Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  “Fie upon you! naughty Eve, as you are!” said her mother, laughing. “You may perceive it is addressed to Mr. Odenthal,” she added, holding up the note so as to exhibit the address; and, therefore, it is Mr. Odenthal’s permission, and not mine, which is necessary.”

  “Indeed, mamma!” said the young lady, bounding back to her accustomed place still more vehemently than she had left it; “I have not the very slightest wish to force myself into Mr. Rupert’s confidence. Will it be more discreet for me to leave the room? Or will it do, if I go down to the very farther end of it?”

  “Let me read it aloud, Rupert — shall I?” said the greatly-pleased Madame do Schwanberg. “Silly child as she is, I think it will give her almost as much pleasure as it does me; and I am quite sure it would, if she as well knew its probable importance to you.”

  She then read the note aloud, and addressing her daughter as she gave it back to Rupert, she said, “You see, Gertrude, that we are not the only people in the world who find Rupert an agreeable companion. But the messenger is waiting, my dear, boy. Sit down and write your answer.”

  “But you have not yet told me, dear madam, what that answer is to be. What will you give me leave to say to him?”

  “Oh, Rupert! if I were mamma, what a rage I should be in with you!” exclaimed Gertrude, with cheeks as red as scarlet. “No you really think that mamma wants to make a slave of you? Don’t you feel that you hate him, mamma? If I were in your place, I am quite sure that I should!”

  “Not unless you misunderstood his application to me as completely after you had got into my place as you evidently do now, Gertrude,” replied the baroness; “our friend Rupert might as reasonably be accused of being a slave because he opened a door for me, or offered me his arm in a walk, as because he consulted me as to the best time of appointing Count Adolphe to meet him.”

  “Oh! if that is all, mamma, it is all very right and proper; and, of course, I was a fool for supposing that Rupert could mean anything else.”

  “Suppose you name mid-day, to-morrow, Rupert,” said the baroness, after meditating upon the subject for a moment; “and you had better say in your note,” she added, kindly, “that we should be very glad to see him here to dinner afterwards, at four o’clock.”

  Thus authorized to return precisely such an answer as he wished to send, Rupert was not long in despatching his reply; and this being done, he quietly sat himself down to continue the employment upon which he had been occupied when this agreeable interruption stopped him.

  But Gertrude seemed determined to atone for her cross fit, by becoming so gaily frolicsome, as to render it impossible for any one within reach of the sound of her voice to employ themselves seriously.

  “What is come to you, Gertrude?” said her mother, laughing with her, because it was impossible to resist her gaiety. “Upon my word, you give us reason to suppose that you are beyond measure delighted at the idea of seeing our agreeable young neighbour at dinner, to-morrow; and I cannot chide you for it, if you are, for there are very few people that I like so well myself, as this Count Adolphe.”

  “And I can go farther than that, mamma!” replied the young lady, with great energy; “for I can truly say, that I never in my whole life liked any one so much.”

  Her mother looked at her earnestly for a moment, and during that moment she certainly became more conscious than she had ever been before, that Gertrude was no longer a child.

  But neither by look or word did she betray the discovery she had made, to either of her companions. She quietly resumed her own employment, and Rupert proceeded with his; but Gertrude had less command of herself, and might have been seen, if her companions had been at leisure to watch her, more occupied in plucking the feathers from her grey goose quill, than in writing with it.

  Nothing intervened to interfere in any way with the projects which had been formed for the following day; and with exemplary puntuality to the hour named, the two young men met at the spot indicated by Rupert, in reply to Count Adolphe’s note.

  The meeting was joyously cordial on both sides, and they set forward on their projected ramble with as much satisfaction as if the pedigree of the one was precisely on an equality with the pedigree of the other.

  For the first hour or so of their walk, it was Rupert who seemed to lead the conversation; and many interesting themes were touched, not one of which but might have furnished a wider scope for interesting discussion than many a morning’s ramble could have allowed time for.

  But at length, just as Rupert was waiting a reply to a somewhat bold speculation, Count Adolphe suddenly stood still, and darting off from the subject they were upon, he exclaimed, “What a lucky fellow you are, Rupert Odenthal! I envy you that library! I envy you the companions with whom you seem to live there! I really know no man living, whose existence seems to pass so exactly as I would wish my own to do. There is but one anxiety which could, I think, interfere to torment me in such a situation.”

  “And what is that, Count?” said Rupert, with a smile, as he thought of his right noble patron, the Baron von Schwanberg.

  “Nay,” returned his companion, colouring. “I assure you that the danger to which I am alluding has no mixture of jest in it. I do really and truly think, friend Rupert, that if I spent as many hours as you do in the society of the Baroness Gertrude, I should be in great danger of falling in love with her.”

  The sparkling eyes of Rupert again kindled into a smile.

  “Were such an adventure to befall me,” he replied, “I should most certainly consider it as a very terrible mishap; but I don’t see why it should be so in your case.”

  “On account of the contiguous estates, you mean, and all that sort of stuff. Fie! fie! Rupert! I did not expect to hear such trash as that from you. Do you really think that I should consider my happiness ensured by being married to Gertrude, at the command of her father and mine?”

  “No, indeed, Count Adolphe!” returned his companion; “I think no such thing. But neither do I think, on the other hand, that the well-pleased consent of both ought to be any drawback on your happiness.”

  “I did not exactly mean that, either,” returned Adolphe, colouring more perceptibly than before. “All I should want or wish, would be, that they would let us alone. But what I want most particularly to know at this moment is — whether you are in love with her yourself, Rupert?”

  Rupert, in replying to this very important question, really and truly did all he could, both to look and speak seriously, as he answered, “No, my Lord Count. I am not!”

  “Thank God!” exclaimed the young nobleman very fervently; “I am sure you would not deceive me, dear Rupert!” he added, “and, therefore, I welcome this very delightful assurance, with the most perfect conviction of its truth. But how you have escaped, is to me a perfect mystery! Tell me, Rupert, did you ever see any one whom you thought more beautiful?”

  “I am almost afraid to answer you, dear Count!” said Rupert, casting down his eyes, and assuming an aspect of great solemnity; “but, at any rate, I will not take refuge in an untruth, in order to propitiate your favour. Yes!” he added, “yes! I have seen two people who, according to my judgment, are both handsomer than the Baroness Gertrude von Schwanberg.” And here he stopped.

  Count Adolphe raised his arms in an action of astonishment, but this was accompanied by a smile, which plainly proclaimed that his offence was forgiven.

  “Go on!” said the Count.

  Upon which Rupert meekly bent his head, and pronounced, in a deprecatory tone, “I think the baroness, her mother, is handsomer.”

  “And the other?” said Adolphe, with rather a contemptuous shake of the head.

  “The other is a little girl, whom you have probably never seen, my Lord Count; for she is the daughter of a poor woman, who lives in the village of which my uncle Alaric is the priest.”

  “And you are not speaking in jest, Rupert?” said the young nobleman, gravely.

  “No, indeed, I am not!” returned
Rupert, with all the simplicity of truth. “As to our baroness at the castle, I scarcely ever look at her without thinking that she is the exact model of what a poet might fancy as the lovely sovereign of some enchanted land. Some of Spenser’s descriptions remind me of her. I do not think her daughter will ever be so exquisitely graceful as she is —

  And as to my little nymph of the fountain — for it is when fetching water from the fountain that I have generally seen her — she is more like a picture, or a dream, than anything made of flesh and blood. The eyes of your young baroness are very much like the eyes of her mother, and they are, therefore, exceedingly handsome; but you must see my nymph of the fountain before you can understand, how beautiful eyes may be.”

  “Yes!” returned Adolphe, rather solemnly; “eyes may assuredly he very beautiful; but what a providential arrangement it is, Mend Rupert, that the judgment of the eyes of those who look, varies as much as the beauty of the eyes looked at. It is long since I felt as light-hearted as I do at this moment, for to tell you the honest truth, I was desperately afraid that you too might be in love with this peerless young Gertrude. And yet, my good Mend, a moment’s consideration ought to be enough to suggest the heavy fact, that although she may not be in love with you, nor you with her, yet nevertheless it does not follow as a necessary consequence, that she will therefore some day be in love with me! Nay, how do I know that I may not at this present moment, be the object of her peculiar dislike? Gracious Heaven! What a dreadful thought! And yet my common sense tells me that it is quite as likely that it should be so, as not....” And having uttered these terrible words, in a tone of unmistakeable sincerity, the agitated young man suddenly quitted the arm of his companion, and throwing himself on the turf beside the path, buried his face in his hands.

  “It certainly is a strange choice, Count Adolphe, that has put it in my power to give you hope on such a subject as this,” said Rupert, gaily throwing himself on his knees beside him; “but so it is, and that too, without any breach of confidence on my part. But when your letter to me was brought into the library yesterday morning, my ever kind Mend and patroness, the baroness, expressed her pleasure at such an unequivocal proof of your amiable readiness to forget the distance which station places between us, and spoke of you generally, my good Mend, in the terms which you so well deserve. Whereupon, the young baroness, Gertrude blushing like a new-blown rose, exclaimed, with an earnest energy, of which I would fain give you an idea if I could, ‘I can go farther than that, mamma; for I can truly say, that I never in my whole life, liked any one so much.’ Does that satisfy you, Count?”

  “Satisfy me!” exclaimed the delighted young man, springing up. “Did she really say this, Rupert? But I know she did, for you are incapable of deceiving me.”

  “Indeed I am, dear Count,” replied Rupert, gravely. “If I know myself, I am incapable of deceiving you in any way; and trust me, in a case where your happiness is so deeply concerned, I would not only be true, but cautious also. But my memory has not failed me, dear Adolphe! She spoke the words with even greater energy than I have repeated them; and her mother was evidently conscious of this, for she positively started, and blushed too, almost as brightly as her daughter.”

  I will not attempt to describe the state of happiness produced on the young Count by this observation. He seemed to walk on air; nor was his reception, on returning to Schwanberg, at all calculated to check the hopes which it had created.

  The baron was as courteous as a baron so very solemn could be; the baroness was all genuine kindness, and the blooming Gertrude went as far as it was possible for a well-behaved young lady to go, in making it evident to the guest that she liked very much to see him there.

  CHAPTER XVI.

  ONCE fairly convinced that he had no rival to fear in Rupert, and that the fair object of his passion was by no means disposed to frown upon him, the course to be pursued became equally hopeful and easy to the young lover. In the first place, as in duty bound, he requested a private interview with his father.

  The Count von Steinfeld was in many respects an amiable and estimable gentleman; and if his attachment to his son (his only son) had something approaching to fanaticism in it, the fine qualities, and excellent conduct of the young man, offered a great excuse for it. The revenues of Count Steinfeld were very nearly, if not fully, equal to those of his neighbour, the Baron von Schwanberg; and his nobility as unblemished, though not, perhaps, of so high antiquity. The hopes of the young Adolphe, therefore, had nothing deserving the imputation of presumption in them; but there is so much of true timidity for ever mixed with true love, that it was not without trepidation that the young man presented himself before his father, to beseech his consent to his offering his hand to Gertrude.

  How the only feature in the business in the least likely to check the satisfaction of Count Steinfeld on hearing this proposition, was the recollection that he was himself but just above forty years old, and that his son was not yet twenty. His high rank and ample fortune had produced in him an effect diametrically different to what similar causes had produced on the Baron von Schwanberg; for whereas the baron had found it so difficult to discover a lady in all respects deserving the honour of being his wife, that he had nearly reached the age of fifty before he accomplished it, the Count had fallen desperately in love when he was about the same age as his enamoured son was now; and though he could not plead his own example as a warning, for he had been very particularly happy both as a husband and a father, yet still he felt that there were some rational objections against such very early marriages.

  The first effect of Adolphe’s solemn proposal was to make his father laugh; whereupon the young man blushed still deeper than before.

  “Is there anything ridiculous, sir, in my selection?” said he, with very considerable dignity.

  “No, indeed, Adolphe!” returned his gay father, still laughing. “If you have really made up your mind that you are in want of a wife, I really do not think that you could have chosen better.”

  Somewhat mollified and consoled by this assurance, Adolphe replied, almost with a smile; “Then may I ask why you laugh at me?”

  “Not at you, my dear boy... My dear man, I mean. Not at you, Adolphe! Your choice is an admirable one, in all ways. I only laughed at thinking what a lot of dowagers there will be in a few years, if your progeny follow our example.”

  “You were very fortunate, my dear sir, in meeting my mother at an age, which was likely to ensure you a long life of happiness. But at any rate, my dear father, my choice can involve no consequences which should lead you to object to it as imprudent in a pecuniary point of view. The Baroness Gertrude is an only child, and her father is already an old man.”

  “True! quite true, Adolphe,” replied his father; adding, in a tone which had nothing of jesting in it, “Woo her, and win her, my dear son! Depend upon it your happiness shall find no impediments from me. If it be settled, as I think it should be, that you should have an establishment of your own, I shall be ready to double whatever income the baron may think proper to settle on his daughter.”

  It may be easily predicted by what I have stated, that no time was lost by Adolphe in ascertaining whether his friend Rupert was right in believing that he had made a favourable impression on the heart of the young Gertrude.

  The dinner which had succeeded to their morning walk, showed her ever ready to listen when he spoke, and to show, moreover, by her replies, that she had listened with pleasure; and he deserved very great credit for the self-command which enabled him to say farewell when he left her, without uttering a word that might lead her to guess, that before he saw her again he would probably have asked, and obtained permission, from both their fathers, to kneel before her, and ask for her hand in marriage.

  The interview with his own father, which has been already described, took place early on the following morning; and within half-an-hour afterwards, he was galloping over the three or four miles which divided the two mansions. He had the good lu
ck of meeting his friend Rupert at the distance of a five minutes’ walk from Schloss Schwanberg; whereupon he sprang from his horse, and throwing the reins over the saddle, he suffered the docile animal to follow him, while he profited by the meeting, by making Rupert understand that he came to offer his hand to Gertrude with the full consent of his father.

  “Bravo!” cried Rupert, joyously; “I wish you joy with all my heart, for I am neither so blind nor so dull as not to think our young baroness very charming, though not quite so beautiful as her mother. But we must manage a tête-à-tête for you at once, Sir Count, somehow or other, for the beauty of the mother will not atone for the inconvenience of her presence at such a moment.”

  “Good heaven! No!” cried the lover, in a tone which betrayed great perturbation. “Manage this for me, Rupert, and I will cause your name to be specially mentioned in the castle chapel the first day I am the master of it.”

  “Nay, traitor!” replied Rupert, laughing, “if you turn my own jokes against me, I will so manage as to bring the mighty baron himself to be present at the very moment you are making your proposal!”

  A little coaxing, however, so effectually softened the heart of Rupert, that he not only undertook to promise that the baron should not appear, but also that he would invent some means or other of causing the baroness to leave the room immediately. It is not necessary to describe the gratitude of the lover on receiving this promise; suffice it to say, that it was kept, and that Adolphe Steinfeld and Gertrude Schwanberg very speedily found themselves tête-à-tête in the Schwanberg library.

  The reception which Gertrude had given to the young Count upon his entrance, was by no means calculated to discourage him; for it was with a smile, not only bright and beautiful, but too eloquently expressive of real pleasure to be mistaken.

  The young man lost no time, but had explained the object of his visit, with equal eagerness and grace, within a few moments after the successful manoeuvring of his friend had placed him tête-à-tête with the young baroness.