Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  “Don’t do that, papa, till you have just looked at what I have written,” said Gertrude, placing her production in his hands, and conscious, perhaps, that her father’s proposal had brought a deeper glow to her cheeks than she would like to hear any commentaries upon.

  “Have you, then, really written something already, my dear child?” cried the delighted old gentleman, adjusting his spectacles.

  “Let me read it to you — shall I, papa?” said Gertrude, rather eagerly; for, in truth, she was rather proud of her composition, and fancied, perhaps, that her manner of reading it might be more advantageous than his.

  “To be sure you shall, dearest!” he replied. “I know you can read well, Gertrude; and, I daresay, I shall find that you can write well also,” he added, with recovered spirits. “How, then, my dear, begin!”

  “Yes, papa. I will only keep you waiting one moment, just to remind you that, angry as you justly are with him, this letter must not express it, because, you know, the real reason of our writing it is, that he may learn by it, what a blunder his impertinent suspicions led him into; and we could not do this, if we did not express the intelligence we wish to convey, in a civil form. I think he will be vexed, papa, at losing the fortune, though he may not care much about the lady.”

  “If I thought THAT, my darling Gertrude,” replied the father, in very vehement anger, “I do not think that it would be proper to write anything to him, except a challenge!”

  “I think this letter will vex him more than a challenge would have done,” replied Gertrude, laughing.

  “Read it, then! Read it, Gertrude!” cried the old man, nibbing his hands with every appearance of satisfaction.

  And she did read it; and, moreover, she certainly did her own composition justice, for she contrived to make even our baron comprehend that there was a mixture of wormwood in it. But if the ceremonious wording of the epistle made him wince a little, from the doubt it engendered in his mind as to the possibility of its being too civil, the concluding sentence set it all right. She had never seen him so pleasurably excited before. He threw his arms round her, kissed her hands, patted her hair, and at last exclaimed, as a sort of summing up of every delightful feeling in one, “Gertrude! if you had been a son ten times over, instead of a daughter, you could not have done anything which would more clearly have marked the race from which you are descended. If my own hand had written every line, it could not more clearly have borne the mark of SCHWANBERG upon it, than it does now! But it is not every name in the Almanack de Gotha, my beloved Gertrude, the representative of which, whether male or female, could produce such a letter as this!”

  And then, after silently meditating on the subject for a minute or two, he added, “It strikes me, Gertrude, that the very remarkable perfection of your character and abilities, must arise from the fact that both your parents.... observe what I say, my dear girl, I think it is because both your parents, female as well as male, are to be found, and repeatedly found, as you know, in that extraordinary and most precious volume (the like to which cannot, as I have been assured, be found in any other country of the known world); I think, I say, that this must be the reason why you are so very decidedly superior to every one else, whether male or female.”

  Poor Gertrude had been accustomed for so many years to the being assured by her father that she was superior to every one else in the world, that though very weary of hearing it, she had become in some degree indifferent to the sound; but at this moment she could not resist the temptation of saying, “At any rate, dear papa, the Count Hernwold cannot agree with you in opinion, on this point.”

  But she would not have uttered the idle jest, had she been at all aware of the effect it was likely to produce. It was upon her saying this, that he now for the first time seemed to be aware of the personal affront to her; and so vehement was the irritation produced by it, that she bitterly lamented her imprudence.

  It was during one of the very violent bursts of indignation which recurred from time to time upon this theme during the course of the day, that a servant entered the saloon in which the baron, his daughter, and Madame Odenthal were sitting after dinner, and delivered a letter to his master.

  The poor baron was, in truth, so completely worn out and exhausted, by the unusually vehement emotions which he had experienced and displayed during this suffering day, that he uttered another of his dismal groans, as the silver waiter was most respectfully presented to him, with what looked an immensely voluminous letter deposited upon it.

  The tired old man looked, and felt, as if he were afraid to touch it; and so very intelligible was the mute eloquence of his weary glance, that his daughter, who seemed to have gained by the events of the day all the energy which he had lost, sprung to his rescue, and taking the voluminous-looking dispatch from the footman, drew a chair close to him, and with a look which might have inspired hope and joy in any being capable of receiving either, she said, “May I break the seal of this magnificent-looking dispatch, papa? Let me open it, and read it to you, shall I?”

  It is by no means quite impossible, that the Baroness Gertrude (though not quite such a phenomenon as her papa believed her to be) might have conceived some slight suspicion as to the contents of the dispatch she held in her hand, for she really was an intelligent and quick-witted young lady. Moreover, she had recognised the seal of her quondam lover, though her father had not, and she certainly anticipated considerable amusement from a perusal of the contents.

  The reply of her father was, as she anticipated, a ready acquiescence; on receiving which she broke the splendid seal, detached the ample cover, and read as follows: —

  “MY DEAR LORD BARON,

  “I have to acknowledge a weakness both of character and conduct, of which I honestly and honourably assure you, I am most heartily ashamed. Permit me to recapitulate to you, the very foolish circumstance which led to the folly, the worse than folly, which I committed in our last hurried interview. At the last ball, at which I enjoyed the exquisite happiness of meeting that loveliest of all created beings, your unequalled daughter, I tortured myself during the course of the evening by fancying that she looked coldly on me, nay, that she spoke more coldly still. My brain was on fire! I dared not trust my feelings, but retired at an early hour to my sleepless pillow. The mental agonies which I endured during that terrific night can never be forgotten while I live! It was within a few short hours of this dreadful paroxysm of jealousy and despair, that I received from you information, which would at once have appeared incredible from every other human being, namely, that your pecuniary affairs were in disorder. Nay, my dear and honoured friend, you must excuse me for saying, that not even from you would such a statement have appeared serious, had not my tortured mind been so frightfully harassed by the ideas which had haunted me through the preceding night, as to be incapable of forming a rational judgment on any subject.

  “But, as it was, I listened like a madman, believed like a madman, and acted like a madman! And what remains for me now, but to throw myself at your feet, and at the feet of your angelic daughter, and implore you both to forgive, or rather, to forget the conduct which was dictated by insanity, and to receive again the homage and the adoration of one, who would shed his heart’s blood to prove his devotion to the noble Baron von Schwanberg, and his adored and too lovely daughter.

  “I remain, my ever honoured friend, in the ardent hope of being permitted, at no distant day, to substitute the more precious name of son, ever and for ever,

  “Your devoted Servant,

  “JOACHIM FECKLENBORG ALEXANDRE

  “COMPTE D’HERNWOLD.”

  Gertrude read this letter, from the address to “My dear Lord Baron,” to the signature of the devoted “Count Hernwold,” with a well sustained dignity of voice and tone which might have done honour to the town-crier; and when she had finished the perusal, she re-enveloped it in its ample cover, closed it carefully, so as to make it look almost as splendid as it did before she opened it, and then, rising
, presented it to her father with a very low and ceremonious curtsey. If she hoped to obtain a smile from him by this, she was disappointed, for as he held out his hand to receive the letter she presented, he looked considerably more puzzled than amused.

  “What does it mean, Gertrude?” said the poor baron, looking at her very much as if she had been an oracle.

  “This Count Hernwold,” he continued, “is a man of very high rank, and certainly very nobly connected; and I would on no account, either to him, or to any other nobleman, give way to any feeling of unjust anger; but surely, my judgment cannot have deceived me, can it, Gertrude? Surely this letter of his to-day, is not at all consistent with his conduct to me, when I mentioned the embarrassment I was under about the tradesmen, you know, and the mistake I made about the banker. I can’t understand it, Gertrude. I don’t know what he means. Do you think he is in earnest, my dear?”

  “Yes, papa,” replied Gertrude, “I have no doubt that he is quite in earnest.”

  “Then I suppose you wish him to come here directly.... Do you, Gertrude?”

  “My dearest, dearest papa!” exclaimed Gertrude, fondly embracing him; “can you suppose for a moment that I can wish ever again to see a man who has insulted you? — First, by daring to treat you with indignity, when you stated to him your mistaken belief that your affairs were embarrassed; and then again, by daring to offer the renewal of his odious addresses, when he discovered that your noble property was not embarrassed at all! Never, never let me see him again, papa! if you love me!”

  “I do love you, my darling child! And you never shall see him again, Gertrude!” exclaimed her delighted father; who, till she had uttered this consoling address to him, had positively trembled as if he had been seized with palsy, from the terrible idea that she was, perhaps, too much in love with the man who had insulted him, to bear the thought of refusing him, now that he was come forward again to offer himself.

  Gertrude, meanwhile, on her side, was quite as much relieved as himself; for most assuredly she had begun to conjure, up in her long-harassed mind, the frightful idea that she was hot even yet safe from him. His large estate, his lying, but seemingly-humble apology, and that terrible page full of him in the Almanack de Gotha, might altogether, she thought, have power to destroy all the happiness which had gleamed upon her during the last few hours But this frightful vision, which seemed to turn her hands and feet to ice, and her cheeks to burning coals, vanished into something better than thin air, as the blessed words, “You never shall see him again,” reached her ear.

  “And now for the answer, my Gertrude,” said the happy-looking baron, in a tone of light-hearted cheerfulness, which seemed for a moment to conquer even his dignity; “what answer arc we to send him?”

  “Let me send it! Pray, papa, let me send it! May I?” said Gertrude, coaxingly.

  “Yes, my dear,” he replied, after meditating for a minute or two, with his accustomed look of solemnity; “yes. I feel sure that I may trust you. But remember, my dear love, it must be very decisive.”

  “It shall,” said Gertrude.

  “Must it be written, Gertrude?” rejoined her father, anxiously. “Be very, very careful what you say to him.”

  “No, dear papa! I think we have had writing enough,” was her answer; and then she added, “Have the kindness, dearest Madame Odenthal, to recal Hans. I daresay he is in waiting, on the landing-place.”

  Madame Odenthal, who had been listening to all this with almost as much amusement as interest, lost no time in complying with this request; and on opening the door which communicated with the ante-room, she found that Gertrude’s judgment as to the servant’s probable vicinity, was perfectly correct, for there stood Hans, at the distance of about six inches from the key-hole.

  “Come in, Hans,” said the baron, with great solemnity. “Come in, and shut the door. The Baroness Gertrude will give a verbal reply to this dispatch.”

  Hans did as he was bid; that is to say, he closed the door behind him, and advanced two paces into the room.

  Gertrude looked rather embarrassed, and approaching her father, whispered in his ear, “Don’t you think, papa, that the best reply will be simply to say, that the letter does not require an answer?” —

  “Why, then he will come here at once, if you say that, Gertrude!” said the baron, looking perfectly confounded.

  “I think not, dear papa,” she replied, in a whisper; adding, in the same tone, “ask Madame Odenthal what she thinks.”

  “No! Baroness Gertrude!” returned the old man, proudly; “I will ask no one. Your judgment deserves to be trusted. Besides, my dear, we know,” he added, touching his forehead with his forefinger, “where all your opinions really come from, in some way or other, and therefore I shall make no further difficulty about it... Tell the Count Hernwold’s servant,” he said, turning to Hans, with an air of peculiar dignity; “tell the Count Hernwold’s servant, THAT THERE IS NO ANSWER.”

  It really seemed as if the grandiose tone of his own voice had acted as a commentary on the message, and enabled him to understand the spirit of it; for no sooner had the servant closed the door behind him, than the baron said, addressing Madame Odenthal, “I really think, my good friend, that our young baroness is as right upon this point, as I have ever found her upon every other. I really think, though it did not strike me so, quite at first, that the sending no answer, says more in the way of expressing contempt, you know, than almost anything that could have been written. If a person speaks to you, Madame de Odenthal, and you don’t choose to answer, I should say that it was just about the most affronting thing you could do.”

  As Madame Odenthal very cordially expressed her conviction that the longest letter that ever was written could not by possibility express so much contempt as the sending no answer at all, the remaining hours of that happy day were passed in “measureless content by them all;” and certain it is, that had not my heroine’s sublime father been just about as dull-witted as he believed himself to be the reverse, he could not have failed to discover now, though he had never dreamed such a thing possible before, that the heiress of his wealth, and the glory of his house, had been within a hair’s breadth of sacrificing the happiness of her whole life, in order to gratify his blind ambition.

  CHAPTER XXXII.

  IT would have been a difficult task to have induced the baron to believe, before he had made the experiment, how very easy a thing it is for a wealthy man to get into a scrape, and out of it again, if he does but set to work at both processes in a spirited way.

  There was just delay enough occasioned by the negotiation entrusted to Rupert, to prevent the “De Schwanbergs” from running away from Paris so suddenly as to create gossip by their departure; and this was an advantage which nothing short of absolute necessity would have obtained for them, for it might be difficult to say whether the father or the daughter were the most impatient to quit it.

  This piece of good luck, however, was only appreciated by Madame Odenthal; for from the day that their prompt return to the country was decided on, every moment of delay seemed only a lengthened torment, both to the father and daughter.

  Gertrude had been very much admired, and very much courted, during her four months’ residence in Paris; but she had formed no new friendships. Madame de Hauteville had retained her place, not only as her favourite friend, but as the only one from whose intimate society she found any real gratification.

  No one, I believe, who has had a fair opportunity of forming an opinion on the subject, can fail to have observed that there is much more sympathy of character between the women of Germany and the women of England, than between those of France with either. The effect of our Norman mixture is much more easily traced among our high-born men, than among any class of English females; and my heroine found herself much more at home with her English friend, than with any one else whom she chanced to meet with in Paris.

  But Madame de Hauteville had left Paris, in order to visit her own family in England, a we
ek or two before this sudden breaking-up of the Baron von Schwanberg’s Paris establishment; and the business of taking leave of her Parisian acquaintance was therefore very easily performed, and without the cost of either much time, or much sentiment.

  There might be read in the countenances of both father and daughter, such an expression of “measureless content,” as they drew near the noble mansion in which they both were born, that there might have been supposed to exist between them very perfect sympathy of feeling; but Madame Odenthal, as she looked from the one to the other, made no such mistake. She understood them both perfectly well; and as each familiar object met their eyes as they advanced, and was gazed at with a more or less lingering look, as the case might be, she would have run but little risk of blundering, had she undertaken to describe the thoughts of both; and the result of such a disclosure would have shown, at least, as little real sympathy of feeling as there was (though without intended delusion on either side) a striking appearance of it.

  But not even in appearance was there any further similarity, when at length the carriage entered the spacious courtyard of the castle, and stopped before its lofty gates; for at that moment the dignified demeanour of the pompous baron relaxed in so unusual a degree as to cause him not only to smile, but to nod his sublime head, quite in a familiar way, to an individual who stood on the steps leading to them; while Gertrude, far from following his example, turned as white as a sheet, and altogether looked very much as if she were going to faint.

  Madame Odenthal, however, was not looking about her, and making her observations for nothing; but, on the contrary, continued with very considerable cleverness to render it apparently impossible for the Baroness Gertrude to descend from the carriage till several books, which happened just then to fall on the floor and steps of the vehicle, had been removed.