Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  Gertrude listened to him very attentively, and after silently meditating on the question for a minute or two, replied; “I really doubt if you could choose better, sir. He has turned to very good account the opportunities which your patronage has afforded him, and I should suppose that he would be considered in any good society as a well-behaved and well-informed young man.”

  “You have expressed yourself extremely well, Gertrude, as indeed you always do. He certainly is an exceedingly well-behaved young man. Nor can we be much surprised at that, my dear, when we recollect how frequently he has been permitted to converse with me, I may almost say with familiarity. In short, upon the whole, I doubt, as you say, whether I could choose better. And then we have the advantage of already knowing that he is one of those who is capable of being in some sort ennobled, as it were, by my influence. It is quite certain, as I am fully aware, as well as yourself, my dear child, that I cannot receive honour from those about me, although I can, fortunately, confer it; and therefore his being of humble birth is really of no consequence.”

  “None,” said Gertrude, with an acquiescent bow.

  “Well then, my dear,” resumed the baron, evidently relieved from considerable anxiety, “all that remains for us to do now, I think, is to decide upon what office I can assign him. We must not call him Rupert any more, you must remember that; he must always be Monsieur Odenthal; and I think it would be as well to insert de before it, Gertrude, both for him and his mother. Madame de Odenthal, and Monsieur de Odenthal, really sound very well, and they, of course, could make no objection.”

  “On this point, I think you may do exactly what you like, papa,” replied Gertrude, gravely. “To them the difference would not appear very material.”

  “Less so, than to us, I dare say, poor things!” returned the baron, gently shaking his head. “But we have not yet settled,” he resumed, “what office we are to assign him, my dear Gertrude. It will be necessary, will it not, to explain why he is in my suite?”

  “He is your secretary, papa,” replied his daughter, looking as if a little surprised at the question. “I believe few persons in your distinguished position, ever travel without a secretary.”

  The baron gazed at her, as he very often did, with a mixture of surprise and admiration, and after the silence of a moment, he said, “I know that it is quite a common observation to say, that children resemble their parents, but I really do think, my dear, that your resemblance to me, has something more than common in it; I mean in the way in which you understand everything, more even than in your fine regular features. But then, there is another observation that I make too, Gertrude,” he added, with a paternal smile, “and it is that, though your thoughts and mine almost always turn out to be the same in the end, they always come into your head first. But I suppose, my dear, this is owing to your being younger. It is, I dare say, just the same thing as if we were running down the terrace walk together; you would be sure to do it quickest, you know.”

  “At least we have the comfort of knowing, dear papa, that we shall arrive at the same point at last,” she replied. But now she had gone too fast for him, for he looked puzzled, as he said, “about getting to the end of the terrace, do you mean, my dear?”

  Gertrude bent her beautiful head in reply, and after the silence of a moment, said, “Now then I think we have settled everything. I must go and talk to Madame Odenthal about it.”

  “De Odenthal, if you please, Gertrude,” returned the baron, very solemnly; “I really must insist upon the persons of my suite being treated with the respect which ought to attach to them.”

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  IT is quite unnecessary to linger any more on the preliminaries of this spirited expedition, the suddenness of which seemed somewhat startling to Madame Odenthal; but for some reason or other, which it might be difficult very clearly to explain, the sort of endearing and almost filial confidence with which Gertrude treated her well-beloved companion, was not quite unlimited. Nay, occasionally, there was something so like caprice in the young lady’s manner of treating her, that it required all the genuine affection which Madame Odenthal felt for the motherless girl, to prevent her feeling estranged and offended.

  But it was no very easy thing for Madame Odenthal to remain long offended with Gertrude. There was so much that was essentially good, and so much that was irresistibly attaching about her, at least, in her intercourse with her chaperon, that, despite all her little mysterious caprices, this kind-hearted dame de compagnie loved her very affectionately.

  Nevertheless, the worthy governante could not well help contemplating with something like astonishment, the extreme indifference with which this young girl appeared to contemplate the change which awaited her, from the stiff, unchanging stateliness of her father’s remote castle, to the brilliant and dazzling dissipation of the French capital.

  This indifference would have been much less surprising, had Gertrude been ignorant of the vast difference between the life she had hitherto led, and that upon which she was about to enter; but, as Madame Odenthal well knew, it would have been difficult to find among the most diligent readers of Paris and London, any young lady better acquainted with the most lively representations of their manners, than Gertrude.

  No indecencies of any kind, either social or religious, had ever been permitted to find their way into the library of the truly refined Madame de Schwanberg; but, excepting on these points, no restraint had ever been put upon the reading of Gertrude; and as her appetite for reading was much on a par with what a healthy mouse may be supposed to feel when left in perfect liberty within a favourite cheese, it was pretty evident to those who knew her as well as Madame Odenthal, that she was not unaware of the change which awaited her. But although it was impossible to suppose her ignorant of this, it was equally so to believe that it excited any very lively sensations, either of pleasure or distaste. As a companion, she was more than usually silent, and as a student, less than usually diligent. In short, her affectionate, but greatly puzzled friend, was totally at a loss as to the state, of her young companion’s mind respecting this unexpected event.

  It was natural enough, that in this state of things, she should ask her son, during a tête-à-tête walk with him in the garden, whether he thought the young baroness liked the idea of this journey, or not.

  His answer was: “Upon my word, dear mother, I can’t tell.”

  “It certainly is not very likely that you should know, Rupert, ‘ she rejoined; “for I presume that I know her thoughts on most subjects better than you can do; and yet, strange to say, I really have not been able to discover what her feelings are about it. Nevertheless, it is impossible she can be really indifferent about it.”

  Rupert nodded his head, and said: “Certainly. One should think so.”

  “In some things she is very like her mother,” resumed Madame Odenthal, musingly; “but in others quite the reverse. When the late baroness one? knew she could trust a friend, she had no longer any reserve with them. But it is not so with Gertrude. Do you not think that there is a great deal of singularity about her, Rupert?”

  The young man did not immediately reply, which caused his mother to look up at him. His eyes were fixed upon the ground, but his mother’s question had caused a great change in his complexion. His face was scarlet. But after the delay of a moment, he very composedly replied to it, by pronouncing, with great distinctness, the word “YES.”

  “She is an admirable creature, nevertheless,” returned his mother, earnestly; “and it is hardly fair, perhaps, for me, or for you either, to sit in judgment upon her, because she does not open her heart to us with as much freedom as if we were in all respects her equal.”

  “You think then,” said the young man, with sudden vehemence, “that she is as proud as her father?”

  “I have not said that, Rupert,” replied his mother, quietly. “She has too large and too clear a mind to render that possible; nay, I am not sure that it would be fair to call her proud at all; but with
out her being so, I think it very likely that custom, and perhaps something like a feeling of propriety, may render it almost impossible for her to forget the difference of rank between us, entirely.”

  “Could she have acquired such a feeling from her mother, think you?” said Rupert, with something very like a sneer.

  “No!” was the decided reply of Madame Odenthal to this question.

  “The mind of her mother,” she added, with the tone of deep feeling which the mention of her lost friend always produced, “was both too lofty, and too bright, to admit any shadow of prejudice, however slight, to tarnish it.”

  “I do not admire minds that are tarnished by prejudice,”? replied Rupert.

  “Nor should I,” returned his mother, shaking her head reproachfully. “You are so sudden, so vehement in your interpretations, that it is difficult to talk to you, Rupert. However, I do not deny that there are contradictory qualities in the mind of Gertrude, which often puzzle me. I very much doubt, if we either of us understand her perfectly.”

  “Nay, for that matter, my dear mother,” returned her son, pettishly, “I freely confess that I do not understand her at all. But my dulness on this subject can be of no great consequence to anybody.”

  And with these words the young man took an agile leap over the low fence, which divided the flower-garden from the vineyard; and left his mother to her meditations.

  * * * * *

  When Rupert Odenthal declared that the character of Gertrude was a mystery to him, he not only spoke with perfect sincerity, but he said no more than Gertrude herself might have echoed, had she been questioned on the same subject. Again, and again, and again, the harassed girl had endeavoured to arrange her thoughts, and regulate her feelings, but for a long, long time, her efforts were utterly in vain; and the severest self-examination to which she could submit herself, only left her with the renewed conviction, that she knew not right from wrong.

  The unfortunate blindness of her mother to the probability that two young people, thrown together as Rupert and Gertrude had been, might find at length that they each liked the society of the other better than all that the earth had to offer them besides, was the root and origin of all they had suffered, and were about to suffer.

  Had their intercourse been only the ordinary intercourse of society, the danger arising from it would have been infinitely less.

  In that case, each might, perhaps, have learnt to think the other charming, fascinating, admirable; but each might not have learned to think the other the only human being extant, whose affection and companionship were worth living for.

  For a considerable time Rupert had very greatly the advantage; for the idea of his falling in love with the heiress of Schwanberg, was too preposterous to find a place in his imagination; and moreover, he looked at her and considered her as a child, long after she had learned to think him the most admirable of men.

  He had, besides, the great advantage of being guarded from the danger of discovering how well she deserved to be loved, by the captiousness and caprice which ever accompanies such feelings as she had for him, when unrequited. It was upon these caprices, and the strange inequality of manner which they led to, which had suggested to him — the idea that she inherited her father’s pride.

  And then came the interlude of his friend Adolphe’s proposal, and rejection; the manner of which naturally increased his belief in her abounding pride.... And so matters went on for a few months longer, with very little change.

  Then came the fatal illness of Gertrude’s mother, which led to Rupert’s mother becoming one of the family; and then it was that the heart’s ease of the young man became seriously endangered.

  Guarded by the immense distance between them, the attractions of the beautiful Gertrude had hitherto been contemplated by him as something to wonder at, rather than to love; but the presence of his mother in the family had not only brought them more together, but had betrayed many traits in her character for which he had never before given her credit.

  Yet still he was, comparatively speaking, safe; for, while he never lost sight of the immense distance which their respective stations really placed between them, he contrived to make it greater still, by persuading himself that the brilliant Gertrude as surely inherited her father’s pride, as she could ever inherit his estates. And this persuasion served him for a considerable time as armour of proof Neither beauty, talent, temper, nor even her tender watchfulness over her sinking mother, could find a crevice at which to enter his heart; and she had loved him (ten thousand times better than she loved herself) for many months before it had ever entered his head to believe it possible that any clear-sighted man could love her.

  Love her! The idea seemed absolutely monstrous. Love a woman who submitted with evident approbation to select her husband from the pages of the Gotha Almanack — rejecting all whose name could not be found in its pages!

  No other absurdity could have produced so strong an effect on the mind of Rupert as this, for it seemed to identify the father and daughter, in his fancy; and, most assuredly, of all the human beings with whom his uneventful life had brought him in contact, the Baron von Schwanberg appeared to him the most little-minded and contemptible.

  And thus it was with him till the eventful dinner-party, which has been described, when the sight of Gertrude, radiant with delight at her own success in her endeavour to place his mother beside her, as an equal, instead of a dependant, so completely overturned all his foregone conclusions respecting her pride, and the inherited similarity of her character to that of her father, that he at once fell into the other extreme, and would have given half his future life to prove to her that now, at least, he did her justice.

  But though he would have given half his life to prove this to her, without forfeiting his own esteem by abusing the confidence which was placed in him, he would not, by his own good will, have gone one inch farther; and sharp must have been the ear, and keen the eye, which could have detected the removal of the prejudices which had hitherto protected him.

  But what ear so sharp, what eye so keen, as those of a young girl in the position of Gertrude? Alas! she knew what love was too well, to make any mistake as to the foregone heart-whole indifference of Rupert.

  His kindling enthusiasm for everything that was great and good, his ardent appreciation of everything sublime in poetry or exalted in moral worth, were not more clearly seen, or more deeply impressed upon her heart, than was her conviction of his utter indifference to herself.

  But she had made up her mind to endure it, with the stern courage with which a high-toned spirit almost always resists injustice. This must not be construed into meaning that Gertrude thought she had a right to the admiration and the love of every man who approached her. Nothing could be farther from the fact — nothing more repugnant to her character. On the contrary, if there was any trait, — any feeling, — which could, in the least degree, justify the idea which Rupert had conceived of her inordinate pride, it must be found in the utter indifference in which she held the opinions concerning her, which were experienced by all the individuals with whom she had hitherto made acquaintance.

  But there was a feeling at the very bottom of her heart, that Rupert ought to love her; for, had she not waited for his opinions, and accepted his judgment, day by day, almost from the first hour that she had known him? Had they not soared and dived together to all the heights and depths of human thought, as registered in the volumes among which they lived?

  The leading axiom which had pervaded the system upon which Madame de Schwanberg had educated her daughter, was, that she should never permit a fallacy, which she knew to be such, to take root in her mind, nor conceal from her any historical, moral, or religious truth, which she herself recognised to be such.

  It seems difficult (considering that Madame de Schwanberg was a well-informed and right-thinking woman) to discover any objection to such a system of education as this; but, nevertheless, under all the circumstances, it was far from being quite a
s safe as it might be supposed to be; for, though it can scarcely be said that Madame de Schwanberg, upon any important point, halted between two opinions, the tone of her mind, and of her teaching too, was weakened by a sort of timid consciousness that the turning her daughter away from the faith of her ancestors, was a daring deed.

  And yet it was her most earnest wish that Gertrude should not be a Romanist; and it was, therefore, that she not only clung to Madame Odenthal, as a better-taught Christian than herself, but that she encouraged the freedom with which Rupert canvassed the subject in the presence of her eagerly-listening Gertrude.

  That he was to her not only a great Apollo, but a great divine, long before any dream of love had mixed itself with her feelings, is most certain; and knowing how completely her confidence, her judgment, and her taste hung upon him, as an authority even superior to that of her mother, it did seem cruel and unjust on his part, that he should always and for ever treat her as if it were impossible that anything like real sympathy could exist between them.

  But such was very decidedly the case, as far as he was concerned; for so deeply was he persuaded that the Gertrude of the library was only the obedient pupil of her amiable mother, while the Gertrude of the drawing-room was the sympathising inheritor of all her father’s pride, as well as of all his acres, that whatever he might occasionally have been tempted to think of her talents, or her beauty, he accounted her as one so much out of the reach of affection, that he would have been quite as likely to sigh for the happiness and honour of becoming a cardinal, as of being the chosen partner of her heart.

  It was indeed a strange caprice of fortune which caused the demolition of all the prejudice within which Rupert had entrenched himself; but, slight as seemed the cause, and sudden the effect, it may be doubted if all the arts which ever woman used could have been put in practice with so much success as attended the almost childish caprice by which poor Gertrude, at length, found her way to his heart.