Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  “Indeed, madame,” replied the Frau Odenthal, with great sincerity, “I believe Rupert considers himself as very amply rewarded already. Your condescending kindness to him, and the delight he has had from the freedom with which you have permitted me to furnish him with books, has made ‘this period of lameness,’ as he says, ‘the happiest portion of his life.’”

  “Has he indeed said so?” returned the baroness with animation. “Such a statement from him has a two-fold value. In the first place, it is a great comfort to hear that he has not suffered so heavily from the restraint of his confinement, as I feared that he must have done. And secondly, it is of far greater value still, as furnishing a hint as to the choice of an occupation for his future life. A boy of his age, Madame Odenthal, who can feel that pain and confinement may be atoned for by reading, must not be placed in any situation, where time and opportunity for reading would be denied him.”

  “Alas! my dear lady,” replied Madame Odenthal, “that thought is no stranger to my mind. But it is, I am afraid, a dangerous one for those to cherish, who must employ their hours in such a manner as to obtain for themselves the necessaries of life. I fear, that intellectual pleasures are among those which must be set apart among the recreations of the rich.”

  “That is a question which will, I think, be more fully and practically discussed in days to come, than it has been in days past,” said the baroness; “I have a great inclination to believe, that if man was taught to make the best, and the most of his faculties, ways and means might be discovered, by which the action and development of his mind might assist, and not impede his means for providing for the wants of his body. But this is too wide a discussion for us to enter upon now.”

  In saying this, the baroness turned her eyes towards the face of her companion, and could scarcely suppress a smile, as she marked the expression of it.

  The complexion of Madame Odenthal was, like that of her son, rather pale, than ruddy, but now the face was flushed; her lips were parted, as is generally the case when under the influence of surprise; and the dark eyes which met hers, said, as plainly as eyes could speak, “how came you to guess that I could comprehend you, if you did discuss it?”

  But the four very intelligent eyes which encountered thus, withdrew themselves as by common consent from further questioning; and after the pause of a moment, the baroness resumed, “I am sure you will agree with me, Madame Odenthal, that it will be impossible for us at the castle to make a judicious choice of a profession for your son Rupert, unless we know more about his character and past pursuits, than it is possible for us to acquire by our own observation. How old is your son?”

  “He wants two months of fifteen,” was the reply.

  “How has he been educated? Has he ever been at school?” demanded Madame de Schwanberg.

  “No, madam, never,” said Madame Odenthal. “All the instruction he has received,” she added, “has been from myself, and his uncle.”

  There was again a short pause in the conversation, and then the baroness said, “Has it ever occurred to you, that you should wish him to adopt his uncle’s profession?”

  As the baroness said this, she again turned her eyes towards her companion; and the dark eyes of her companion again encountered hers. It was but for a moment, however, and then Madame Odenthal quietly replied, “No, madame.”

  After another short silence, the baroness again resumed the conversation, by saying, “The avocations of a priest must, I should suppose, leave abundant time for reading.”

  “I do not know,” replied the mother of Rupert; “women,” she added, “however nearly related by blood to the ministers of the Roman Catholic religion, know but little respecting their private studies.”

  “I was not aware of that,” said the baroness; “none of my ancestors have belonged to the profession, excepting one cardinal, I believe, a century or two ago. But there certainly must be many more hours in the life a priest which might be devoted to study, than could be afforded in any other profession.”

  The arm upon which the baroness leant had a slight, a very slight movement in it; but the Frau Odenthal said nothing.

  “Is your brother disposed to be a reading man?” said the baroness.

  “Father Alaric is only my half-brother,” replied Madame Odenthal; “he is many years older than I am, and I know but little about his private studies now, and still less respecting his education.”

  “He seems to be a very good, kind person,” said the baroness. “He is, indeed, very good and kind,” replied the sister, eagerly, and as if relieved from embarrassment by being able to speak so cordially, and so completely, without restraint. “I am quite aware,” she resumed, “that our being with him must be a heavy burthen upon him, for his professional income is very small, and he has nothing else. But when my husband died — my husband was a military man — an officer, and a brave one; but when he died, my boy and I were, literally, almost starving, my little pension being scarcely more than sufficient to lodge and clothe us; and though, by being a very good needlewoman, I contrived to live, the kindness of my brother in offering us an asylum in his little home, was, as you may believe, madam, most gratefully accepted. Since that time, I have been my boy’s only instructor, for Father Alaric’s parish is large, though but a poor one; and moreover, to say the truth, I believe it was less troublesome to him to feed my boy, than it would have been to instruct him. My brother Alaric is a good man; good, because he endeavours conscientiously to do what he believes to be right; and to avoid doing what he believes to be wrong.”

  “If all men did so,” replied the baroness, “the world would go more smoothly for us all.”

  “I suppose so,” returned Madame Odenthal, meekly; “but in order to make so conscientious a system of important utility,” she added, “the judgment must be put into wholesome training. If a man blunders between right and wrong, his conscience may lead him to commit, instead of avoid, sin.”

  The baroness very nearly stood still, while, for a moment, she again fixed her eyes on the face of her companion; but she gained nothing by doing so, for the eyes which she wished to look into, were fixed upon the ground.

  “But the priesthood takes this responsibility upon itself, I believe,” returned Madame de Schwanberg, after a short silence.

  “Not in all lands,” said Madame Odenthal; adding almost in a whisper, “my mother was an Englishwoman.”

  It would not be easy to describe the effect which these few words produced on the lady of the castle. The history of her own mind, of her long years of solitary reading, and solitary thinking, must be given, in order to make such a disclosure intelligible. A very gentle pressure of the arm on which she leaned, was the only reply made at that time to this avowal of her new acquaintance; but the new acquaintance seemed, by some sort of freemasonry, to understand its meaning, and to feel sufficiently encouraged by it to add: —

  “This will make you understand, madam, why it is that I have never wished my son to adopt the profession of his uncle.”

  “Yes,” replied the baroness, “I understand it perfectly; and I am glad that you have had sufficient reliance on my discretion to state this fact. Fear not that your confidence should be abused. It is important, while considering the future prospects of your son, that I should know what you have just confided to me, but the knowledge of it need go no further. Is Father Alaric aware that your son — . Is he aware what your opinions are?”

  “I hardly know, madame,” replied her companion; “my brother Alaric was a very sickly boy when his father married his second wife; and I have often heard from himself, as well as from my father, that she was as kind to him as if he had been a child of her own. Alaric, himself, is very kind-hearted, and this behaviour in his step-mother naturally softens his heart when speaking of her, and I never hoard him make any unkind reflections upon her creed. And then, it must be confessed, that my brother Alaric is, both mentally and bodily, very indolent; and I really doubt, if he has, during the whole course
of my life, ever given one whole hour’s thought as to what my opinions really were. The father of Rupert was a soldier; and it always seemed to me, that as long as the rank and file of a regiment went as regularly to mass as to parade, their officers were less troubled by the priests, than most other people. I lost my dear kind husband at a very early age; and few people, brought up as I have been in a Roman Catholic country, have been so little interfered with by the priests as myself. One reason for this was, no doubt, my having a priest for my brother; and when I and my little boy took up our residence in his house, it was, of course, supposed, by anybody who took the trouble of thinking about us at all, that we wanted no other religious aid than what he could give us.”

  The Baroness von Schwanberg listened to this statement, not only in silence, but with great attention. Her answer, however, was very brief.

  “I feel flattered,” she said, “by the confidence in my good faith and discretion, which you have proved to me by the openness of your statement. Like you, Madame Odenthal, I have. been a licensed reader through life, and wherever this has been the case, the result will, in all probability, be, on some points, very similar. We will not discuss any forbidden subjects together, because it is far more likely that danger and mischief might be the result, than advantage to either of us. You will easily believe, without my dilating upon the subject, that what you have now said to me must have increased my individual and personal interest for your son. It is certainly possible, that this feeling may have some influence on the future destiny of the boy; but it is by no means certain that it should do so. From the moment I learned that I owed my daughter’s life to him, I have felt very deeply that he had a claim both on my heart and my justice, and what has now passed between us has certainly not tended to diminish either. And now, for the present, farewell. I hope I have not detained you from him too long.”

  It might be difficult to say, which of the two women who then shook hands, and parted, was most surprised, and gratified, by the unexpected confidence which had sprung up between them.

  CHAPTER X.

  THERE was a good deal in the conversation above recited, which was likely to awaken a lively interest in Madame de Schwanberg, both for the mother of the boy whom she wished to serve, as well as for himself.

  The baron had frequently alluded, in his grandiose style, to his purpose of providing for Rupert Odenthal; but all he had said on the subject was so vague, that, excepting, as Gertrude had truly observed, in the articles of physic, no very certain conviction had reached Madame de Schwanberg’s mind that any positive advantage would be the result.

  But, as she knew also that if it actually happened that the boy and his mother were permitted to walk off, with no benefit more positive than the reiterated assurance of his generous intentions, it would only be because nothing feasible had occurred to him on the subject. She had long determined to tax her own inventive powers for the purpose of hitting upon some expedient by which the patronage of the great man of the castle might be practically useful.

  Had the boy been half-a-dozen years older, it might have been easy enough to place him in a farm upon the estate, on such terms as might ensure its being beneficial to him, without having recourse to the somewhat degrading alternative of offering him a sum of money, as payment for having hazarded his life. But the conversation which had now passed between the boy’s mother and the lady of the castle, had thrown a perfectly new light upon the subject, and led to the suggestion of a proposal which seemed likely to remove all difficulty at the present moment, and to afford time, and perhaps opportunity also, for due consideration of what might be done for him at a more advanced age.

  The plan which she now thought of for him, was one which might immediately be adopted, without any risk that the employment it would give should be too fatiguing to him, although the injured limb had not yet fully recovered its strength.

  The baroness, who had gone on increasing the already very large library from the first year of her marriage to the present day, had long felt the want of a librarian capable of classing and arranging it, in such a way, as might save her the trouble and fatigue of endeavouring to keep it in order, an undertaking which it was, in fact, quite beyond her power to accomplish.

  The strong appetite for reading which the invalid had evinced during the tedious lameness which had resulted from his accident, had suggested to her the idea that, young as he was, he might very probably find himself sufficiently at home among books, to be useful to her as a librarian; and the neat handwriting displayed, in consequence of her having told him to write down the title of any books he particularly wished to read, convinced her that he might be profitably set to work upon an undertaking which she had long wished to achieve, but had never yet found courage to attempt. As far as her researches had reached, she had been unable to find any trace of a catalogue, and the extent of the collection was such as to render the want of it a constant inconvenience. But this very obvious method of placing the boy in a most desirable situation, without any trouble to the slow-moving baron, was rejected almost as soon as conceived, from the idea that the nephew and éleve of a Romish priest, might be as much shocked, as astonished, if his reading habits should lead him to examine all the books which she was in the habit of adding to the venerable collection. But although the conversation which has been just rehearsed as having taken place between the baroness and the boy’s mother, was much too vague to convey to cither any very decisive information respecting the religious opinions of the other enough had passed to persuade the baroness (who, like the rest of her sex, perhaps, was apt to jump to a conclusion), that she should run no risk of being troubled by the Inquisition, by permitting the young Rupert to set down in his catalogue of the castle library, all the very fullest titles of the books which she was constantly placing on its shelves.

  What followed may be told in a very few words.

  Gertrude was a very quick, intelligent child, and required wonderfully little prompting on the present occasion. Nothing could have less the appearance of a plot, than the manner in which she said to her father, as she sat knitting beside him, while he smoked his pipe, “I will tell you what you shall do for Rupert, papa, besides giving him physic. You shall have him here always in the house, to keep the library in proper order. I am almost as fond of galloping over the books, as over the grass; but my dear pony does not make half so much confusion among the flowers, as I do among the volumes. I don’t think I am so naughty about any thing, as I am about the books; for when I have got all I want out of one of them, I never can find out the right place to put it in, and so, of course, the confusion goes on getting worse and worse every day. And it is a great shame! I know that too, papa, for mamma says that quantities and quantities of them have belonged to our grandee ancestors, since the days of Noah, I believe. Now if you will tell Rupert that he is not to go away at all, but to stay here, and keep your books in order, everything will be right.”

  The baron looked at her with admiration and astonishment, and for a moment or two appeared to be in deep meditation, for he said nothing; but he spoke at last, and then, as was very usual with him, it was to express his admiration of her extraordinary abilities.

  “Gertrude!” he said, very solemnly; “Gertrude, my dear, you certainly are a very superior young lady. I ought not, however, either to express, or to feel any astonishment at this. You ought, from the name you bear, to be a very superior person. I do not suppose that there ever has been a descendant of the You Schwanberg race, who has not been superior; but yet, nevertheless, my dear daughter, I will not deny that I never remark in you any of the superior qualities for which our name is celebrated, without feeling a very strong sensation of pride and pleasure. It is impossible, my dear, not to perceive, in the words which you have just spoken, a very striking proof of the superiority to which I allude. It consists—” And here the baron paused for a moment, to take breath. Whenever this happened, Gertrude never failed to take advantage of it; for, to say the truth, these lon
g harangues about her own superiority, had long become exceedingly fatiguing to her. She was much too sharp-witted not to perceive that there was so little mixture of truth in the view he took of her, and her qualities, that any one who heard him, and knew her, would be inclined to doubt which made the most ridiculous figure of the two.

  A pause, therefore, was always joyfully welcomed, and turned to excellent account. Sometimes, by her hiding her laughing face with her hands, and running off, as if too modest to hear any more, and sometimes, as in the present instance, by her throwing her arms round his neck, and stopping his lips by a kiss.

  In neither case did the adoring father betray any displeasure; and if she seized the next moment to make, or reiterate a request, she might be tolerably sure that it would not be refused.

  On her now gaily clapping her hands, and exclaiming, “Well, then, dearest papa! you will let this good boy, who nearly killed himself to prevent my falling into the water — you will let him stay at the castle, and take care of the Von Schwanberg library, and he must be called the librarian, you know. I believe that he is rather young for a librarian, but that does not signify, for he deserves to be treated like a grown-up person, because he behaved like one.”

  “Quite true! Perfectly true, Gertrude,” said the greatly pleased baron; who, by some lucky chance, happened to know that the Emperor had a library, and a librarian. “Of course, as you grow up, my dear, it will become necessary for me to make several additions to my establishment. As soon as ever you are old enough to be presented at the different courts, where I mean to introduce you, I shall have a groom of the chambers, Gertrude, for the purpose of announcing to you in a proper manner, all persons who may have the honour, wherever we may be, of being permitted to wait upon you and your mamma.”

  During this last important speech, the baron had held the hand of his daughter in his own; but as this restraint was becoming particularly troublesome to her, she emancipated herself by a sudden movement, and then danced out of the room, kissing the rescued hand to him as she went. The certainty that everything she said, and did, would be considered as right, and well done, was rather a dangerous sort of experience to be acquired by a very lively young lady of twelve years old.