Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  Gertrude, too, on her part, displayed more self-possession and propriety of demeanour during these agitating moments, than might have been reasonably expected from so young a girl. That they WERE agitating moments, was proved by the deep blush which suffused her beautiful face, and by a tremor in her voice, which reduced it almost to a whisper.

  “Your attachment, Count Adolphe,” she said, “would do honour to a much worthier object than such a childish creature as I am; but my esteem for you is too sincere to permit my pleading my youth as an objection to your addresses; and I will say to you now, what I am quite sure I should say, under similar circumstances, were I many years older. I was but seventeen my last birthday, Count Adolphe; but, if I were of full age, I should tell you that I refer you wholly to my father for your answer. It is not, believe me, because I have any doubts of your merit, or, on that point at least, any great doubt of my own judgment; but people of our station of life have duties to fulfil, which may not be neglected with impunity. My own case, as you must be aware, is a peculiar one. I have learnt, even from my dear mother herself, that my father’s disappointment at not having a male heir has been bitterly felt by him; and I think that I can never be grateful enough for the tender affection which seems almost to have reconciled him to his disappointment. The only adequate return I can make for this affection, is referring myself implicitly to him on such an occasion as the present.”

  “May I see him now?” said the impatient young man, more inclined to bless his noble birth and broad acres at that moment than he had ever been before.

  Gertrude answered him with a blushing smile, which made him forgive the delay she proposed.

  “No! — not to-day, Count Adolphe! Depend upon it, I know best. Let it be to-morrow, at this same hour, if you will: and even so, he may think you, perhaps, over-hasty. Oh! what a little time ago it seems since we were both children!”

  “And do you really insist upon my waiting till to-morrow?” said the young man.

  “Yes,” she replied, holding out her hand, in token of farewell.

  He saw that she was in earnest; and he not only took the hand, but ventured to kiss it, as he said, “Farewell, then, dearest Gertrude! — farewell till to-morrow!”

  She turned her head only as she repeated this farewell.... But, on the whole, he was far from being dissatisfied by the interview; and never in his life before, had he contemplated with so much satisfaction the stately aspect of his father’s noble residence as he did upon returning to it now, with the comfortable belief that the Baron von Schwanberg could not be insensible to its splendour, or ignorant of the ample revenues by which it was sustained.

  No sooner had the door of the library closed behind him, than Gertrude reseated herself, with the look and manner of one who had been sufficiently agitated to make solitude and repose very welcome. She did not, however, permit herself to enjoy either very long, but, hastily rising, began seeking amidst the miscellaneous objects which covered her own particular table, and selecting from them a very tiny volume, put it into her pocket, and left the room.

  CHAPTER XVII.

  IT was to the apartment in which her father generally dozed away the interval between his heavy breakfast and his before dinner ride, that Gertrude now betook herself; and, although he certainly looked more than half asleep, she approached him with a sort of resolute step, that plainly showed that it was her purpose to arouse him.

  “Are you at leisure for me to talk to you a little, papa?” said she; “for I have something I want very much to say to you.”

  “I am not quite sure that I could find leisure at this moment to converse with any one else, my dear Gertrude; but you well know that I always contrive to find it for you.”

  “I well know, my dear father, that you are always kind and indulgent to me, even when I come to you like an idle child, to talk to you for my own amusement. But the case is different now. I am come to tell you, even before I mention it to my mother, that the young Count Adolphe von Steinfeld has made me an offer of marriage.”

  “You have behaved, as you always do, with the greatest possible propriety in bringing this intelligence to your father, to the head of your own noble house, Gertrude, before you communicated it to any one else. I am sorry,” he added, after a pause—” I am sorry, Gertrude, that the young man has not shown an equal sense of what was due to me on such an occasion. However, I presume he must be forgiven on the score of LOVE. I am quite ready to believe, Gertrude, that he is too much enamoured to have entirely the command of his own judgment.”

  “You are very kind, papa, to judge him so leniently. I am quite aware that he ought not to have spoken to me on the subject till he had obtained your leave to do so.”

  “Right again, my dear, as you always are,” said the baron, taking her hand. “I am proud of my daughter, and I have reason to be so. However, Gertrude, we must not be too hard on the young man, either. You are certainly a very fair excuse, my dear, for a little blundering at such a moment. Moreover, it is impossible that I can deny the value of the compliment he has paid you. The only son of my distinguished neighbour, the Count von Steinfeld, is a very great match for any lady. The estate is a very noble one, and perfectly unencumbered; and, moreover, it is contiguous to mine. The two estates, when united, would certainly make one of the finest properties in the country, my dear Gertrude; and I confess to you, that I think it would be difficult to find a more eligible connection for you.” Gertrude, who had seated herself, and was placed immediately opposite to her father, with her eyes fixed on the carpet, remained silent for a short interval after he had ceased speaking, and then, almost in a whisper, repeated the word, “connection?”

  “Ah, Gertrude!” said her father, relaxing so far from his usual stately demeanour as to smile; “ah, Gertrude! I suppose your young heart is too much interested for the young man himself, to permit your giving a single thought to his position in life. Is it not so?”

  “No! my dear father! no! It is not so,” replied Gertrude, with a degree of earnestness that had something almost solemn in it. “Can you believe that your daughter can be so lamentably the slave of any passion, as to make her unmindful of the race from which she sprung? Can you forget the hours we have passed together, in which you have explained to me the pure nobility of your blood, and of the higher station still which the family of my mother holds? If you forget this, dear father, I do not; and so deeply have your words and your feelings been impressed upon my heart, that I believe myself utterly incapable of feeling for any man such an attachment as a wife ought to feel for her husband, unless he were one whom my pride might select as well as my love.”

  And then she stopped, again turning her eyes upon the ground, which, while speaking, had been earnestly fixed upon her father’s face.

  “When I listen to such words from your lips, my noble-minded Gertrude, it is like listening to the sound of my own thoughts!” replied the baron in a sort of ecstacy that positively made his lips tremble; “and deeply indeed should I despise myself, could I in the choice of a matrimonial connection for you, suffer any consideration of any kind to interfere with what we owe to noble blood and high alliances. But this young man, my sweet Gertrude, is a nobleman of high birth, nor do I remember to have heard that his race has ever been degraded by an ignoble marriage!”

  “But has it ever been embellished, my dear father, by such alliances as I have traced in our own pedigree?” returned Gertrude solemnly. “Have I not myself heard you say,” she continued in the same tone, “that instead of marrying early, as most men of your rank and fortune are apt to do, have I not heard you say that you waited till what is generally considered as an advanced age for matrimony, solely for the purpose of giving yourself an opportunity of improving your magnificent escutcheon? And how deeply do I feel indebted to you for this! There are bearings on the Wolkendorf shield, of which sovereign princes may boast with pride.”

  “You speak nothing but the truth, my daughter, in saying so,” replied the baron,
with the quiet but dignified demeanour of one conscious of merit of no common class.

  “And while you acknowledge this, my dearest father,” resumed the beautiful heiress; “can you not sympathise with the feeling which leads me to plead for time, before I engage myself to any man? When you remember how young I still am, I think you must allow that I have enough time before me to justify my pleading for some few years’ delay, before I resign the dignified position I hold as your daughter and heiress, in order to become the wife of any man whose pedigree is less illustrious than your own.”

  “Admirable! admirable young creature!” exclaimed the baron, “most safely may you be trusted in this matter, and I do, and will trust to you implicitly. Fear not, Gertrude, that I should ever urge you to marry any one whose escutcheon you could not explain to your children with as good effect as I have explained mine to you. But are you quite sure, my dear love, that this might not be the case if you accepted the hand of Count Adolphe von Steinfeld? I really do not remember to have heard of any degrading alliance contracted by that family.”

  “Perhaps not, papa,” replied Gertrude. “Degrading is a very strong epithet, and I confess to you that the mere fact of their not having degraded themselves by their alliances, would not be enough to satisfy me. I have sometimes thought, papa,” she resumed, after a short pause, “I have sometimes thought, that I knew a way by which I could very easily decide whether any one who proposed to me, had any right to hope for an alliance by marriage with your family or with that of my mother.”

  “And what way is that, my noble child?” eagerly demanded the baron.

  “Why, by just going carefully through the pages of the Almanack de Gotha. There is one member of your family mentioned in it about seventy or eighty years ago, I think, on the occasion of one of the daughters forming a matrimonial alliance with a relative of a reigning duke; and there are no less than three of mamma’s remote ancestors, whose names are to be found there in the same way. Now it seems to me, that as I am thus honoured on both sides of my house, my name also ought to find its way, by means of marriage, into the same august memorial.”

  “I would, indeed, wish that so it should be,” said the baron, solemnly; his whole form seeming to dilate as his daughter thus fed him with the food he loved. “I willingly agree to accept of this as a criterion. But are you quite sure, Gertrude, that our neighbour, Count Steinfeld, has never been happy enough to find his way to the pages of this ennobling record? His estate is a very fine one, and perfectly unencumbered, which is a circumstance which, I believe, very often leads to advantageous marriages.”

  Gertrude did not immediately reply, but she put her hand into her pocket, and drew thence the tiny volume, which she had taken from one of the library tables.

  “I have examined this book, papa, very carefully, from the first page to the last,” she said; “and I pledge you my word, that the Count Steinfeld is not fortunate enough to have found a place there.”

  “Enough, my dearest love,” replied the baron; “I have pledged my word to you, Gertrude, that I will trust to your own discretion in this matter. You are as yet, as you well observe, extremely young; and with your birth and fortune, to say nothing of your rather striking personal attractions, I certainly feel that I need be in no hurry to part with my daughter.”

  “You have made me very happy, my dear father, by trusting me to my own discretion in the important business of marriage,” she replied; “I shall not be in a hurry, dear papa! There is no reason whatever to render it desirable that I should be. Four daughter really ought not, child as she is in age, to be married to the first boy who may happen to fancy that he likes her; or to one who may happen to think that he should like to obtain possession of the Baron von Scwhanberg’s castles and domains. We are very happy as we are, dearest papa! and if we are wise, we shall make up our minds to remain so for many happy years yet, unless, indeed, some one were to propose, who might place my name in this dear little book!”

  “You deserve to be my daughter, my high-minded Gertrude; and I flatter myself that I am not altogether unworthy of being your father!” returned the baron, fervently.

  “But you must not leave me yet, my beloved child!” he added, seeing that she had risen as if to quit the room; you really must tell me, and tell me precisely, my dearest Gertrude, in what way you would wish me to dismiss this young man. I should be very sorry to offend either him or his family. What you say about the Almanack is unanswerable; and God knows I am the last man in the world, my love, to disregard such an observation, made, too, in so truly noble a spirit! But it would be difficult to explain all this to him. What do you think I had better say, my dear Gertrude?”

  “I am not very well versed in such affairs as yet, papa,” replied the young baroness, gravely; “but the only child of the Baron Schwanberg is not likely to escape proposals of this sort; and, therefore, dear father, I would recommend you to decide at once, upon the manner in which you will think it best that your answers should be given.”

  “Certainly, my dear! certainly! Nothing can be more right and sensible than what you say. But it won’t do, you know, my dear, for me to learn by heart a form of words about it, because it cannot always be the same, my dear Gertrude. For if you were the daughter and heiress of a king, you must be married at some time or other, you know; and then, my love, as your own good sense must tell you, the answer must be different.”

  “Yes, papa, I am aware of that,” she replied, in the quiet accent which implies assumed conviction, “but we are agreed, you know, in thinking that there is no occasion for us to be in a hurry about it. A young lady in my position ought to be allowed time to see a little of the world, before she exchanges the immense advantages of such a position for any other — less than regal.”

  “Quite true! Most perfectly true! And it is a sentiment worthy of yourself, my darling Gertrude! But still, you know, dearest, I should not exactly like to say that to Count Adolphe. Think about it, my love, and let me know the result of your thoughts. I know that I have very considerable command of language myself, but, nevertheless, I think you might be able to assist me.”

  “On such occasions, my dear father,” replied Gertrude, looking a little alarmed; “I should think the most concise method would be the best, and I am quite sure it would be the kindest. It will be quite enough to say that you cannot accept his proposal, and that you hope he will very soon forget having made it; for that you should be extremely sorry to lose him as an acquaintance and friend, and so would your family also.”

  “Well then, my dear love, that is just what I will say; and it sounds so very civil and kind, that I think he cannot be offended.”

  “Quite impossible, dear papa!” replied Gertrude, moving towards the door with a quick step. “Good bye!”

  But before she had passed through the said door, she was recalled by the voice of the baron, who, in rather a loud key, articulated: —

  “Come back, Gertrude! Come back for one short moment, my dear love, I must beg of you! That won’t quite do, either, Gertrude! It is so very abrupt, my dear child! So very much like what any other person might say — any ordinary person I mean — and, therefore, you see, my dear, I don’t think it can be quite the proper thing for me to say.”

  Gertrude, of course, stepped back, as in duty bound; but she looked exceedingly vexed.

  “Then if you cannot find words to refuse him, papa, I suppose I must marry him, notwithstanding all the reasons I have assigned against it.”

  And again she turned to leave the room.

  “No, Gertrude! No!” said the baron, in his most pompous tone. “It shall never be said, that I gave my daughter and sole heiress to a man I did not approve, solely because I did not know how to refuse him. Give me that little book, if you please. My best answer will be, the holding this book in my hand, and saying (after I have expressed a great deal of personal regard for him): No man, Count Adolphe, can become the husband of my daughter with my consent, whose family have not yet
found a place here.”

  Gertrude blushed to the very roots of her hair, as she listened to him; and for some seconds she remained perfectly silent. She then drew a long breath, as if she had struggled with herself, and had conquered some feeling which had impeded her reply; and then she said, “Yes, papa. Perhaps that would be the best answer you could give.”

  And having said this, she waited for no farther rejoinder, but hastened back to the door, and left the room.

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  BEFORE that eventful day was over, Count Adolphe contrived to seek, and to find his friend Rupert.

  The painful state of suspense in which the reply of Gertrude, and her reference to her father, had left him, could in no direction have found anything so nearly approaching relief and consolation, as in the long walk through the neighbouring forest, which they then took together. Rupert was still sanguine as to the answer he was likely to receive; but the lover himself was much less so.

  “In some respects you ought to know her a great deal better than I do,” said the anxious Adolphe; “and yet I think, that as concerns the all-important question, it is I who am right, and you who are wrong.”

  “It may be so, dear Count,” replied Rupert, gravely; “for most surely I have little, or rather no means of judging correctly on such a subject. What I told you, however, was perfectly true. I can, at least, be certain, as far as having accurately repeated the words I heard her say about you. Farther, dear friend, I cannot go; for if words are uttered with two meanings, I think I am quite as likely as you can be to give them the wrong interpretation, instead of the right.”

  The most anxious hours, however, pass away as rapidly as the most delightful ones, if we could but teach ourselves to believe it; and though the interval appeared immeasurably long, the moment for appearing before the august Baron von Schwanberg seemed to have come all too soon, when it arrived at last. Count Adolphe was, upon most occasions, a very fearless, stout-hearted young man; but, despite his valour, he was very considerably agitated when the moment arrived at which he was to request admission to the presence of the always sublime, but now positively awful, Baron von Schwanberg.