Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  After this, there was no further doubt or difficulty as to the invitation that was to be given to the good men and true, who had done them more than yeoman service; nay, Gertrude herself was permitted to be the bearer of it; and it may be doubted if the baron ever felt himself a greater man, than when he looked at the happy faces of his grateful tenants, who seemed to have quite forgotten that he was their creditor, as they sat around him at their splendid repast.

  CHAPTER XXXIV.

  NOTHING could have happened more calculated to ensure the peace of Gertrude, and the tranquil duration of the rational and improving life she was now leading, than the adventure which had befallen her at Paris.

  When the baron had decided upon making his excursion thither, his head had been as full of grand matrimonial schemes as that of the most ambitious beauty could have been, on first emerging from her native shades.

  But few young beauties ever received a more effectual check to their hopes, or a more mortifying blow to their vanity, than he had done.

  Instead of studying the Almanack de Gotha, and dreaming both by day and by night of great alliances, he now shrunk from every allusion of the kind with a sort of sensitive aversion, which seemed to promise Gertrude much lasting peace. And with this very precious portion of happiness, she resolutely determined to be content. Had she never known the bitterness of such real mental anguish as she had endured during the time that she considered herself as bound to become the wife-of Count Hernwold, she would have been far less sensible of the blessings she was now enjoying.

  And, in truth, these blessings were manifold.

  As soon as she became sufficiently tranquillized after the turmoil of emotions she had passed through while in Paris, to permit her common sense to have fair play, she made the notable discovery (which many others might make also, if they would submit themselves to the same process) that there was much more of good than of evil in her destiny. She positively brought herself to smile at last, and not in “bitter scorn” either at the idea of a girl under twenty, with health and wealth, an affectionate father willing to indulge her in every whim that could enter her head, the command of an excellent library, and the government of an excellent garden, making herself miserable, with a deliberate intention of remaining so for life, because she had fallen in love with a person who had not fallen in love with her!

  This was the statement of her case which she drew up with all truth and sincerity; and then, after contemplating the picture it exhibited, she smiled, less, perhaps, at the picture itself, than at the idea that she, Gertrude, the daughter of her high-minded and philosophical mother, should submit her spirit to such thraldom.

  The hours occupied by this mental process were not many; but the effect of them was both important and durable.

  The first outward and visible sign of this, was the regularity of her daily occupations. There were, moreover, one or two changes which were so quietly brought about, that it was only by degrees that even Madame Odenthal herself became aware that they were not accidental; and that they were, moreover, intended to be lasting.

  During by far the greater portion of Gertrude’s life, the library had been the room in which she had chiefly lived; but now it was so no longer. Not that she had by any means given it up as a sitting-room; on the contrary, she had induced her father to repair thither regularly every evening, after he had finished his coffee and his pipe, instead of seeking his daughter and his tea (which he had learned to love as well as if he had been an Englishman) in the drawing-room.

  It was, also, in the library that her favourite pianoforte was now placed, and it was there that her embroidery-frame ever stood ready, in case any book was in progress among them, deemed worthy of being read aloud by Rupert during the last hours of the evening. But before dinner the library now appeared to be exclusively the domain of the librarian; and although his mother occasionally passed an hour with him there, Gertrude never did.

  Perhaps she was wise enough to recognize the truth of the adage, that “it is easier to abstain, than refrain.” Had she permitted herself to pass any portion of her mornings in the library, as in her mother’s lifetime it had been their constant habit to do, she might have remained there longer than would have been consistent with the plan and manner of life which she had now laid down for herself.

  Rupert Odenthal was very decidedly a reading man, and, doubtless, profited by the uninterrupted opportunities thus afforded him of becoming acquainted with the literature of Europe and America; both ancient, as regarded Europe, and modern, as regarded all the rest of the world; for no change had been made in the long-established custom of permitting the mistress of the house to augment the Schloss Schwanberg library à discretion.

  But notwithstanding his strongly-developed literary propensities, Rupert happened to be an accomplished gardener also, and very particularly fond of flowers, and the scientific cultivation of them. But although he had never made a mystery of this, it seemed as if the young mistress of the Schloss Schwanberg gardens did not wish to consult any one’s taste and science in the art of gardening, besides her own and her gardeners; for although she rarely failed to pass some hours every day in the garden, for not even bad weather prevented this, she never seemed to remember that there was such a place as the said garden, or such a treasury of beauty and fragrance as her conservatories contained, when Rupert was present.

  What the young librarian might have thought of so strange a peculiarity, it would be difficult to say; but with all his deference for the young heiress, he did not permit this apparent caprice on her part, to interfere with his love of beautiful flowers, or his scientific cultivation of them; for he made it a daily habit to pass the very first hour of daylight in the society of the head gardener, who happened to be a familiar friend of long standing, and who by no means seemed to be so adverse as his young mistress, to profiting by the aid of the scientific young amateur; and little as the Baroness Gertrude might be aware of it, she owed some of her rarest and most precious specimens to his persevering researches, and his learned skill.

  But notwithstanding the abundance of domestic occupation and amusement which Gertrude contrived to provide for herself, and her well-beloved dame de compagnie also, she did not appear at all disposed to neglect any opportunities for social intercourse which the neighbourhood afforded; this was not indeed very much, for as the properties in their neighbourhood were large, the proprietors were, of course, few; but fortunately the young Baroness of Schloss Schwanberg was not the only individual among them inclined to be sociable, and their retirement was by no means deserving the name of seclusion.

  The ridiculous affair of Adolphe von Steinfeld’s sudden passion offer, and rejection, was remembered by his own family as a mere boyish whim on his part, and had produced no subsequent coolness between the respective families; and now the news of his speedy return, after the absence of nearly three years of far-and-wide wanderings, was anticipated with pleasure at Schloss Schwanberg, as well as by the rest of the neighbourhood.

  It may be that both the Baroness Gertrude and her librarian, heard the additional news, of his bringing home a young wife with him, with more pleasure than surprise; but the community of feeling between them, on this point, as well as on many others, was never alluded to by either.

  This expected addition to the somewhat monotonous society of the neighbourhood, was, however, a theme freely discussed by them all, as well as by every one else in the neighbourhood; and it was welcomed by all, as likely to produce a great many gay parties.

  The marriage of Adolphe was nevertheless not thoroughly approved by his father, for though the lady was rich, she was English; and though she had the reputation of being highly accomplished, it was feared that she might not be able to converse in German.

  But, despite these little drawbacks to the complete satisfaction of the Steinfeld family, they were prepared to welcome the fair stranger most cordially; for the very fact of her being the cause of bringing the wandering Adolphe home again, wa
s quite enough to ensure her a gracious, nay, an affectionate reception.

  Adolphe had announced that they were to be accompanied by the unmarried sister of his bride; and as he had taken care in announcing this, to mention that the young lady was extremely rich, extremely beautiful, and extremely accomplished, this addition to their society was also joyfully hailed by all to whom it was made known.

  Even the Baron de Schwanberg, notwithstanding his usual sublime indifference to most passing events, heard of this marriage with satisfaction, as being a proof that the young man whom he had always considered as a very promising youth, notwithstanding his unfortunate exclusion from the Almanack de Gotha, had recovered from the disappointment which he must have experienced from the rejection of his hand by Gertrude.

  On the very first occasion that he had found himself alone with his daughter after hearing this news, he expressed himself much pleased by the event.

  “The Von Steinfeld family are not only extremely good and amiable, my dear Gertrude, but, notwithstanding their unfortunate deficiencies in point of alliances, they really are of very respectable nobility; and I sincerely rejoice to find that the son has had the good sense to conquer his early, and perhaps somewhat presumptuous, attachment to you.”

  “His attachment to me, my dear father,” replied Gertrude, “was the fancy of a mere boy, and not very likely to be remembered long. But I too am very much pleased to hear of his having formed a marriage with a young lady so highly spoken of, for I have always thought that the De Steinfeld family have behaved very kindly, in never showing any symptom of resentment on account of the abrupt dismissal of their son; and with your permission, I shall wish to pay every attention to the wife of Adolphe.”

  “You will please me by doing so, Gertrude,” replied the baron, in a tone of very amiable condescension. “But yet,” he continued, with a smile, which was perhaps a little sarcastic; “it is probable, my dear, from the country whence he has selected his bride, that the unreflecting character which seems to have marked his race in their former alliances, is still perceptible in him. Not that I mean absolutely to deny that there may be found races of every respectable antiquity of descent, even in England; but, comparatively speaking, they are, I believe, very few; and you may depend upon it, that this young bride has not been chosen from among them, or the father of young Adolphe would have stated this, when he communicated to us the fact of his marriage.”

  “No, papa,” replied Gertrude, with less apparent astonishment than the statement seemed to call for. “No, I do not believe that Madame Adolphe de Steinfeld is of a noble family.”

  “You state this, my dear Gertrude,” returned the baron, with a frown, which evidently betokened a disagreeable surprise; “you state this fact with a degree of indifference, which shows that you feel less interest than I do for our very estimable and very well-born neighbours. Perhaps it is not your purpose, Gertrude, to honour her by any very intimate degree of acquaintance?”

  “Indeed, papa, I have no such feeling!” she replied, very earnestly; “on the contrary, I looked forward with much pleasure to the chance of finding another English friend whom I may love almost as much as I do Madame de Hauteville.”

  Nothing could have been more likely to promote the rapid growth of intimacy between Gertrude and her new neighbours, than this conversation; for in the first place it at once removed any doubts she might have had respecting her father’s approval of it; and in the next, it suggested the idea that she might be really useful to the wife of Rupert’s highly valued friend, Adolphe, by showing the neighbourhood that the heiress of Schwanberg did not consider her deficiency of noble descent, as ‘any impediment to friendship.

  CHAPTER XXXV.

  IT is pretty nearly impossible that any bride should make her first appearance in a country neighbourhood, without becoming an object of considerable curiosity to every individual who makes a part of it; but when the lady is young, handsome, rich, and a foreigner, this feeling is naturally heightened to a degree, that makes the first sight of her a matter of real importance. In the case of Madame Adolphe von Steinfeld, this feeling was rendered more active still, by the long absence of the bridegroom from the neighbourhood. Adolphe had been a very popular personage among them, and his return after so long an absence, was of itself enough to produce a great activity of visiting; no wonder then that his arrival, accompanied by a beautiful young wife, should be the signal for a great deal of neighbourly and hospitable intercourse. Nor was the additional circumstance of the newly-married pair being accompanied by a splendidly beautiful sister of the bride, to be considered as a matter of trifling importance.

  Both the ladies were the daughters of a wealthy London banker, but by different mothers; the unmarried sister being the elder of the two, and in possession not only of the handsome fortune bequeathed to her by her recently deceased father, but of her mother’s still larger property, of which she was the sole heiress.

  Adolphe de Steinfeld was wise enough to say little or nothing concerning the defunct banker; for he well knew that the fact of his having passed the last years of his very respectable life amidst the best society that our humble island can boast, would do but little to redeem his memory from the odium of having “been in business,” in the judgment of the rustic magnates among whom his daughters were now welcomed as beauties, and heiresses of high degree.

  Adolphe, however, had not married his wife because she was rich; he really was very sincerely in love with her, though she was as little like the object of his first love, as it was well possible for a pretty young woman to be.

  Madame Adolphe de Steinfeld was a bright little creature, that at twenty-two, scarcely looked more than fifteen. She was mignonne in the fullest sense of that very expressive epithet. Moreover, she had untamable animal spirits; and rather than not be amused, she would have had recourse to the tricks of a monkey, or the frolics of a kitten.

  She certainly was good-humoured; for she was not only laughter-loving herself, but rather than not see those around her laughing also, she would put in action, without scruple, any and every species of playful mischief in order to produce it.

  Her unmarried sister was a very different sort of person. She was six years the senior of Madame Adolphe de Steinfeld; but from the beauty and delicacy of her complexion, looked considerably younger than she was. Her eyes were large, blue, and of the most languishing softness; and her abounding hair, which descended in long natural ringlets to her shoulders, was almost flaxen. In person she was tall and beautifully formed, but beginning to show slight symptoms of becoming a little more plump than was consistent with that exquisite perfection of youthful beauty of which she had been justly considered, in her own particular style, as a model.

  How it happened that this beautiful Arabella Morrison, with a fortune of several thousands a year, over which no human being had any control but herself — bow she had contrived to reach the age of twenty-eight years, without being tempted to bestow herself and her thousands upon some one of the very many who had smiled and mourned, knelt and prayed, in the hope of being taken into life-long partnership by the banker’s fair daughter, was a mystery to many.

  The answer which perhaps most nearly approached the solution of it, was given by her giddy young sister Lucy, when she was questioned on the subject by the nurse, who had been very much like a mother to her since the early death of her real parent. “What can be the reason, Miss Lucy, that your sister, with all her beauty, and all her money, has never got a husband yet? Why, my dear, she is going on very fast for thirty.”

  This speech from Nurse Norris produced the following reply from Lucy, who was at the moment very busily engaged in examining some part of her own bridal paraphernalia.

  “I think I can tell you the reason, Nurse Norris,” she said.

  “She admires and adores her beautiful rich self too much, to think that any one who has yet asked her to bestow herself upon him is worthy of such a treasure.”

  “Why, then, in that c
ase, Lucy dear,” returned Nurse Norris, “it is likely she will die an old maid at last, notwithstanding her being such a beauty and heiress.”

  “No! — not if she has the luck of ever seeing any one sufficiently worth having, to make her pay a good price for him.”

  “But if she goes on much longer,” rejoined Nurse Norris, “she may have to ask the question her own self, Miss Lucy; for those that the like of Miss Morrison would call good matches, generally like something young, as well as rich.”

  “Well! — we shall see, Goody!” returned the busy bride-elect. “All I know is, that she has made Count Adolphe promise to take her to Germany with us; and so now you may go on with your packing, without wasting any more time in gossip.... And if I do not find everything in the most beautiful apple-pie order for starting by the day after to-morrow, I will leave you behind me, as sure as your name is Nurse Norris!”

  The only reply to this threat was given by a very fond nurselike kiss upon the forehead of the pretty threatener.

  But we must leap the gulf between this threat and the safe establishment of the bridal party, of which Nurse Norris made an important part, at the far-away German castle of Count Steinfeld.

  It may easily be imagined that Schloss Schwanberg was not the last of the noble mansions in the neighbourhood whose gates were opened to receive the gay bridal party which it was expected would so greatly enliven the society.

  The meeting between the bridegroom and his affectionately-remembered friend, Rupert, was as cordially friendly as their parting had been.

  Had Adolphe not returned as a married man, it is possible that Rupert, notwithstanding all his deep resolves to retain to his dying day his passionless respect for Gertrude, might have felt, in spite of himself, that the renewal of acquaintance between her, and her former adorer, might produce a change in the present even tenor of their life at Schloss Schwanberg, which would not tend to the general happiness of its inhabitants.