Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  But in truth, poor Rupert had perfectly succeeded in persuading everybody, except himself, that, as far as love was concerned, he was still completely “fancy free.”

  It is certain, that in some of her “night thoughts,” the watchful dame de compagnie wondered that it could be so; but such thoughts did not influence her conduct, or demeanour, in any respect; and when poor Gertrude sometimes paused in the midst of one of her playful sallies, and said, with her speaking eyes still fixed on the face of her friend, “Can you not fancy, Madame Odenthal, how very dreadful it must be, to be married to a man one hates?” The, only answer she received was a quiet acquiescence, accompanied by the expression of affectionate hope, that such would never be the fate of her dear Gertrude.

  But this delightful conversation — for delightful it was — notwithstanding the reserve of Madame Odenthal, was not permitted to last very long, before that truly excellent person hinted that she ought not any longer to delay seeing her father.

  “Believe me, my dear child, he has suffered very severely,” she said; “and although I have the pleasure of knowing that I left him less unhappy than I found him, he is, I doubt not, still in a state of mind to make a cheerful visit from you very desirable.”

  “Then he shall have it, my dear friend!” replied Gertrude, springing gaily from the seat which she had lately occupied with such supine languor. “I suppose he is seated in state, as usual at this hour, in the little drawing-room, with as many newspapers of all nations around him as would keep him hard at work for a month, dear man! were he to condescend to read them.”

  And then, without waiting for an answer, she bounded, rather than walked, out of the room, singing the very gayest song she could remember from the last comic opera.

  “Poor dear! poor dear!” murmured Madame Odenthal; “and what is to happen to her next?”

  But this murmur did not reach the ear of the heiress, and therefore the only sedative she had to bring her to a proper degree of gravity and discretion, was her own good filial heart, which caused her with all sincerity to breathe a sigh, because her poor, dear father could not share the delicious feeling of light heartedness which made it so difficult for her to walk, instead of dance, as she approached him.

  There, in truth, he sat, poor stricken, proud, old man, struggling to do battle to the feeling which oppressed him; but having neither sufficient energy of intellect, or of animal spirits to attempt it.

  On hearing the door open, he felt quite sure that it must be Gertrude who was come to visit him; and being very deeply impressed with the persuasion that her pride of place was at least equal to his own, he scarcely dared to turn his eyes towards her, lest he should see her bright beauty blighted by the grievous insult he had received!

  But before he could fix his eyes on her, she had sprung to him, and dropping on her knees, she threw her arms round him, and exclaimed, “Join with me, my dearest father, in thankfulness for the chance which has happened to us! I do not mean,” she added, with great animation, “I do not merely mean my having escaped an union with so contemptible a being, though you will easily believe, my dearest father, that it is not likely your daughter should be insensible to that; but what my thoughts chiefly dwell upon at the present moment is, the opportunity afforded you of humbling his unworthy spirit to the dust!”

  “What is it that you mean, my poor, dear Gertrude?” returned her father, in a very piteous voice. “That he has humbled me, and, alas! my dearest child, that he has humbled you also, is but too certain; but what you mean by my humbling him, I cannot even guess.”

  “But you will do more than guess, you will see the whole truth at once, when I point out to you the effect of the step you have so wisely decided upon, as to your manner of paying these paltry debts. Trust me, dearest father, it would have been less injurious to your dignity if you had sold the last diamond from the rich casket of your family, than if you had permitted this man to assist you for a single hour by a loan.”

  “My dearest Gertrude!” returned the old man, gaping at her with the most profound admiration; “most truly may I say that no son could better deserve to inherit my honours, and my wealth, than you do; for I must confess, though I should be sorry to awaken a feeling of vanity in your young heart by saying so, that you inherit also the power, of which I am certainly conscious in myself, of expressing well the noble feelings of our race. But, alas! my child, though these feelings belong to us by the right of birth, and are, and must for ever be, our own inheritance, this is no moment in which to boast of them; for must they not for a short, but most miserable interval, be laid aside, while I become the creditor of some of my own tenants?”

  “Laid aside, my dearest father? Laid aside at the very moment when there is such especial reason for blessing Heaven that they are awake within us? Believe me, father, it is the noble feeling of which you speak, that, after a moment’s reflection, will teach you to rejoice, not only at having escaped the danger which threatened us, of forming an alliance with one so every way unworthy to approach you; but also for the gratifying manner in which you arc enabled to thrust him and his vulgar insolence from you.”

  “Gratifying? Oh, Gertrude!” murmured the still crest-fallen baron, with a groan.

  “Yes, papa! Gratifying in the very highest degree. I have listened in a manner that could not, perhaps, be considered as dignifying in you, to my excellent companion and friend, Madame de Odenthal, while she described the pride and joy which she knew would be felt by those whom her son should select as the honoured individuals from whom this trifling and temporary accommodation would be accepted. It is delightful, papa, to know that the same act which will afford accommodation to you, will be productive of such heartfelt pride and pleasure to them.”

  “It is delightful, my dear child!” replied the baron, seizing, as was his wont, upon every suggestion calculated to gratify his master-passion. “I really believe that you, and your very intelligent dame de compagnie, take a more correct view of the subject than I permitted myself to do in the first instance. But even so, my dear Gertrude,” he continued, “I do not well perceive how my being made aware of these excellent feelings on the part of my tenants, can humble this insolent Count Hernwold.”

  “Do you not, dear papa?” replied Gertrude, laughing. “I think I do. There can be no doubt that when he left you in the insolent manner you have described, he felt persuaded that some difficulties would arise in the final settlement of these furnishing accounts; because, as you will remember, everything was in the first instance ordered by him, and for everything he ordered himself, he is, of course, answerable. Depend upon it, therefore, that he will not rest till he has announced to the tradesmen you have both employed, the difficulty which might attend your immediately paying their bills, in the amiable hope and expectation that they will immediately become troublesome to you.”

  The baron, who was listening to every word she uttered, as if an oracle was proclaiming his destiny, here uttered a piteous groan. To which his daughter replied, by taking his hand, kissing it, and looking into his face with a smile.

  “Wait a moment, papa!” she resumed; “I have not come to the conclusion of my prophecy yet. While our noble Count is meditating on the best means of tormenting us, you will be engaged in writing an epistle to him.”

  “I, Gertrude?” exclaimed her father, colouring violently.

  “I write a letter to the man who told me that I wanted to entrap him into a marriage with my daughter? Child! child! you know not what you say! Notwithstanding my age, and that my hand is no longer as steady as it was wont to be, I may be tempted yet, to send him a challenge to mortal combat; but in no other way will I communicate with him.”

  “Nor will I ask you to do so, dear papa,” returned Gertrude, gently; “unless you should think it worth while to humble him in the manner I propose. What I wish is, that you should write to him as if his rude manner of leaving you had made little or no impression upon your memory, and tell him that you write merely to info
rm him that he need not feel any uneasiness respecting the unpaid hills, for that you should settle them all immediately, having discovered that you had ready money at your command greatly beyond the amount required, and that your mistake had arisen from the accidental absence of your secretary, who is in attendance upon a sick relation in the country.”

  Gertrude here ceased speaking; but her eyes were still fixed upon the baron’s face, and she had the extreme satisfaction of perceiving that the contraction of his brow relaxed as she proceeded, and then that he smiled at her with a look of inexpressible satisfaction. But this happy state of things only lasted for a moment. His countenance was again over-clouded by heavy gloom, as he said, “Such a letter, Gertrude, would he excellent, most excellent, and I should certainly write it with more pleasure than I ever wrote anything in my life; but how can I be quite certain, Gertrude, that Madame Odenthal is right about the tenants? Just think, my dearest child, what my feelings would he, if, after writing such a letter to Count Hernwold, I should get a letter from Rupert, telling me that the persons to whom he had applied, were either unable, or unwilling to assist me.”

  “Depend upon it, papa,” replied Gertrude, looking very gaily at him; “depend upon it, our Madame de Odenthal would not speak with so much confidence on the subject, if she had not very good reason for doing so. But I will not deny, papa, that the very same idea occurred to me, and I told her frankly, that if this should happen, your position would he greatly more painful than it is now; for that you would have committed yourself, by stating to the Count what was not true.”

  The poor baron again became as red as fire, and exclaimed, in no very gentle accents, “Nothing on earth, Gertrude, shall induce me to run such a risk.”

  “I quite agree with you, dearest papa,” she replied, “and so did Madame Odenthal also; but having acknowledged that the doing this would be worse than all the debts in the world, she quietly left the room, but returned to it a moment afterwards, with the casket containing my dear mother’s magnificent pearls, which, with their superb settings, are, we all know, worth very considerably more than the thirty thousand francs. ‘Here, Gertrude,’ she said, ‘is a guarantee which will effectually protect your father from the possibility of any such disaster; nor is this all,’ she added, ‘as my lord the baron well knows; for I have heard him say, that the family diamonds are of much higher value still, to say nothing of the massive plate, which would furnish the sum required half-a-dozen times over.’” —

  The baron breathed again. “Yes; I see, I see, my dear! That Madame de Odenthal is decidedly a very clear-headed woman,” he replied, after meditating for a minute or two. “I understand her argument perfectly, Gertrude. It is not that she has any thought of proposing to me that I should sell my family jewels or plate. She is a bold woman, but not quite bold enough to propose that I suspect,” (and these words were accompanied by a very pleasant smile,) “her meaning is to show, by reminding me, very properly, of my various resources of family wealth, that I may write to this audacious Count, in such a manner as to make him most miserably conscious of the insolent blunder he has made, without my running any risk of pledging my noble word to a statement which might by any possibility he untrue, or in the very slightest degree inexact.”

  “You have stated the case exactly, my dearest father!” returned Gertrude, looking greatly relieved; for she had, not without reason, began to fear some Quixotic blunder on the part of her father. But now he had every appearance of being quite as well pleased as herself, and she therefore ventured to add, “Now then, dear papa, you will write the letter we were talking about, to this blundering lover of mine. Oh! what an escape you and I have both had, my dearest father.”

  “We have indeed, my Gertrude!” replied the old man, looking at her very fondly; “and if I should indeed manage to get through these troublesome embarrassments, and find myself once more with you and the good Odenthals, at Schloss Schwanberg, I really think I shall feel happier than I ever did before in my life.”

  There was something in these words which seemed to have a very decidedly pleasurable effect upon Gertrude, for they caused her to clasp her beautiful little hands, as if she had achieved a victory, and inspired her with courage to say, “Now then, papa, let me write the letter to Count Hernwold, just as if I were your secretary, as Rupert used to he, and you shall sign your name to it. Will you?”

  It was evident that the baron was at that moment too happy to he dignified, for he positively laughed, as he replied: “Yes, my dear, I will let you do that, or anything else you please, provided, you know, that you consult your dame de compagnie, as all young ladies ought to do. I dare say that, between you both, the letter will he everything that the Baron von Schwanberg could wish it to be.”

  Gertrude waited for no further compliments, but springing from her chair, she gaily kissed her hand to him, and vanished.

  CHAPTER XXXI.

  LADIES have, doubtless, written letters to lovers under a vast variety of circumstances, but, for the most part, they may be ‘ easily classed under one of three heads — the hard, the soft, and the indifferent. But the letter which Gertrude had obtained permission to compose for her lover, did not exactly belong to either; moreover, it was to be written in the name of her father, and not in her own; but, nevertheless, she left the baron’s presence with such a degree of excitement and animation visible on her countenance, as clearly demonstrated that her heart was deeply interested in the epistle she was about to indite.

  Luckily for her feelings, she found that her dame de compagnie was not in their morning sitting-room, and she, therefore, sat down with the pleasant consciousness that she might indulge in the delightful emotion that was palpitating at her heart, without any restraint being put upon it by her governess.

  Poor Gertrude! If there was a little merry mischief in that heart, as she sat down to perform the task she had undertaken, and which had been so solemnly entrusted to her, it must be remembered that she was still very young, and that it was very long since any merry thought of any kind had crossed her fancy. It may also be fairly stated in her defence, that she had always believed the addresses of Count Hernwold to be interested. This belief had certainly never been a source of pain to her; but, in fact, from the terrible hour in which she had determined to atone for all her past offences, by yielding herself implicitly to the wishes of her father, it had been only too decidedly the reverse. Yet, even on this point, excuses might be found for her.

  “Surely,” thought she, “our union will be less hateful, if it be formed on both sides upon motives which have no mixture of love in them, than if one were actuated by such a feeling, and the other not.”

  And in so thinking, she was surely right, although she was as surely wrong in believing such a union could be justifiable at all.

  As it was, however, neither her tender conscience, nor her tender heart, troubled her with any reproaches; and it was, therefore, with a strange mixture of satisfaction and amusement, that she penned the following epistle: —

  “The Baron von Schwanberg presents his compliments to the Count Hernwold, and begs him, in all courtesy, and without any mixture of jesting, to explain to him the real cause of the abrupt departure by which he concluded his late visit.

  “The Baron von Schwanberg is aware that younger men than himself often find, and often make, amusement, from a playful pretence of being serious, when, in truth, they are only jesting; and, on the other hand, the Baron von Schwanberg flatters himself that Count Hernwold must, in like manner, he aware that persons of a more advanced age than himself, are more slow in perceiving a jest than in resenting an offence, which may be grave. On the present occasion, however, the Baron von Schwanberg is in no way disposed to resent, as gravely as it might be resented, the indiscreet burst of hilarity with which the Count Hernwold received the confidential communication which had been made to him relative to the state of the baron’s banking account. Nevertheless, the baron must be excused for saying, that this feeling of
forbearance, on his own part, does not go far enough to enable him to overlook the offensive freedom, and forgetfulness of proper deference, displayed in the mode of Count Hernwold’s departure from his presence. Baron von Schwanberg, therefore, takes this opportunity of announcing to Count Hernwold that the projected alliance between their houses can no longer be thought of. This is decidedly a very grave termination to an ill-timed jest, but it is inevitable. As a proof, however, that the Baron von Schwanberg retains no harsher feeling towards Count Hernwold than the respect which he owes to himself renders absolutely necessary, be takes this opportunity of informing him that the hurried statement which he had made respecting his temporary deficiency of ready money, arose from a mistake, which, being now rectified, leaves his affairs in the same unembarrassed condition as they have ever been.”

  This epistle was so rapidly written, that, upon Gertrude’s returning to her father with the open sheet of paper in her hand, he greeted her with a deep sigh, and said, very despondingly, “Ah! my poor dear Gertrude! you have found the task too difficult for you and the good Odenthal together! I am not at all surprised, my dear. It is no easy matter to write such a letter as we ought to send. Nothing was ever so unfortunate as Rupert’s absence! He is so used to pen-work, that everything of the kind seems easy to him; but, to persons in our condition of life, it is quite a different thing.”

  Whilst he was thus speaking, Gertrude had approached his chair, holding her letter in one hand, while the other was laid affectionately on his shoulder. But the disappointed baron was much less inclined than usual to return her caress. He first shook his head, in a helpless way, from side to side, and then turned it fairly away from her, saying as he did so, “It certainly was rather foolish, my dear, to fancy you could do it, when I myself confessed that I saw considerable difficulty in it. You had better send Madame Odenthal to me. Perhaps, after all, the best thing we can do ‘ is to make Rupert come back again immediately. He would find no difficulty at all.”