Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  So no more time was lost; the duet was performed in very spirited and excellent style, and rewarded by the applause it deserved.

  There is nothing, perhaps, which in mixed society tends so promptly to produce a tone of intimacy between persons otherwise strangers to each other, as music. “Where the love of it is genuine, its attraction is quite strong enough to overpower many of the little repulsive etiquettes which stand in the way of easy intercourse with new acquaintance; and such was decidedly, and very pleasantly, its effect on the present occasion.

  The evening, instead of being extremely dull, was extremely agreeable. Carriages, greatly to the astonishment of their coachmen, were made to wait, nor did the party permit themselves to separate till arrangements had been made for their speedily coming together again.

  The only effect which all this was likely to produce on the Baron von Schwanberg, was an unwonted degree of fatigue; and such would very decidedly have been the case, had not the sensation of sleepiness been overpowered by the astonishment he felt at being addressed by some of the most distinguished among his guests, with earnest petitions to name an early day for returning their visit, and doing them the especial favour of inducing Madame Odenthal and her son to accompany him and his daughter.

  Had the astonishment of the baron been a little less overpowering, there can be little doubt that his reply would have politely, but solemnly, communicated the interesting information, that Madame Odenthal being his daughter’s hired companion, would certainly (with their permission) accompany her; but that her son, Mr. Rupert, being only his librarian and secretary, he could not think of taking such a liberty.

  But he was far from being sufficiently in possession of his usual share of comprehension, to be capable of saying anything of the kind; all he could do was to stand in an attitude of graceful dignity, with his heels together, and his right hand spread upon his breast.

  His silence, however, was construed into a most amiable assent; one or two early days were named by the different petitioners, which the young baroness was eagerly entreated not to forget, and so they parted — the well-pleased guests declaring that it was the pleasantest day they had ever passed at Schloss Schwanberg, and the entertainers feeling more disposed to retire to their respective apartments than to remain together for the purpose of discussing all that had passed.

  “Good night, papa!” was all that Gertrude said, preparatory to her leaving the room.

  The words seemed to rouse the baron from a state that considerably resembled a dream; and being thus roused, he contrived to say, “Gertrude! come to me to-morrow morning, for a few minutes, before breakfast. I wish to speak to you.”

  “Yes, papa, I will,” was her dutiful reply; and having uttered it she glided out of the room, followed by her dame de compagnie. Rupert had politely attended the departing ladies to their carriages, and did not again make his appearance in the drawingroom.

  CHAPTER XXII.

  FAITHFUL to her promise, Gertrude failed not to make her appearance on the following morning, precisely at the time and place at which she knew her father would be expecting her. His heavy, handsome features wore the look of firm-set self-importance, which was, indeed, the only expression, excepting that of weariness, which they were capable of assuming.

  “Good morning, Baroness Gertrude,” he said, awaiting her approach with an extended hand. “It is always a pleasure to me to see you, my dear, but particularly so just now, when so remarkable an instance has occurred to justify the opinion you lately expressed to me, concerning our present domestic arrangements in the drawing-room.”

  For a moment Gertrude employed herself in drawing forward a chair; an operation to which she gave too much attention to permit her looking in her father’s face, as she replied, “I thought you would be pleased, papa, at the brilliant manner in which every thing went off yesterday.”

  “Of course, my dear, of course,” he replied, with a stiff inclination of the head, that seemed intended for a complimentary bow. “There could be no doubt, I should hope,” he continued, “that an entertainment given at my house, and at which myself and my daughter presided, would be a brilliant one. But the subject upon which I particularly wished to speak to you now, relates to other matters. You are certainly a very clever young lady, and possess a power of observation which I have no doubt is hereditary. But nevertheless it is scarcely possible, my dear, that you can, at your age, have arrived at that steady sort of observation which I now possess, and which you yourself already possess in no common degree, as you proved to me a month or two ago, upon an occasion which has, in fact, led to the results upon which I now wish to speak to you.”

  Gertrude was sitting at no great distance from the fire, the heat of which appeared to be oppressive to her; for almost without waiting till her father reached a full stop, she left her chair, in order to take from a distant table a newspaper, which she seemed to fancy would be useful to her as a screen.

  “Pray, my dear, sit still!” said the baron. “I should not have desired you to come to me at so early an hour, had I not something of importance to say to you.... Do you remember telling me, Gertrude, at the time to which I allude, that the persons whom I permit to be habitually about me, ought to be such as would derive distinction from me, and not such as could, or might fancy they could, bestow it?”

  “Oh! yes, papa! I remember our conversation quite well,” replied Gertrude, appearing to find great relief from her newspaper.

  “And yet, my dear, though this very just and proper way of thinking must have come into your head naturally, and merely, as I take it, on account of your being my daughter, I don’t believe that your thoughts, clever as they were, ever made you expect to see what you witnessed yesterday. Did they, Gertrude?”

  “Not exactly, papa,” she replied. “But you know,” she added, after the pause of a moment, “you know that when one mentions an idea, as I did to you in the conversation you refer to, it is only for the sake of expressing an opinion, and can have no reference to any particular circumstance.”

  “Of course, my dear, of course. I don’t mean to say that you could have known beforehand anything about Madame de Hauteville. What I mean is, that, with all your natural family cleverness, I don’t think you could have ever expected to witness such a strange scene as you beheld at the pianoforte yesterday. Did you, my dear?” said the baron, looking at her very earnestly.

  Gertrude was at that moment in greater danger of seriously offending her father than she had ever been before in the whole course of her life, for she certainly did appear to be reading something in the newspaper. Fortunately, however, she raised her eyes, and perceived the indignant look that was fixed upon her, and which, doubtless, was like the lightning which precedes thunder — only a prelude to the voice of the storm.

  “You puzzle me by your question, dear papa!” she exclaimed, with great quickness; “and I really scarcely know how to answer you. How could I, you know, before I had ever seen Madame de Hauteville — how could I guess the sort of impression the manners and appearance of Madame Odenthal were likely to produce upon her? Nevertheless, I certainly had a general idea, that if YOU chose to patronise your secretary’s mother, all your acquaintance would think they were doing themselves honour by following your example.”

  These calming words produced the desired effect; the baron not only bent his head as a token that he acquiesced in her theory, but he almost smiled, as he added: “And not only his mother, but himself too, my dear Gertrude. Did you ever see anything so ridiculous as the fuss they made about him? However, that is their affair, you know, and not mine; and I cannot deny that there is something very agreeable in seeing such really distinguished people as those who were here last night, one and all of them, ready to fight for the honour and gratification of receiving a poor unknown boy at their houses, and his mother too, merely because I have thought fit to patronise them!”

  “Yes, papa, it is gratifying,” replied Gertrude, with that sort of quiet earnestne
ss with which we acknowledge the feelings of which we may justly feel proud.

  “I do assure you, my dear,” resumed the baron, very solemnly, “that nothing can be farther from my heart, and from my character, than any wish to tyrannise over the society around me, many of whom, I am quite ready to allow, are of very true and pure nobility; but, nevertheless, I see no reason whatever why I should disdain the sort of homage which they all seem ready to pay me; and it is, therefore, my decided purpose to accept the earnest invitations we received last night, including in our family party, those, whose abode in my mansion has apparently ennobled, sufficiently to justify their being included in it.”

  In this, Gertrude very quietly acquiesced, merely observing that it was exactly what she expected from him, and that she quite agreed with him in thinking that he owed it to himself to sustain the dignity of the position in which it was evident his neighbours considered him to stand.

  The immediate consequence of all this was, a few weeks of more frequent and more lively meetings than had recently taken place in the neighbourhood; and when the conclusion of the sporting season arrived, and dispersed them nearly all in search of metropolitan gaiety, in some land or other, the Baron von Schwanberg had acquired such a decided relish for the enlarged field of influence which, he fully believed, he had been enjoying, that, after secretly ruminating upon the subject for a quiet (not to say dull) week or two, he suddenly told his daughter that, having deeply considered the subject, he had come to the resolution of taking her to Paris.

  The first effect of this very unexpected news on the heiress of Schwanberg was to make her suddenly look very pale; but before her father had time to be alarmed at this, her varying complexion changed again, and her colour became much brighter than usual; but she remained silent.

  “Why do you not reply to what I have said to you, Gertrude?” said the baron, somewhat sternly.

  “Because I was too much surprised, I believe, papa,” she said; but she said it with so bright a smile, that he smiled too, as he added: “But I flatter myself that you are as much pleased as surprised, my dear.”

  “And more too, papa, if such a scheme should be really possible!” she replied.

  “And why should you feel any doubt on the subject, Baroness Gertrude? Am I not generally found to be capable of doing whatever it is my will to do?” said he, with a sort of stem dignity, which made her feel that the subject was not a jocose one.

  “Oh, yes! dear papa,” she replied, with eagerness; “I am quite sure that if you choose to execute such a scheme, you will not only do it, but do it well. But, of course, there will be a great many things to be thought of and arranged, before such a journey can be taken. It won’t do for you, papa,” she continued, very gravely, and fixing her eyes upon the ground, “it will not do for you and me to go flying about the country quite like ordinary people. We must, of course, be attended by something like a suite.”

  “Of course we must, Baroness Gertrude,” he replied, raising himself into the most dignified of sitting attitudes. “You cannot suppose that I have forgotten this. It may do very well for the De Hautevilles, who really are very elegant, fashionable-looking young people, to travel about, as I dare say they do, with a lady’s-maid for his wife, and a valet for himself; but that won’t do for us, Gertrude.”

  “Certainly not, sir,” returned the young lady, with a look almost as dignified as his own.

  “As to your personal attendants,” he continued, “I shall make no objection whatever to your taking a second, if you think Teresa alone will not be sufficient.”

  “Thank you, dear papa! Teresa is a very good girl, but I don’t want two of them,” replied Gertrude, endeavouring not to smile; “but when you talk of a suite, I am sure you do not mean ladies’-maids and footmen.”

  “Oh dear, no! — certainly not — certainly not!” returned the baron, eagerly. “Madame Odenthal, of course, will be one of our suite, my dear.”

  “Of course, papa,” she replied, quietly; “for, at my age, it would be quite impossible that I should appear in company without her.”

  “Obviously so — obviously!” returned the baron, raising his hand with an action which was meant to signify that this question was settled, and might be dismissed.

  Gertrude bent her head in acquiescence, and said no more.

  The baron, too, was silent; but it was evident that he intended to say more upon some subject or other, because, upon his daughter’s making a slight movement, which he thought indicated an intention of leaving him, he shook his head, and made an expressive signal to her with his forefinger, which evidently meant that she was to stay where she was.

  After this, her moving was, of course, out of the question, and she prepared herself to wait patiently for what was to follow.

  The interval was not a very long one, though it seemed so, for he presently said: “And about myself, Gertrude. I really want your opinion, my dear, as to whom it would be most proper for me to take, by way of a gentleman attending upon my person. I will confess to you that I should not like this office to be filled by a mere stranger, for I have constantly observed through life, that the deference and respect which I wish to inspire, and which are so unquestionably my right, are not always felt at once by strangers when they first approach me. Such feelings are naturally the result of knowing me as I really am.”

  “I can understand that, papa, perfectly,” replied Gertrude.

  “I have no doubt you do. You are too clever, too much a Schwanberg, too much my own dear child, to be at a loss how to interpret it,” replied her father, affectionately. “And this being the case,” he continued, “it makes the task of obtaining such a person as I want rather difficult. It is absolutely necessary, you know, that he should have the appearance of a gentleman, as otherwise I should not be able, or, at any rate, I should not be willing, to let him follow” me into the salons of any noble persons with whom we may become acquainted.”

  “Certainly not,” replied Gertrude, with decision, and in the tone of one who knew perfectly well what they were talking about.

  “I was sure you would agree with me, my dear, quite sure of it. But now then, you will observe,” pursued the baron, “that our power of choice is very limited. In fact, my dear child, I can at this moment recollect only two persons who would be in any way proper to fill the office.”

  “Two?” repeated Gertrude, looking up at him with an aspect of considerable astonishment.

  “You misunderstand me, my dear,” resumed her father. “I do not mean that I wish to have two gentlemen following me everywhere, as a necessary part of my suite, but that I know only of two from which my selection can be made.”

  Gertrude bowed, in token that she understood him.

  “Now the first who presents himself to my mind, is my confessor.”

  “Father Alaric!” exclaimed Gertrude, almost with a voice of dismay.

  “Yes, my dear. I think Father Alaric would do extremely well. A priest, you know, is, or ought to be, always a gentleman; and Father Alaric is both too observant of my wishes, and too quiet in manner, to be likely to expose himself to any unpleasant observations.”

  Gertrude remained silent for a moment, and then replied; “What you say of Father Alaric personally, is perfectly just, dear papa. But do you not think, that your thus keeping your confessor in constant personal attendance, may suggest a suspicion that you may be one of the busy noblemen who wish to meddle too much with the subject of religious doctrine? If you were the Pope himself, you could hardly do more; and even if you were a Cardinal, I think such very close attendance of your confessor, might create more attention, and more suspicion, too, in a foreign court, than I think you would find convenient.”

  “Mercy on me!” exclaimed the terrified baron, his face becoming crimson; “how on earth could I for a single moment overlook so obvious an objection? Of course, my darling child, you are right! A man of my rank and station, will be watched as keenly as a reigning prince. No, no, I will have no p
riest in my train. You are quite right, Gertrude; I might have the eyes of all Europe upon me, while I was only thinking of your amusement, my dear child, and of the best way of finding a suitable alliance for you.”

  “Indeed, my dear father, I very truly rejoice at your having avoided this peril,” returned Gertrude, rising. “But I dare say you have many other things to think of, and I shall only interrupt you by staying here.”

  “But, Gertrude! you forget that we have not yet settled who is to be my suite. Pray don’t go away till that point is decided.”

  Gertrude quietly reseated herself, and sat in act to hear. “Cannot you think of any body, my dear child, who might be able to fill this office, and yet give us no trouble whatever? I do assure you it would be a great relief to me, if you could think of such a person.”

  “Indeed, papa,” she replied, “I would, with the greatest readiness, immediately endeavour to do so, did I not feel that no one but yourself could name him with propriety. Who is there but yourself, dear papa, who could at once be a judge whether the person and manners of any one proposed, were such as could justify your permitting him to attend upon you in society? And also, which is equally important, whether you can yourself submit to his attendance upon you without experiencing any feeling of annoyance.”

  “Right again, my dear!” returned her father, looking highly pleased; “I really think that, somehow or other, you are always right, Gertrude. It certainly is quite true, my dear child, that nobody can judge of my own comfort so well as I can myself; and I don’t scruple to say, that the handsome, well-behaved young fellow, who saved your life about half-a-dozen years ago, by dragging you out of the water, is just about the best-behaved and least disagreeable sort of young man that I ever remember to have seen. But nevertheless, my dear child, though young Rupert was certainly one of the two that I just now mentioned as the most eligible I could think of, I would by no means insist upon it, if any other person occurred to you whom you thought more fitting.” —