The experienced baroness plainly perceived, by the stately manner in which this speech was delivered, that her noble husband was in one of his magnificent paroxysms, though what it meant on the present occasion she was at a loss to conjecture; but at that moment she was too much occupied to care about it, and gently replying, that she quite agreed with him as to the necessity of immediately sending to the neighbouring town for their medical attendant, she has hastened from the room, eager to consult her old housekeeper, who was the most experienced person in the family, as to the real state of the poor boy, and the best manner of treating him before the doctor arrived.
The baron, meanwhile, was exceedingly relieved by her absence. Like all slow-minded people, he adhered very pertinaciously to an idea, when once he had got hold of it; and he was now brimful of the comfortable persuasion, that his noble nature had enabled him to conquer, as if by miracle, all the ordinary feelings of the high rank to which he belonged, in order to prove his devoted love to his child, and his feeling of gratitude to the humble being who had saved her.
Had he taken it into his head that his lady had displayed these feelings instead of himself, his conduct towards his young benefactor would have had assumed a very different colour.
As far as the boy was concerned, nothing could be more fortunate than this delusion; for, being as obstinate as he was shortsighted, the baron never for a moment lost sight of the idea that the family pride of his wife had caused her to treat him with great ingratitude; and the amiable contrast to this, which his own conduct exhibited, was not only a source of the most satisfactory self-applause to the last hour of his existence, but insured the continuance of his favour to the boy, with the most steadfast and unwearying constancy.
CHAPTER VI.
THE baroness, notwithstanding her sincere anxiety for Rupert Odenthal, saw no reason why it should detain her any longer from the greatly-longed-for presence of her daughter; and it was to her room, therefore, that she summoned the venerable Agatha, in order to consult with her as to what it would be best to do for the suffering boy before the doctor arrived.
On re-entering Gertrude’s apartment, she found the young lady still on the bed, in obedience to orders, but looking as well and as gay as if she had never sat upon a swimming horse in her life.
“How is he, mamma?” were her first words, as her mother approached her.
“I really know not how to answer you, my dear child,” replied the baroness, “for you father seems to think that it is his own special duty to take care of him. This is very kind and grateful on his part, and I should be sorry to check it by any interference of mine; but, nevertheless, I feel very anxious about the boy, who seems to have a great deal of fever.”
“Then, send for the doctor, mamma, at once,” replied Gertrude, promptly.
“Your father has promised to do so,” returned her mother; “and, in the meantime, I have sent for old Agatha to come here, that I may hold a consultation with her as to what we had better do for him, before Dr. Nieper arrives.”
This important Agatha soon made her appearance, and, in reply to her lady’s question as to what she thought of the boy? she replied, without a moment’s hesitation:
“I think he is very ill, indeed, my lady.”
Gertrude burst into tears.
“Do you mean to say that you think he will die, Agatha?” she exclaimed in great agitation. “I would rather die myself, mamma; I do really think I would. As long as I live, I shall always feel that I have killed him!”
“Don’t take on in that way, my dear young lady,” said the housekeeper. “I did not say — did I? — that I thought he must die. I do certainly think, however, that he has a great deal of fever.”
“But we have many drugs that check fever, Agatha,” replied the lady. “You are a very good doctor yourself, and I am sure you can give him something cooling before Dr. Nieper arrives.”
“But I can’t set the broken bone — if it be broken — my lady; and the fever won’t stop till that has been done,” returned Agatha.
“Is the baron still in the boy’s room?” said Madame de Schwanberg.
“I can’t say for certain; but I have very little doubt of it,” replied the old woman, with a queer sort of smile. “Master always likes to be Number One in every way, and about everything, when he chooses to meddle at all. And every word he says about the boy shows that he thinks it a part of his greatness, like, to take the whole management of him upon himself. But I’ll go and see if I can be useful, my lady. It won’t be like your ladyship’s going.”
Perhaps Gertrude did not quite understand the old woman’s meaning, but the baroness did. She made no commentary upon it, however, but dismissed the sagacious housekeeper with a silent nod, being very much in earnest in her determination that no interference of hers should check her noble husband’s intention of proving himself the most generous of men.
It was for some hours, however, a very doubtful question whether all these magnificent projects of showing to the whole world how great a man’s gratitude could be, would not be defeated by the speedy death of the individual who was to be the object of it.
The distance to the doctor’s dwelling was considerable, and the doctor’s pony not fleet; but at length, however, they both arrived at the castle, and it was the baron himself who ushered the astonished Dr. Nieper into the patient’s room.
The baron, too, very clearly perceived the impression produced by this extraordinary condescension on his part, and, on reaching the chamber of the invalid, paused for a moment before he opened the door, and said:
“I can easily believe, my good friend, that my accompanying you to the sick-bed of an individual of the rank to which your patient belongs must surprise you. But, in my estimation, Dr. Nieper, gratitude in noble minds should never be in just proportion to the obligation received; and the father of the heiress of Schwanberg will prove to the whole world that, in his estimation, the humble youth who saved her life is worthy even of such attention as I am paying him now. Of course, my good sir, a fitting service will be performed in the chapel of the castle, that, in like manner, my gratitude to heaven also may be made manifest to the eyes of all men.”
Having at length concluded this speech (which the baron’s slow enunciation rendered rather long), he opened the door, and placing himself at the bottom of the bed (at each side of which a female domestic was seated), made a sign to the doctor to approach. A very short examination sufficed to enlighten the practitioner upon the state of his patient; the ankle was dislocated, and the drive which had followed had placed the injured limb in so fatiguing a position as greatly to increase the inflammation.
Fortunately, Dr. Nieper was no bungler, and the painful operation necessary upon such an accident was performed without loss of time, and with very considerable skill; but, nevertheless, the boy fainted under it, and when restored to animation, he was perfectly delirious, and manifested every symptom of fever.
As the baron (who, with all his pride, was far from being a hard-hearted man) had left the room during the operation, and only returned to it upon being informed that it had been very successfully performed, he was both shocked and surprised at finding the boy talking incoherently, so much so, indeed, as to make him break off in the speech, which he had began to utter as he entered, concerning his purpose of having a special service performed in the chapel of the castle, etcetera.
He was, in fact, exceedingly alarmed, and began to fear that the first duty which would devolve upon the boy’s uncle, upon his promotion to the post of confessor at Schloss Schwanberg, would be to administer the last sacraments to his unfortunate nephew.
The noble gentleman, in fact, looked so completely dismayed, that Dr. Nieper was induced to give him assurances, somewhat more undoubting, perhaps, than his own opinion, that his patient was likely to do well.
“It may, nevertheless, be right, my Lord Baron,” he added, “that the boy’s relatives, if he has any, should be informed of his condition; for, i
n cases of this kind, where fever supervenes so violently as it seems inclined to do here, no practitioner in the world can be sure of the result. Does your lordship happen to know anything of his family?”
“Providentially, I do!” replied the baron, solemnly. “His uncle is a priest, and lives with this boy’s mother, who is his sister, at the distance, I believe, of a mile or two.”
“Then let them be informed of the accident immediately,” returned the doctor; “it is certainly very proper that they should be sent for.”
“Your suggestion, doctor, is the echo of my own thoughts. They shall be summoned immediately. Alas! it had been my intention to summon the priest without delay, in order that he might commence the duties of the place to which I meant to promote him, by performing in the chapel of the castle the special service which it was my intention.”
“And if I were you, my Lord Baron, I should include his mother in my invitation,” said the doctor, rather abruptly interrupting him; “for although these young women look very gentle and kind, it would be much better, when his reason returns, that he should not find himself surrounded by strange servants.”
“Alas! alas!” replied the baron, very piteously; “I grieve that it should be so! But there are some minds, my good sir, upon which the effect of conscious high rank is not exactly what we might wish it to be. The Baroness von Schwanberg, born Baroness von Wolkendorf, is a lady of very high rank; and I have certainly never seen her so deeply and strongly influenced by the remembrance of this, as since your suffering patient was brought to the castle. I will not dwell upon the circumstances which have occurred, and which have all tended to prove her averseness to take any personal interest in the fate of one so much beneath her in station. I will not, I say, dwell upon this, farther than to remark, that I trust my own conduct gives sufficient evidence of the much deeper impression which this poor boy’s courageous conduct, and subsequent suffering, has produced on my own mind. Nevertheless, I flatter myself, doctor, that I have never shown myself unconscious of, or indifferent to, the dignity of the position in which, by the will of Providence, I am placed. I will, indeed, venture to say, that the baroness herself cannot be more deeply impressed by the consciousness of her own dignified station than I am, or of that in which I and my highborn daughter stand likewise. Nevertheless, I am of opinion, that on such an occasion as the present, an occasion which, I conceive, calls for the performance of an especial service in the — .”
“Nothing can be more clear and satisfactory, my Lord Baron, than your view of the case, which I comprehend perfectly, without your condescending to explain it farther,” said the doctor; who, with his eye fixed upon his patient, had perceived sundry twitches indicative of pain and restlessness, and not feeling quite certain that the sonorous voice of the baron had much to recommend it, by way of a soothing lullaby, he ventured to apply a little of his professional courage to stop it.
The lord of the castle looked more startled and astonished, than angry; and thereupon the clever doctor, laying his head upon his own hand, shut up his eyes, and slightly snored, whereupon every trace of suspicion, or surprise either, vanished from the magnate’s countenance; and making sundry pantomimic signs of intelligence, he walked out of the room with as little noise as a very stately baron, who did not tread very lightly, could contrive to do.
The poor boy, however, was neither sleeping, nor likely to sleep, as the worthy doctor well knew, for he was evidently still in pain, and very feverish; and although these symptoms were too inevitable, after what had happened, either to surprise or alarm him, he felt anxious to preserve him from such weighty annoyance as the presence of his host was sure to bring with it.
The two attending damsels who had been stationed beside the bed by the baron’s orders, and who had left the room on his entering it, now returned, and stood before Dr. Nieper, waiting with great docility for his commands. The first he gave was to the younger of the two, signifying his wish that she should seek her mistress, and inform her that he desired to see her before he left the castle; adding, that, with her permission, he would immediately wait upon her. He then gave instructions to the other, to prepare some cooling beverage, which she was to keep ready at hand, and administer freely to the patient.
In order to obey this command, it was necessary that the person who received it should apply to the house-keeper; and while the woman went in search of her, the doctor took her place by the bed-side, awaiting the summons which he hoped to receive from the baroness.
As this intelligent mediciner had long been the professional attendant in ordinary of the You Schwanberg family, he had placed but little faith on the baron’s statement respecting the feelings of his lady towards the suffering boy; but nevertheless he was rather surprised to see her accompany the messenger he had sent to her, into the room of his patient, and that so promptly, as to prove that she had lost not a moment in seeking him.
She gave a hasty glance round the room on entering; and having ascertained that the baron was no longer there, she stepped gently to the bed-side, and after gazing earnestly for a moment on the fevered face of the patient, she turned a sorrowing, anxious look to the physician, who then stood beside her, and whispered the words, “Does he sleep?”
Dr. Nieper shook his head, and taking the hand which she had extended to him in friendly salutation, he led her to a distant part of the room, and forestalled her question by saying, “I flatter myself, madam, that he is not in danger. Worse accidents are, at his age, often met with sufficient strength to render recovery from them an easy matter. The dislocation of the ankle, however, is the least part of the mischief. His sufferings, probably from being in a constrained attitude in the carnage during his return, have brought on a very considerable degree of fever; but if he is properly attended to, and kept perfectly quiet, I dare say we shall conquer it. I should be sorry to lose such a patient as that,” he added, turning towards the bed; “I think, madam, that, excepting your own, and your daughter’s, it is the most beautiful countenance I ever saw.”
“I could readily forgive you, doctor,” replied the lady, “even if you had omitted the polite exception; for most assuredly I never saw, either in the glass, or out of it, any face which, in my estimation, can compare with it in beauty. God grant that he may do well! You must take care to be very clear and very explicit in the orders you leave about him, for the baron does not seem to approve my attending upon him myself, which I do assure you I should wish to do; and we all know, that however much we may rely on the fidelity of servants, we can trust nothing to their judgment.”
“The baron seems to think, madam—” began Dr. Nieper in reply. But, for some reason or other, he deemed it best not to finish the speech he had begun; for he abruptly added—” Do you know, madam, if the boy has any mother within reach?”
“Yes, indeed! my housekeeper told me that his mother is living at Francberg with her brother, a very worthy priest, known by the name of Father Alaric.”
“Francberg?” repeated the doctor, in an accent of considerable satisfaction; “Francberg is at no great distance; a man and horse might get there in an hour, if they kept to the bridle path. The carriage road is considerably longer. Let me recommend you, dear lady, to send to the house of Father Alaric immediately; and order your messenger to tell both the mother and uncle of this poor boy, that it would be desirable that they should, one or both, come to him immediately. Nothing should be more carefully avoided than letting our patient find himself, upon fully recovering his senses, in the midst of strangers. It might produce a very alarming return of delirium.”
“I am quite aware of it,” replied the baroness, earnestly. “But I should greatly wish that you should state your opinion on this subject to the baron himself.”
“I will do so instantly,” he replied; “and in my judgment, it will be better that you, madam, should not remain in this room. The servant now sitting by him may administer all the assistance he wants, till his own mother arrives to wait on him — and it m
ay, perhaps, accord better, on the whole, with the baron’s wishes.”
It is probable that there is no class of men, seek for them in what country you will, who form, individually, such correct judgments respecting their fellow-creatures (mentally as well as physically) as those who attend them in a medical capacity.
The power of the priesthood in this respect is nothing in comparison to it.
For even if we take a penitent at the last gasp, terror may almost involuntarily give a false colouring to his disclosures. But in a sick room, there is always, to an acute observer, a great facility given to the discovery of truth, not only as to the state of the invalid, but likewise as to the mental condition of those around him.
Dr. Nieper had been the medical attendant in ordinary at Schloss Schwanberg for more years than its present lady had been known there; he knew its master well; and the pompous harangues in which he indulged, were as familiar to him as was the sound of the sonorous monster bell which announced the arrival of all comers.
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