Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  Such, however, was the fate of my heroine; and her gentle mother often sighed, as she thought how very little it was in her power to do, to counteract the dangerous effect of it.

  On the present occasion, however, there seemed to be no room for regret of any kind. A real difficulty had been got over, and a real convenience obtained; and slow as the movements of the Baron von Schwanberg generally were, but few hours were permitted to elapse after Gertrude left him, before he dispatched a man and horse to the residence of Father Alaric, requesting his immediate attendance at the castle.

  The newly appointed confessor lost no time in obeying the summons; and in the course of the interview which followed between him and his noble penitent, he had, while doing honour very justly due to the acquirements of his young nephew, the good fortune to dwell upon one of his acquirements, which added in a very important degree to the satisfaction with which the baron contemplated the idea of adding the youth to his establishment.

  “We can never be grateful enough,” said the humble-minded confessor, “for the noble generosity with which it is your excellency’s pleasure to recompense my nephew for the service which the special Providence of the Holy Virgin enabled him to perform to the precious heiress of Schwanberg; but my happiness, from this flattering arrangement, is very greatly increased, by my thinking, that the education which, my nephew has received by the help of his mother, may be of service in more ways than one to your excellence.”

  “By keeping the valuable library, bequeathed to me by my ancestors, in good order,” said the baron, with dignity.

  “Hot only that, your excellence, but it is a comfort to me to think that, by the careful instructions of his mother, who is an excellent scholar, he writes so beautifully well as to be quite capable of performing the duties of a secretary to your excellence.”

  How, in truth, the noble Baron von Schwanberg had no more want of a secretary, than of a milliner; but he was perfectly well aware, that very great men did employ a secretary; and though the idea of adding such an appendage to his establishment had never occurred to him, he no sooner heard it mentioned by Father Alaric, than he felt suddenly convinced that he should find such a functionary extremely useful; but that he had been very neglectful of his own ease and convenience by neglecting to provide himself with this very necessary attendant before.

  But though taken a good deal by surprise when listening to this novel proposition, he did not so much forget his habitual dignity as to betray any feeling of the kind. His wife, excellent woman as she was, would often have given gold, could she have escaped thereby from the painful, yet smile-provoking consciousness, that there was something marvellously resembling the comic solemnity of the owl in the physiognomy of her noble husband, whenever he happened to take it into Ins head that he was called upon to look particularly dignified and sagacious; but happily for Father Alaric’s well-being as confessor to the Baron von Schwanberg, he had no such stuff in his thoughts; and during the interval which followed between his proposal of permitting his nephew to add the duties of secretary to those of librarian, he remained seated, exactly in front of his new penitent, but with his own eyes humbly fixed upon the ground.

  After the interval of some few minutes, however, the baron slowly unclosed his lips, and began to speak.

  “What you have just said, Father Alaric, has a great deal of very sound sense and good judgment in it. That a secretary would be very useful to me, is most certain; but it can be scarcely necessary for me, I should think, when speaking to a man of your inspired profession and excellent understanding, — it cannot be necessary for me, I say, to point out to such a one the extreme importance of not appointing any one to the situation, of whose merits and capacity I can have any doubt.”

  The confessor raised his meek eyes, and looked very much as if he was going to speak.

  “I must beg you, Father Alaric, to wait till I have concluded what I was about to say,” said the baron, with much dignity.

  The confessor coloured slightly, crossed his hands over his breast, and again fixed his eyes upon the ground.

  “Of course, Father Alaric,” resumed the lord of the castle, “I must frequently have been inconvenienced by feeling the want of a secretary. To a man of my extensive connections, and very large property, it cannot be otherwise than troublesome and fatiguing to be without one. But the fear of bringing into contact with myself any individual whose appearance and manners might be objectionable, or in any way distasteful to me, has constantly prevented my offering the appointment to any one. Your present proposal, however, has much in it to make me hope that I might now safely venture to make this very proper addition to my establishment; and I fully authorize you, my good Father Alaric, to impart to your nephew, the doubtless welcome news of his appointment to the joint offices of librarian and private secretary to the Baron von Schwanberg.”

  “

  And then he added, after returning, with great dignity, the humble and grateful obeisance of the ecclesiastic; “And I flatter myself, Father Alaric, that this appointment, with such a salary as I shall deem it fit and proper to annex to it, together with my having caused his name to be specially mentioned in the solemn service of thanksgiving which I commanded in the chapel of the castle, will be considered by the friends of the young boy, as well as by the world in general, as a sufficient proof that I am not ungrateful for the service which your nephew was fortunate enough to confer on me and my race.”

  Perhaps there is no attitude better suited for the reception of a long speech than that of crossing the hands with a sort of submissive passiveness upon the breast, and fixing the eyes upon the ground. It is an attitude familiar to the Romish priesthood, when listening to their superiors; and it was that to which Father Alaric had recourse on the present occasion. But when the baron ceased, he raised his eyes, and having gently murmured a thankful acknowledgment for the favours bestowed on his nephew, made a low bow, and departed.

  CHAPTER XI.

  THE style in which this same appointment was communicated to the baroness, differed considerably from that in which it was made known to the father confessor; for it was with a dancing step, and a joyous clapping of hands, that Gertrude entered her mother’s dressing-room, and announced the news.

  But it was in vain that the elder lady assumed an aspect of the most perfect propriety, as she listened to the intelligence; for Gertrude, with her bright eyes sparkling through her clustering curls, and her laughing lips vainly attempting to screw themselves into a suitable expression of solemnity, related the harangue of her father (including at full length all his compliments to herself) in so very a heroic style, that for a moment the baroness’s gravity forsook her, and it was in vain that the very useful veil so often furnished by the ever-ready cambric, was called to her assistance; for, despite her utmost efforts, her mischievous daughter perceived that she had succeeded in making her laugh. It was but for a moment, however; for fondly as she loved the fearless playfulness of her petted child, she was most truly desirous of veiling from her as much as possible the deficiencies of her noble father.

  But this task was every day becoming more difficult; and when it happened, as in the present instance, that her own gravity gave way, she generally cut short the conversation by saying, “Gertrude! you are giving me pain.”

  But now she felt that a still stronger rebuke was deserved, and her own inclination to laugh speedily gave way before her wish to correct a propensity in her child, winch seemed likely to conquer much more valuable feelings.

  “You have made me laugh, Gertrude,” she said; “but it is a poor triumph, my child! The ludicrous movements of a monkey might have the same effect. Our muscles are not always under the command of our judgment. On this occasion, particularly, I should have thought that the kindness of your father, in so immediately complying with our wishes, would have created a feeling very far removed from ridicule.”

  The manner in which this was said, as well as the gravity of the words themselves, wa
s well calculated to produce the effect desired; and it did produce it. Gertrude never again mimicked the manner of her father, when repeating to her mother anything which he had said to her; and much was gained thereby on many subsequent occasions; for the more Gertrude increased in years and stature, the more did she find it necessary to confine to her own bosom the judgment which she was led to form of her father’s intellectual capacity.

  But though relieved from the saucy commentaries of her daughter, Madame de Schwanberg found it no very easy task to place the highly-intelligent boy, whom they had almost made one of their own family, in his right place. She had not passed by far the greatest portion of the last twelve years in miscellaneous, and sometimes in deep reading, without acquiring that sort of insight into the varieties and peculiarities of human intellect, which enables an acute observer to form a tolerably just estimate of the faculties of those with whom they are intimately associated. The boy Rupert was not, either in intellect or character, by any means a common boy.

  Observant persons, who direct their attention to the fact, may often find that a mixture of race produces many striking varities, both of intellect and character. The mother of Rupert was English by her mother’s side, and Prussian on that of her father; and her husband, the father of Rupert, was a native of Innspruck.

  How this variety of lineage affected either the morale or the physique of the boy, I will not attempt to trace, or even to guess, but content myself by stating the fact, that he was, in more ways than one, a remarkable boy.

  In most things, however, he resembled his mother more than he did his father, especially as to the character of his intellect. In that peculiar beauty of countenance, which had struck Madame de Schwanberg when she first saw him in his sick chamber, he decidedly resembled both his parents; but the tall stature which he had already attained, was evidently inherited from his father.

  It took the baroness but little time after the young librarian had been fully established in his office, to convince her, that if her gratitude for the service he had rendered her child, had placed before him all the employments and occupations which the world could offer, it would have been impossible for him to have fixed on any which would have suited him so well.

  His passion for reading appeared insatiable; and no sooner had she perceived this, than she was induced by various causes to indulge him in it. In the first place, there was her gratitude, which prompted her very earnestly to promote his well-being and happiness, by every means in her power; and in no way, according to her own estimate of the comparative value of the various sources of enjoyment granted to us in this life, could she so effectually administer to it, as by indulging his inclination for reading.

  Moreover, it appeared to her, that this occupation, “never ending, still beginning,” was the best, if not the only way of supplying him with constant employment, for she did not expect that much business would come upon him as secretary to the lord of the castle; and although she certainly anticipated a good deal of active work for him in the library, she anticipated also that many an idle hour would be left upon his hands, if he had no other employment than keeping his books in order.

  During the first week or two after this arrangement had been decided upon, and that his mother had returned to the dwelling of Father Alaric, the baron seemed desperately determined to prove to all whom it might concern, that the appointment of this favoured youth to the place of private secretary to the illustrious lord of Schloss Schwanberg was no sinecure, whatever other advantages it might offer.

  To do him justice, he took good care that it should be well salaried, that the room appointed for so distinguished a functionary should be extremely comfortable, and that the domestics, from one end of the establishment to the other, should he very distinctly given to understand, that his private secretary, the Herr Odenthal, should he treated and attended upon in all respects like a gentleman.

  The arranging all this was not only easy, but agreeable to him; for he was liberal by nature, and so truly grateful for the service the boy had rendered him, that every opportunity of treating him with generosity and kindness, was a real pleasure to him.

  So far, all was well; it was only when the unfortunate baron had to find employment for his secretary, that his troubles began.

  The first idea which occurred to him in this dilemma, was, that he should dispatch notes to one or two of his neighbours, inviting them to dine at the castle. He really ought to have had his picture taken while dictating these notes; for never, perhaps, had he looked more superbly dignified during any moment of his existence. Rupert, too, at the moment he was summoned to attend him, had been most deeply and delightfully occupied in the perusal of a volume of newly-arrived English poetry, which the baroness had good-naturedly put into his hands, proved the honest earnestness with which he desired to perform the duties assigned to him by the promptitude with which he closed the precious volume, and followed the servant who had been sent to summon him. His eye was still bright, and his cheek was still flushed by the excitement caused by the “Lay of the Last Minstrel;” but the feelings of the baron were of too grave and solemn a kind, to permit his noticing the animated appearance of the official he was about to employ.

  A table, with all that was necessary for writing and sealing very carefully placed upon it, awaited the arrival of the young secretary; a chair also was very attentively placed for him, exactly where it ought to be, and the baron himself was seated in a very large and pompous-looking bergère, at no great distance.

  When the youth was near enough to make his salutation to his dignified employer, the baron acknowledged it by graciously bending his head, and waving his hand towards the vacant chair, as an intimation that the secretary was to seat himself in it.

  The youth obeyed, and in like obedience to another wave of the hand, accompanied by the words, “I wish you to write for me;” after placing himself in the vacant chair, drew towards him the implements for writing, which were placed before it.

  “I wish you,” still more solemnly resumed the baron, “I wish you, Mr. Rupert, to write several letters for me.”

  Rupert, upon hearing this, took the pen in his fingers, and with a look of awakened diligence, dutifully determined to forget Branksome Tower, and everything belonging to it.

  “He — hem!” quoth the baron.

  The pen of Rupert already touched the paper. A pause followed; and then the baron, again clearing his voice, said, very distinctly: “My dear sir” — but there he stopped.

  Having waited for what appeared to the unpractised secretary a very long time, the youth began to suspect that he had made a blunder in supposing the dictation to have been already begun, and that he was himself the “dear sir” addressed; whereupon he said, very respectfully: “Did you speak to me, my Lord Baron?”

  “No! my good lad, no!” was the immediate reply. “I am addressing myself to one of my noble neighbours, by letter. My dear sir,” he again began; but these words being already written, Rupert could only refresh the dot over the i, which he did.

  Another interval of silence followed, and then the baron said: “I am not quite certain, Mr. Rupert, whether the use of the third person is not the more correct and dignified mode of expression upon these occasions. Put aside that sheet of paper, if you please, and begin again.”

  Rupert obeyed, as far as the sheet of paper was concerned; but having very carefully laid another before him, he had to wait several minutes before he received any instructions concerning the use to which it was to be put.

  At length, the baron spoke again, and, in a still more impressive tone than before, pronounced the words, “The Baron von Schwanberg presents” — but having proceeded thus far, he again paused, and Rupert, having inscribed the words in fair characters upon the paper, paused too.

  But, this time, the pause was longer, and there was evidently doubt and difficulty in the mind of Rupert’s master, as to what was to follow; nor was it till the noble author had repeatedly pressed his forehead
with his hand, that he again spoke. But, at length, he said: “You have been over-hasty, my good boy. Nothing should ever be written in a hurry. I have still doubts as to which mode of address is, upon the whole, most unobjectionable.”

  Rupert, thus reproved, changed the attitude of his hand, and, instead of placing himself in an act to write, took the attitude of the most respectful listener. This state of things, also, lasted for some time, and then the baron said: “On the whole, perhaps, the first person may be preferable. Take fresh paper, if you please, and write carefully, according to my dictation.”

  Rupert dutifully listened, and faithfully obeyed, inscribing on the fresh paper, in fair characters, the following epistle: —

  “MY DEAR SIR, — It will give both the Baroness von Schwanberg and myself the sincerest pleasure, if you, my dear Count, with the amiable Countess your lady, and the charming young Countess your daughter, will afford to the Baroness von Schwanberg and myself, as well as to our young daughter the Baroness Gertrude, the honour and pleasure of your company at dinner, on Thursday next, the 19th of the present month, at the hour of four.

  “I remain, my dear —

  Rupert had already written “SIR,” when the baron stopped him, by saying, somewhat sharply, “What is that you have written, young man? I must desire you to observe, that my secretary must not write faster than I dictate: I had no intention whatever of repeating the phrase, ‘dear sir.’ Nothing is worse in composition than repetition. My purpose was to conclude with the words, ‘dear Count.’”

  “I beg your pardon, my Lord Baron,” said the boy, colouring; “I will write it over again in a moment, if you will permit me.”