my friends, for they were to continue their journey farther on, and I was to be left to encounter alone my stranger relatives.

I was put into a droschky with my boxes, and almost sorry to find my journey at an end, was driven to the inn, where, as arranged, I was to await my new cousin and the carriage that was to convey me to Konig stein. NOT FOB THE WORLD.

Chapter II

It was very tiresome, waiting alone in this un known bedroom at the inn, and I was getting desperately hungry and rather tired. I posted myself at the window, resolved to observe all that was to be seen in the street. 2" was dull and lonely enough, but the wide street below was full of life. The sun was shining on a row of red houses opposite ; the place seemed like a market place, for several streets opened upon it ; a few droschkys were standing idle in the centre, the drivers, surly, beggarly looking men, were lounging on the boxes ; a lady in a low carriage driving herself with a pair of white ponies came by, her red feather flashing in the sunlight ; a few soldiers stood gossiping at the corner ; a couple of officers in blue and silver uniform, gtistening and sparkling, trotted majestically by ; people kept crossing, and recrossing ; the dust was flying.

A man with a black beard and a roll of music under his arm came up to the inn. Could this be the Baron, my cousin ? My heart began to beat. " An unknown cousin is a terrible thing to encounter alone," thought I. There was a sudden click at the handle of the door and I as suddenly turned round from the window — a face and a hat were looking in on me, but it was not the face with the black beard. It was a face I grew to know well enough, but it is more photographed in my mind by the hasty glance I threw from the busy street across the dingy dusky room, than by all the intimacy of later days. It was not so much to look at after all. A broad brow under a low grey hat, sleepy, kindly grey eyes, a bronzed looking moustache, soft and thick, a fair skin, but ruddy and sun burnt. The owner of the face came more into the doorway, and a big brown hand was raised to take away the hat.

"I am your cousin," said a slow, pleasant voice, in tolerable English ; " I am come to take you to Konigstein. Are you ready, and will you come down stairs ? The carriage is waiting." "Oh yes," I replied, taking the hand he offered me, " I am very glad you have come, I am so tired of waiting, and it was quite strange here without anyone to speak to." As I followed my unknown relative, bearing with me my travelling bag, a large bundle of wraps, an umbrella, and my new silk sunshade, the steepness of the stone stairs was presented to my mind with painful distinctness. Before we had descended many steps, my cousin turned, and with a good-natured apology relieved me of some of my burdens, and running on before me was lost to sight. When I got to the bottom this strange relative was standing at the heads of a pair of chestnut horses in an old fashioned looking carriage, with a seat behind and in front, my three boxes were already piled up on the box in a manner far from ornamental, a servant, looking half a soldier and half a game keeper, and totally unlike a footman, helped me into the seat behind, and hoisted my " things" in after me.

My new cousin proceeded silently to invest himself with a great coat, and having slowly lighted a cigar, climbed into the seat, took the " ribbons' " and off we we went. I was in doubt whether the gamekeeper or soldier would fall to my share, but no, he too mounted the box and deposited himself among my boxes, casting a grim look of curiosity at me as he did so. On we went. I might admire my cousin's back at my leisure, but having satisfied myself already that he was tall and well-made, and altogether not so unlike an Englishman as might have been expected, I grew tired of ex amining his yellow curls, and proceeded first to feel very uncomfortable ; secondly, to wish myself back at home again ; and thirdly, to con trast, with some mortification, all the pathetic and romantic fictions I had drawn of my meeting with my relations, with what had actually taken place.

" However," thought I, " there is my aunt still to come ; she will be the compensation, she will be overflowing with affection, she wiil show some interest in the fact of my having waited in that odious inn two hours and had no luncheon." On we drove out of the town, and for some time along broad country roads, flat fields, by scattered farms, and lone cottages. Presently it began to rain, first gently, then hard and fast. My cousin turned round, and looking at me with more interest than before, said, with a smile — " You will be wet, cousin. Your cloak is here, will you have it on ?" " Yes, please," I assented. So the cloak was taken up, and, stopping his horses, the young Baron helped me himself to get into it j opened my umbrella, and said he thought we should have a heavy rain. "Yes," I said again, somewhat comforted by these attentions ; and so we passed over several miles until the road brought us into a beautiful country, rich in hill and dale, in the midst of which stood the village of Konigstein.

Imagine a lonely village in a valley, with the slopes all clothed in trees, with little cottages nestling about on the sides, and beyond, great high hills, with a river running through them, and on the top of one a castle with little quaint slips of windows all over it, from which there were the most lovely views. Yes ! it was like a real castle, a castle in a story-book. My spirits rose as the tired horses slowly climbed the steep, hilly road leading from the village. The rain was running in pools from my umbrella into my lap, my cousin's chin was buried in his coat collar, the horses were steaming with wet and the pace they had come ; the servant, damp, but cheerful, was balancing himself with difficulty on the sharp corner of one of my new trunks ; and thus we entered the precincts of the castle.

It was unlike anything I had ever seen before, and as I gazed up at the great stone walls and at the narrow, deep-set windows — as I came for the first time into personal contact with a real moat, I felt that my new home was indeed romantic, but dreary. There was a flagged stone path across this moat, entered by a low wicket gate ; on either side of this path were low walls overlooking the water, which was almost hidden by the weeds. The rain pattered at my feet as I crossed. We entered the house by a low arched doorway, and up wide stone stairs — steep, damp, and crumbling — not like (ah, how unlike !) the white steps leading to the door of the home I had left — our little villa residence at Brompton. " It smells like a vault," was on the tip of my tongue, but my companion, silent and indifferent, seemed in no mood for conversation.

We came to a great stone landing like a triangle, with three narrow windows closely barred, and a wooden bench — an utterly uncomfortable looking seat. My cousin pulled furiously a great bell handle at a white wooden door. " You can speak German ?" he said. " Yes," I replied, dubiously, " a little ;" and thus feeling something like a mouse entering a trap, I found myself inside the wooden door, and in the embrace of my new aunt. Let me describe her now ; — I hate descriptions, myself, and almost alway skip them in books, but I suppose they are necessary, so I will get this one over. SheVas a little spare woman, and I found out directly that she had a sharp nose, for, as I stooped to her embrace, it came in contact with my chin. She was fair, with brown hair in bands round her cheeks, and knotted up in smooth plaits behind ; she had a thin face, but not a plain one, only it was so covered with lines, deep marks of crow's feet by her eyes, and deep lines under her nose.

Her eyes were very large and full— cold, restless looking, grey eyes they were ; she wore a small lace cap, a velvet cloak round her shoulders, and a long black dress. She began speaking to me in French, until the Baron told her I understood German, when she went on talking, volubly, in a broken mixture of French and German that I could scarcely under stand at all. " Ah, ma chere, il me fait grand plaisir de vous toir. You understand a little German, that is a good thing. You are cold, are you not ? Come in — come in." Her voice struck me as "peculiarly hard and grating, and melancholy, even then, and this peculiarity became more marked instead, of less, as I knew her better; it reminded me of the sighings of a chimney pot swinging in the Avind. But her manner was kind, though a little stiff.

" Oh, how wet you are !" she continued. " Enter ; we witl have coffee ready in a moment. How tall you are ! — ah ! you are like your poor grandmother. It is sad for you to be alone here among strangers ; but you will be at home soon, I trust." While she was speaking, the Baron went away with heavy steps down a long passage leading to unknow regions, and the bang of a distant door soon announced that he had reached some haven of repose. We entered a sitting room, where a table was set out with pink and gold cups, and a large brown coffee jug over a silver lamp. The room looked pleasant and com fortable. "Have you dined ?" said my aunt, pleasantly. " No ! ah, che ! you must have hunger. You will hke some butter-brod, I daresay." She rang, and presently a servant girl brought us some great thick slices of bread and butter.

The bread had a bitter taste, but as I was exceed ingly hungry it went down somehow, and the coffee was very good ; I said so, and my aunt looked pleased. "■ You like it, that gives me great pleasure ; eat still more, ma chere. That is a long journey you have made." Afterwards she took me to my room, and helped me to take off my damp things. She was full of solicitude for my comfort, but there was a stiffness and authoritativeness about her civility which did not put me at ease. My bedroom was at the end of a long passage. " No one but myself sleeps in the passage," she said. I did not quite like beiDg so far from everybody. My room had two Avindows, looking out upon a iovely view it contained a stove, a pretty little table like a dumb waiter, a small sofa-bed, a chest of drawers, and over them a long glass, which reached to the ceiling, in an oak frame.

On the top of it was a picture from the Bible in white transparent glass — Israel em bracing Esau, I think it was. I began unpacking, my aunt hovering about me as I did so, and examining all my dresses. " Very pretty," she said. " Oh ! that is beautiful ! but too good for here, my dear niece ; that blue silk I will put away for you. There is a charming wardrobe in the next room, I keep the key. They are very pretty, but there will only be me and the rats to see you here ; we dress very simply, the rats and the poor people do not mind." Though too weary to be as much appalled by this picture as I might have been at another time, or to be surprised at the quaint irony, I yet felt that I should prefer keeping the keys of my own wardrobe.

Chapter III

I awoke the next morning with that singular feeling which finding oneself in a new scene generally gives one. How strange everything looked ! how lonely — how desolate, I felt ! But at the same time there was an excitement in the thought of it all, which made me long to get up, and explore my new home, find out its mysteries, and make friends with everyone. A slip-shod looking girl, Avith short petticoats and a woollen handkerchief tied round her head, brought me a very small jug of hot water. It was only six o'clock, but it was, I guessed, the way of the household to keep early hours. There was a sound outside my windows like rushing water, or the roar of the sea, or the howling of a great Avind. It had not kept me awake, for beside being young and a sound sleeper, I was used to town noises.

I threw open the window, and looked out ; the view was most lovely. The castle was built on a great rock, and far, far beloAv, I could look down the grey walls to little walks winding among thick foliage till I felt quite giddy. Below this declivity was a river which wound in and out among green meadows with clumps of silvery firs, willows, and poplars scattered about. Just beneath my window the river fell with great violence over some large broken rocks, and this was the noise I had heard. Be yond were more hills, clothed with wood, beautiful with the blue and purple tints of the morning. Nestling among some of these I could see the high gables of some great house or castle ; on the right hand side was a great bower of oak trees, dim and purple with distance. c " How beautiful this is !" thought I, stretching out my head as far as possible to see still more.

" However quiet the life may be here, it cannot be common-place, the whole thing is so ro mantic," and 1 began to dream dreams of the strange romantic stories that must belong to this old castle. I was brought back decidedly to the realities of life on being summoned to breakfast, where I found my aunt sitting waiting for me ; but im proving the time by knitting vigorously. Coffee was ready, and little hot rolls of bread, with delicious butter. " Good morning — good morning/' said my aunt, nodding her head at me over her knitting. " I have already had coffee. Can you knit, ma chere ? — No ? not knit ! Ah, me ! then I must teach you. It is a very nice empioyment, and improves the mind. One can knit and talk at the same time ; nay, when one gets proficient, one can read and knit. I have a relation who knits so quickly, she can make a pair of socks in one day.

It is very useful, and one should always knit one's own stockings. I am knitting a pair now for the poor sofdiers ; you wouid like to help, would you not ? Poor men ! Ah ! when one thinks of many of them without clothes or food, one should be thankful, should one not?" I readily acquiesced in this sentiment, and ex pressed my willingness to help the poor soldiers. " Yes," she continued, meditatively, as her bright needles clicked together; "knitting isa great resource. There was an English girl I once knew, quite as young as you are, my dear ; she was staying here — ah ! a long Avhile ago now. All the long Sunday she would sit with her hands before her. < What can I do ?' she would say, ' there are no books.' ' You should learn to knit,' I would say to her, and so at last she did ; she knitted all the day long, and she grew so fond of it ; she said in one Sunday she could do a great part of a stocking."

" But do you not have church here ?" asked I, o rather scandalized by this employment on a Sunday. " Certainly we have church," replied my aunt, with emphasis ; " but she could not speak German, and when one does not understand, there is small use in going to church. What ! do you think, my dear niece, we have no church here ?" " Well, I did not know," 1 replied, dubiously. " Is it near here?" " It is very near," replied my aunt. " The pastor, Herr Leybach, we have known many years. He is a very worthy man, a little strange perhaps, and self-opinionated, but still a very worthy man, who does a great deal of good among tlie poor people." " Has he a wife and children ?" I asked, helping myself to another piece of " sammel " and butter. " He has one daughter ; his wife is dead, and there is a son also.