At Odds; a novel

Front matter

r 171 I II i> WA_ it AT ODDS. ]'Y Till. BARONESS TAUTPHŒUS (nee MONTGOMERY), AUTHOR OF "THE INITIALS," ' >YTUr.r\." AM> " Ql LONDON : RICHARD BENTLET AND S 0 _J publishers in ffirbiirarg to |tt Pajtsty, AT ODDS; % $taL Br THE BARONESS TAUTPHOEUS, AUTHOB OF "THE IITiriiLS," " QUITS," ETC. LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON, IJublisjurs in ©rbiuarg lo |J£_ gjjlajesfg. NEW BURLINGTON STREET, 1873. The right of Translation is reserved. CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE IlTTROntTCTION ... ... ... ... ... ... 1 I. The House of the Waldeeings ... ... ... 5 II. The Family 12 III. Fbiends 19 IV. Foes 27 V. Reminiscences 36 VI. A Maiden on Guabd ... ... ... ... 41 VII. The Capital O 45 VIII. Neutbal Geound 57 IX. The Family Compact 61 X. Spaeeing 71 XI. The Shock 77 XII. A Holt-Eve Adyentube ... ... ... ... 87 XIII.

The Singulae Betbothal 99 XIV. A Ride in seabch of a Bouquet 110 XV. What People said 121 XVI. What Doeis did 131 XVII. Mabey in Haste, and Repent at Leisube ... 146 XVIII. Feeedom in Chains 157 XIX. Soldiee's Woek 166 XX. To FAT HOESIFLESn, 0E . OT to eat Hoese- FLESH? — THAT IS THE QUESTION CONTENTS. CBAP. PAGE XXI. Mobe at Odds than eveb 188 XXTI. Quiescence 200 'XXIII. Anothee Hoit-Efe 207 XXIV. These Yeabs Lateb 224 XXV. How they Met 235 XXVI. What was done fob Appeabance' sake... ... 247 XXVII. Love ob Habit? 255 XXVIII. Cboss Purposes 265 XXIX. A Eetobt un-coueteous 278 XXX. The fatal "No" 290 XXXI. No one knows what a Dat may bbing fobth 293 XXXII. Up with the Eagle! 307 XXXIII. Who made the Wobld at odds? 325 XXXIV. Containing mobe Fact than Fiction 336 XXXV. A Whim 356 XXXVI. A Vow 372 XXXVII.

Fob Bettee fob Wobse 385 XXXVIII. Heabt and Head no longer at Vabiance ... 403 XXXIX. Neae and Apabt 410 XL. How Emmeban was beminded to buy Wedding- Rings ... 421 XLI. The Scene changes 431 XLII. None so Blind as those who will not See ... 445 XLIII. Now ob Neveb! AT ODDS.

Introduction

. At tbe commencement of my residence in Bavaria, few things surprised me more than the vivid recollection of the war at the beginning of this century possessed by all old, and many scarcely elderly people. Names that for me belonged to history were mentioned familiarly, and many a hearty laugh indulged in, at the expense of very cele brated personages. My mother-in-law was inexhaustible in her stories of the Teutonic Order — of the French when quartered in her neighbourhood, where they made themselves at home in the old castle at Dinkelsbiihl, in which she then resided — of her husband driving off at midnight with papers of importance — of the raising of floors and removal of ceil ings for the purpose of concealing plate, etc. — but I cannot say that even her best-remembered squabbles with Caulain court about the loan of forks and spoons for his dinner parties, and his wonderfully polite assurances that nothing lent by her should ever find a place in his or any of his followers' portmanteaus, interested me much, until a friend of her youth came to spend the winter with us in the AT ODDS. country, where the reminiscences ceased to be mere anec dotes, and lengthened into wide-branching stories, that at length attracted my attention and excited my interest so effectually, that I felt as if I too had known the persons, and seen the places, so often and graphically described.

A more intelligent and amusingly talkative person than this friend of my mother-in-law, I have seldom met — a German Scheherozade, who never allowed day or lamp light to interrupt her discourse until she had completed h.r story ; and if the motives of the actions recorded by her strongly resembled, or were precisely the same, as those which actuate the world around us now, the violent political convulsions and desperate military struggles of those times exercised not unfrequently their influence on families, and even individuals, in a manner that threw a gleam of ro mance on many a commonplace event, or gave rise to connections or estrangements that would be more than improbabilities in the present day. ' It was when walking through the old town of Ulm for the first time a few years since, that I became fully aware of the deep impression made on me by these recitals.

I actually felt as if 1 had been there before, and were well acquainted with the narrow streets and ancient houses — as if I had stood before the cathedral half a century ago — had walked on the ramparts — watched the Austrian soldiers working at the entrenchments that were to spare them a capitulation to Napoleon ; and at length I could almost imagine I saw Marshal Mack and his brilliant staff galloping past, while from one of the windows of a certain corner house, well known from description, I could fancy the face of my cheerful old friend as it may have appeared at that time, with its profusion of auburn curls, bright brown eyes well-formed mouth, and teeth that were faultless even at seventy years of age ! I saw her lean out of the window AT ODDS. 3 to look after the young men with whom she was to dance in the evening ; and where from that same window, not long afterwards, she watched with not a little anxiety the entrance of the French into the town !

The reputation of the latter at that time was not good, and no sooner had her father ascertained that be was to be favoured with the com pany of some officers, than she and ber sister were ordered to retreat to the cellar, where their beds were made, and they were provided with lamps and provisions by their maid, who constantly recommended patience, and daily assured them that the French officers had awful whiskers and beards ! Either a weariness of such imprisonment, curiosity, or (as my friend assured me with heightened colour, even after the lapse of half a century) a desire to move about and make herself useful, induced her one day, when she knew her father, and supposed the strangers, to be absent, to assist in carrying bread from the cellar to the kitchen. Scarcely, however, had she appeared above ground, than, encountering a bearded face with a pair of coal-black eyes intensely expressive of amazement and amusement, she dropped her loaves, and retreated precipi tately to her prison.

This officer, it seems, expostulated effectually with her father on his want of confidence in French " honneur," and so forth, for she and her sister were released that evening, and not only restored to the light of day, but their company required (not requested) to a ball given by the officers who remained in Ulm under the com mand of General Labassee, where they danced in the same public room and to the same music as with the Austrians but a short time previously ; — that many of the ladies were unable to speak French, and scarcely any of the gentlemen a word of German, in no way interfered with the general hilarity. I should not have mentioned this lady nor my late AT ODDS. mother-in-law, had it not been from a wish to prove to my readers that if I write of a period that now belongs to history, my information (of how some — I trust not altogether uninteresting — personages lived and loved at thc commencement of this century) has at least been obtained from contemporaries whose pleasantest recol lections were of those times, notwithstanding the anxieties, losses, and perils to which they were then so continually exposed.

While assuring my readers that in the following pages no poetical liberties have been taken with history, I avail myself of the opportunity of adding, in the words of Mon taigne, " Je n'enseigne pas, je raconte." AT ODDS. 5

Chapter I. The

house of the waldeeings. At the end of the long Bavarian plain that extends south eastward from Munich towards the frontier of Austria there is a very extensive and beautiful lake called Chiemsee, and in its neighbourhood, for miles around, a number of others of smaller, and even very small, dimensions, that more than probably some centuries ago formed with it one vast sheet of water. These unknown, unnoticed, and sometimes name less lakes are frequently bounded by gently-rising slopes or bills, many have wooded promontories stretching far into the water, but almost all are more or less disfigured and contracted by the flags, bulrushes, and other marsh plant?, that grow along the margin of the water in wild luxuriance. At the commencement of this century the family of Waldering were in possession of a thick-walled, small windowed, high-roofed castle on an island in one of these lakes.

The proper denomination of the building would have been " bouse," had not the weather-beaten walls of bound-masonry, descending into the water, and a drawbridge inspired respect, and made it, though towerless, deserving of the name of castle. And, in fact, Westenried, or the West Marsh, had been a fortress, and considered nearly impregnable in its time — that is, before the discovery of gunpowder; for, were the drawbridge raised) there was no communication with the mainland, the only riKans of approach being a long lightly-constructed cause- AT ODDS. way, if one may so call the planks laid on piles driven into the marsh, and easily removed in case of need, while the water beneath the drawbridge and surrounding the island was of very considerable depth. The castle farmed three sides of a quadrangle, open towards the island, which had been converted into a garden and orchard.

That the offices occupied one side of the court, and that the stable was opposite the hall-door, seemed a matter-of-course to all its possessors — at least, no effort had ever been made to place them elsewhere, and, in fact, they corresponded well with the more useful than ornamental garden and orchard, in the former of which but a small portion of ground had been reserved for flowers, and the latter was a mere meadow where apple, plum, and pear trees had grown to a good old age, without any par ticular care having been devoted to their cultivation. The pedigree of the Walderings, in the approved form of a tree, was hung up framed and glazed in the flagged corridor leading into the chief apartments ; and ii* it did not, like that of a well-known Hungarian nobleman, com mence with Adam reclining gracefully in a shady part of the Garden of Eden, the warrior from whose broad chest the wide-spreading family tree seemed to rise might be supposed a near relative of Hermann the Cherusker — at least, if one might judge by the primitive shape of his weapons and the savage nudity of his person.

There were family pictures, too, serving effectually to conceal the unpapered walls of the corridor and larger rooms ; many with gilt backgrounds, brilliant colouring, and the Chinese disdain of perspective that proved almost beyond a doubt their antiquity. Had a catalogue of the numerous portraits been made, the words 'painter unknown' would have been of more than usual occurrence ; but then in the corner of each picture the name and rank of the original, with his or AT ODDS. 7 her coat-of-arms, gave them a value in the opinion of most of the Walderings far surpassing the name of an artist, even had the man been Albert Durer himself. The second floor of the castle contained a tolerably large suite of apartments, usually reserved for the widow of the last possessor, — a sort of jointure lodging, seldom, however, used by them, for Westenried was considered a very dull place, — so dull that even the rest of the building was only occasionally visited by the Count in possession when he came to shoot or fish or look over accounts with his steward ; but the latter, a pensioned officer and personal friend of the family, resided there constantly in a few rooms over the arched way that led from the drawbridge into the court.

Mr. Pallersberg might have had what he would himself have called better quarters, had he been disposed to occupy them ; but both he and his wife considered it particularly desirable to have a view of the high road that had been made along the margin of the lake, and windows whence they could watch the progress of loaded waggons in summer and sledges in winter, packed alike with salt, for the conveyance of which the road had been made. The village and its church were also visible at no great distance, and the inn where the waggoners passed the night so favourably situated that the well-known figures of the priest, the schoolmaster, and tbe woodranger, could be recognized as they sat under the trees before tbe house in summer, or made their presence evident in winter by the illumination of the window of the small room reserved for them or any chance traveller of distinction.

The architecture of this inn denoted the vicinity of the highlands. The low shingle roof stretched far over the small square windows ; the wooden balcony, bronzed by age, extended the whole length of the gable; and above it AT ODDS. a fresco painting represented St. Floriau in the act of pouring a bucket of water on a house which, by stretch of the imagination, might be supposed a miniature picture of the inn itself, with red and sulphur-coloured flames issuing from every window, while beneath it, in the form of a scroll the usual words, " Oh, holy Saint Florian, save my house — burn others down ! " in all its unchristian selfishness, was considered a preservative against the danger of conflagration. Late in the afternoon, at the close of -the year 1800, several persons holding official situations in the nearest town and all the peasants of the neighbourhood were assembled at the inn ; the latter in groups before the door, talking anxiously and eagerly of the battle of Hobenlinden, where Count Waldering (from whose funeral they had just returned) had lost his life a few days previously.

Some village politicians had just begun to discuss the possibility of the French army crossing the river Inn, and passing through their part of the country, when their attention was attracted by the appearance of a Bavarian officer, who rode quickly up to them, and was instantly recognized as the nephew of the late, and eldest son of the present, possessor of Westenried. The hostler, who, at first supposing him a stranger, had rushed out to take charge of the horse, and even, from force of habit, laid his hand on the bridle, no sooner looked up to the rider's face, than he drew back and raised his cap, while the peasants, following his example, fixed at the same time their eyes on the young man with looks of intense inquiry. " Is Mr. Pallersberg here ?" he asked quickly. " He is within," answered the hostler, " and just now thanking the gentlemen for their attendance at the funeral."

" Tell him I wish to speak to him." The peasants crowded round the officer, and, though AT ODDS. 9 no one singly ventured to address him, a confused murmur of questions reached bis ears. " The French likely to cross the Inn ? — Road lie this way ? — Danger for us ?" " I hope not — I trust not," replied the young man, biting his lip. " Some Wurtembergers and Austrians may march through the village to-morrow perhaps." These words produced a very remarkable consternation, when it is taken into consideration that the arrival of friends, not foes, had been announced ; but though Westenried had hitherto escaped the visitation of marching armies, the inhabitants had suffered enough from war contributions, and heard enough of the misery caused elsewhere, not to feel easily and seriously alarmed. Through an open window the ill news reached the peasants within tbe house, and so great were the panic and eagerness to leave the inn, that Mr. Pallersberg found his progress to the door greatly impeded, notwithstanding the respectful efforts of the gesticulating villagers to make way for him.

Every trace of colour had fled from his ruddy, weather beaten face, making the bard brown lines that furrowed it unusually perceptible ; his lips were parted, his eyes dis tended, and long before be reached the door he seemed vainly to gasp for breath and utterance. " Your son is safe, Mr. Pallersberg," said the officer, in answer to the mute inquiry ; " not even wounded in this unfortunate affair. You will see him to-morrow on his way into Austria. As far as I have been able to ascertain," he added, " we alone in this neighbourhood are mourners." Mr. Pallersberg drew a long breath, and, laying his hand on the mane of the jaded horse, that with outstretched neck iiad begun a slow walk towards the castle, be observed, " Your uncle died, as be always hoped he would, Count Sigmund, a soldier's death on a field of battle, and I trust AT ODDS. he fell without knowing that his life was a useless sacri fice."

" You must apply to your son for particulars, Pallers berofor our Bavarian chasseurs were in front, and I was amono1 the first who got into action ; the Austrian cavalry must have been engaged much later, as they were in the rear." " And in such a place," murmured Pallersberg ; " on a road — in a wood !" " You don't imagine we bad a choice ?" said Sigmund. " Moreau was supposed to be retreating, and never was an army taken more by surprise than ours when we encountered the French. The most desperate efforts were made to get into the open field, but all in vain ; the advance of artillery and cavalry served no other purpose than to block up the road and make matters worse ; the sudden attack, the darkness of the wood, the snowstorm, all combined to put the troops into constantly increasing disorder.

The Aus trian cavalry were, I hear, greatly cut up, especially my uncle's regiment, and it is said the Archduke himself has been wounded." "And what has become of your aunt's nephew, the young Irishman who was here with your uncle during the truce, and left us to enter the army under his auspices ? " " Killed, most probably," answered Sigmund, carelessly ; " they say he was a reckless sort of fellow, always putting himself into danger, even when it was not necessary. The loss is not great, however, as there are half-a-dozen brothers of his still in Ireland, though I doubt any of them wishing to enter the Austrian service now that my uncle's death has deprived them of such powerful interest." " I fear," observed Mr. Pallersberg, " I fear this will be a great additional grief to your aunt." " No doubt, bat it will prevent ber from bringing any AT ODDS. 11 more of her English and Irish relations to us.

My uncle travelled to Vienna last year in the depth of winter to get this O'More appointed to his regiment, and felt greater interest for him than for any of his own family." " Because he had it in his power to be useful to him," replied Mr. Pallersberg; "and, after all, the young man belonged to the family, being nephew by marriage to your uncle, and consequently first cousin to his only child." " Hilda's cousins are not my cousins as yet," said Sig mund ; and then, after a pause, he asked when his father and brother had arrived at Westenried. " Yesterday evening." " With the— the— ? " " With the corpse of your uncle, which was frozen as bard as marble." " Well, well," said Sigmund, " regrets are useless ; his fate may be mine to-morrow or the day after, and with less chance of being buried with my forefathers.

War blunts the feelings, as, perhaps, you know from experience, Mr. Pallersberg." " It may be'so," he answered gravely, " with respect to misfortunes on a great scale, but not for the loss of per sonal friends." " My uncle's death will not affect you personally, Pal lersberg, as I take it for granted that you will remain at Westenried, but the loss to your son is, I fear, irreparable ; my uncle was a powerful friend for him, both as his com manding officer and in consequence of his influence at head-quarters." " I did not mean that, Count Sigmund ," began Mr. Pallersberg, wrth heightened colour. " But it would be very odd if you did not think of it," rejoined Sigmund, "for ideas of this kind force themselves AT ODDS. 12 on such occasions into the mind of the most disinterested of human beings !

" This speech, carelessly uttered, gave serious offence, unnoticed, however, by the young officer as he passed under the arched way, and entered the court of the castle. When be alighted and strode with head erect into the flagged hall, Pallersberg looked after him, while thinking it was very evident that Sigmund was resigned to a loss that had changed his position in tbe world so advan tageously. Murmuring something about " want of a sense of de corum," Pallersberg ascended the narrow staircase leading to his apartments, and there expatiated to his wife in no measured terms on the heartlessness of the future heir of Westenried. Alas for human nature ! The words that had given him such umbrage were but the expression of the thought that had actually passed through his mind on bearing of Count Waldering's death, and his wife, who now nodded a sorrowful assent to all he said, had fre quently and without reserve deplored the change in their son's prospects ; but then they were not, as she justly observed, tbe late count's relations — they were merely — friends.

Chapter II

the family. Sigmund Waldering sought and found his father in the room that had been used by his late uncle for transacting business, nor was be in the least surprised to see him seated at a writing-table, covered with papers, and so en- AT ODDS. 13 grossed by tbe examination of them that the entrance of Sigmund was for a short time altogether unnoticed. As a rule, that had been for some generations without exception, the eldest son in the Waldering family bad been a soldier, the others lawyers or foresters, according to choice ; and as want of intellect was not common amon" them, they had generally been prosperous, and advanced to high rank in their respective professions. Sigmund's father was a Director of the Court of Appeals, and from the time of his elevation to that position, had been by his family, friends, and acquaintance called " The Director."

Either his gastronomic tastes or the sedentary habits inci dent to his profession had impaired the symmetry of his figure, or rather given it an unusual degree of corpulence ; but bis bead was still handsome, with its well-formed features, intelligent eyes, and still thick hair, just enough powdered to conceal the grey tufts in the vicinity of his temples. He had been long a widower, and altogether indisposed to accept any of the rational matches offered to his consideration by his various female acquaintances, who, invariably supposing objections on the part of his sons to be the cause of his refusals, continued with untiring perse verance their matrimonial speculations. Separated almost constantly by the intranquil state of Europe from his brother, who had early entered the army of the then Emperor of Germany, and greatly disappointed by his having married the widow of an Irish officer in the Austrian service, just when bis advanced time of life had encouraged reasonable hopes that he would remain un married, and make Sigmund his beir, — his death bad, nevertheless, both shocked and grieved the Director.

Having, however, fulfilled his duty of seeking his brother's remains on the battle-field of Hohenlinden, and having buried them with as much pomp as circumstances would AT ODDS. permit, he rejoiced without a qualm of conscience in the thought that his brother's only child was a daughter, and set about the examination of his inheritance with all the ardour of a man of business. Scarcely any interruption but that of bis son's arrival would have been welcome to him just then. Sigmund, however, had so recently escaped death, their position in the world was so suddenly changed, and their interest henceforward so completely identified, that they met with unusual emotion ; and after an interchange of a few hasty questions and answers concerning the movement of the army, it may be taken as a tribute to the real or supposed goodness of the Director's heart, that his son gravely de plored their recent loss, and said not one word about the uselessness of regrets or the effects of war upon the feelings.

" Yes, Sigmund, this a severe affliction, and if so to us, what must it be to my brother's widow ? " " I suppose she is inconsolable," replied Sigmund, " though of course my uncle has provided well both for her and my cousin Hilda." " Her own fortune was very considerable, you know, Sigmund ; and she allowed it to be employed in paying off the mortgages that encumbered Westenried. This is secured to her, and a will has been found leavinc every thing at your uncle's disposal to her and Hilda. One cannot blame him for taking care of them ! " " Of course not ; but her claims on the estate are rather alarming, if she demand immediate restitution of her fortune." " She will not do so, if you declare your intention of fulfilling the engagement made last year with your uncle concerning Hilda." " Time enough to talk of that some years hence " AT ODDS. 15 answered Sigmund ; " it would be absurd my engaging myself formally to such a mere child !

" " Yet something of the kind will be necessary," suggested his father ; " otherwise, I fear your aunt will perse vere in the plan of returning to England or Ireland as soon as the state of public affairs will permit her." " Who has put this idea into her head ? " asked Sig mund, almost angrily. " Her daughter by ber first husband, who, you must have heard, came back to her a couple of months ago during the truce. She has been educated in Ireland, greatly dislikes Germany, and openly expresses her desire to return to the uncle and aunt with whom she has passed almost all her life." " But," said Sigmund, " I understood this daughter was scarcely of an age to have influence on such an occasion." " It seems she has. My sister-in-law explained that your uncle's dislike to, or rather jealousy of, this daughter was tbe cause of her being entrusted while still an infant to the care of an aunt who was married and lived in Ireland ; that now but just returned to her after an absence of twelve years, she was unwilling to make their union unpleasant by a compulsory and no longer necessary resi dence in a land that was disagreeable to her.

When I took this into consideration, and remembered that my sister-in law had numerous relations both in England and Ireland, I confess I was completely at a loss to discover anything that could be urged as an inducement to her to prolong ber stay here." " All this may be true," replied Sigmund ; " but how, in the name of all the saints, are we to raise such a sum of money in times like these ? " " That is precisely what has been the subject of my AT ODDS. thoughts for the last half-hour," said his father ; " and I can discover no other plan than that you should profess your desire to fulfil your late uncle's wishes by entering into an engagement with your cousin Hilda, and declare at the same time your wish that she should not leave Ger many. This, I think, will suffice ; for it is more than probable that the daughter your aunt bas had with her constantly is dearer to her than the one who so unre servedly proclaims her preference for other relations."

" I cannot say that I like binding myself in this way," said Sigmund. " Remember," continued his father, " that Hilda will inherit a considerable fortune from her mother ; your uncle alone has left her enough to satisfy a reasonable man ; and, besides this, she has expectations from her grand-aunt in Ulm that, if fulfilled, will make her far more wealthy than any of our family have ever yet been." " I don't say that I will not marry her when she grows up," said Sigmund ; " but don't you perceive that she being now but a child of twelve years old, will be at liberty to refuse the fulfilment of the engagement some years hence, while I am bound to await her decision ? Under such circumstances, you can hardly expect me to consent to a betrothal." " Then," retorted his father, " you have no right to interfere with your aunt's arrangements, and she will assuredly go with both daughters to England, while we may prepare to fell tbe woods here as the only means of raising such a large sum of money in times like these.