Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  But, as the case stood now, the pleasure of the meeting was equal on both sides, and unmixed with any drawback whatever. Even the sort of embarrassment which might have arisen, either from an awkward allusion, or from no allusion at all, to this violent first-love fit of the bridegroom, was effectually prevented by the light and frolicsome tone in which Adolphe himself now recurred to it.

  “Do you remember how distractedly I behaved about that nice, good, quiet girl at Schwanberg, Rupert?” said he. “How on earth I ever came to take it into my head that I was in love with her, I shall never be able to comprehend, if I were to live a thousand years; for, the real fact is, she was by no means the sort of girl I admire. As I think of her now, it really seems to me that I must have pretended to be in love, in order to amuse myself. Do you remember all about it, Rupert?”

  “Yes; perfectly,” replied Rupert with a quiet smile.

  “Oh! I don’t wonder at your laughing, for I perfectly well remember, too, that you told me at the time, that you did not see any beauty in her.... And, I daresay, you were very right. But do you also remember the ‘Almanack de Gotha?’ How many a good laugh have I had, from remembering that scene with the stiff-backed old baron! Has she ever had any offers since, Rupert?”

  “Oh, yes! I believe so. She was very much admired at Paris,” was Rupert’s discreet reply.

  “Perhaps the tender-hearted Parisians found out that she was an heiress?” returned Adolphe. “But the warlike Gauls would have no chance whatever with the baron and his ‘Almanack.’”

  “Probably not,” returned Rupert; “and so little, on the whole, did the baron like his Parisian campaign, that I advise you, Count, not to allude to it, if you wish to keep him in good humour.”

  “If you call me COUNT, I will shoot you, Rupert. So you had better keep me, too, in good humour, I promise you. And if you could contrive to make the baron talk a little about the ‘Almanack de Gotha’ before my wife, I should really take it as a very particular kindness, my dear friend, for she is the most laughter-loving little animal that ever was born.”

  Rupert answered him very gravely, that if he, Rupert, was to be kept in good humour, it could only be done by not laughing at the baron at all.

  “If your young wife, my dear Adolphe, deserves the happiness of being your wife, as much as I hope and trust she does,” continued Rupert, earnestly, “she will soon learn to value his daughter too highly to find food for mirth in anything that would be painful to her.”

  “Re not too serious with me, my dear old friend!” returned Adolphe, with a feeling that was anything rather than jocose. “If I, indeed, thought my dear laughing little wife was really capable of wounding the feelings of a good daughter, for the sake of a joke which might amuse herself, I should be very likely to run away from her. I daresay you do not know yourself as well as I know you, Rupert, or you might give me credit for sounder judgment than you are now, perhaps, likely to attribute to me, when I tell you that I have never, since we parted in the forest yonder, met with any one whom I could consider as worthy to rival you as my chosen friend. I must have recourse, I believe, to that delightful entreaty — pardon me for being jocular — which we enjoyed so heartily together some half-dozen years ago; but, notwithstanding this dangerous propensity, which has certainly been greatly increased by my union with Madame la Contessa Adolphe Steinfeld, I am quite aware, Rupert, that I have not yet met with any man whom I considered as your equal; and as long as I feel this, you need not fear that I should do or say anything that could pain you, for the sake of a jest.”

  This conversation was of considerable importance in fostering the intimacy between the noble houses of Schwanberg and Steinfeld; for Gertrude would never have endured the seeing her father made an object of ridicule, or even of playful sport, by the young English stranger, although she was well inclined to profit by her vicinity, and to assist her own schemes for the arrangement of a very cheerful and happy existence, without running the risks which might perhaps be incurred by any more visits to gay capitals.

  The amusement of the neighbourhood, when welcoming and feting the fair strangers, was probably not a little increased by watching the remarkable contrast between them.

  It took Rupert but little time to arrive at a tolerably decided conclusion respecting both the ladies, and he rejoiced with very affectionate sincerity that the choice of his friend Rupert had fallen on the younger sister. Towards her, he felt disposed to feel, and to cherish, very friendly sentiments; for, amidst all her wild rattle, he discerned considerable shrewdness of observation, and, what was better still, a cheerful temper and a loving heart. Moreover, it was easy enough for an observer less interested on the subject than himself, to see that she was devoted, heart and soul, to her husband; and that, in the midst of all her frolics, the idea of amusing and pleasing him was the prevailing thought, and the inspiring motive.

  Of the elder sister, Gertrude, at least, formed a very different judgment. In point of personal beauty, indeed, she thought that there could be no second opinion; for, in her estimation, Miss Morrison was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen; while, to the miniature bride, she could not accord any epithet more flattering than “pretty” Beyond this opinion respecting her beauty, however, not even her very sincere wish to like her new neighbours, could enable her to add a single word that betokened either admiration or approval of the elder. She thought her imperious, affected, vain, and capricious; and there was something in her manner of attracting and receiving the attentions of every man whom she thought it worth her while to notice at all, which was so totally unlike anything Gertrude had ever seen before, as to puzzle as well as disconcert her.

  Probably, however, neither her liking for the younger sister, nor her disliking of the elder, had much immediate influence on the intercourse which followed. It was speedily a settled point in the neighbourhood, that the English ladies were to be welcomed among them by every possible species of hospitality; and for several weeks this amiable project prospered in every direction. The old became young, and the young became brilliant; and a somewhat remote province of Germany seemed in a fair way of rivalling the memories of Brighton and Ryde, in the judgment of the English sisters.

  But, decidedly, the individual who enjoyed all this the most, was the Baroness Gertrude.

  She had, indeed, previously pretty well made up her mind to the belief that she not only was, but she was sure to continue so, exceedingly happy in the mode of life which she had arranged for herself, that nothing more was, or could be, wished for. But when she perceived the marked change which the return of Count Adolphe made in the existence of Rupert, she began to think differently.

  That Rupert was as much superior in mind and information to all her noble friends and acquaintances, as he was inferior to them in rank and fortune, was a truth that was too deeply impressed upon her mind to be ever overlooked or forgotten; and notwithstanding her resolute spirit of content, she did sometimes sigh in secret, as she remembered how completely he was shut out from all intercourse with that stirring world, of whose marvellously rapid onward movement she was made tolerably well aware by the unbound compartment of her library.

  Her mother’s often-expressed opinion of Rupert’s intellectual superiority, had certainly left a deep impression on her memory; and this, together with her own consciousness that it had never yet been her lot to meet any one else whose mind seemed in harmony with her own, or could be in harmony with his, made her often sigh in secret that there were no means within her reach, by which she could assist him to break through the barrier that seemed to separate him from all whose talents and acquirements could render them fitting companions for him.

  The mistake which Rupert had fallen into, of fancying that the young Gertrude beheld Count Adolphe with especial favour, originated solely in her almost unconscious gratitude to that highly-talented young noble for having selected their obscure librarian as his favourite companion and most intimate friend; and the evident and eager pleasure w
ith which this intimacy was now renewed by the travelled bridegroom, and welcomed by the remote and almost solitary scholar, again caused Gertrude (who was in no danger now of being so inconveniently mistaken) to profit by every possible opportunity of bringing the families together.

  In this object she certainly succeeded to the utmost extent of her wishes; for scarcely a day passed without their meeting. But as Count Adolphe was no longer a single man, who could, without impediment, trot over the three miles which divided them, either with or without the assistance of his horse; their almost constant companionship could not have been achieved, had not Gertrude encouraged his young bride to accompany him, both on foot and on horseback.

  Fortunately, this young bride was really a very charming little girl; and having wisely made up her mind that somehow or other she must, and would, learn to talk German, she speedily discovered that the Baroness Gertrude was the only individual she had yet met with, who at all understood how to teach her.

  This would all have gone on very completely to Gertrude’s satisfaction, had this extreme intimacy of intercourse been confined to Count Adolphe and his gay little wife; but, unfortunately, the beautiful Miss Morrison did not permit it to continue long, before she gave her sister to understand that it was her will and pleasure to be included in the horse and foot expeditions to Schloss Schwanberg, which were of such constant recurrence.

  “But you cannot go there every morning, as I do, Arabella, unless the Baroness Gertrude invites you,” remonstrated the young Countess Adolphe.

  “Do not give yourself any trouble on that account, Lucy,” was Miss Morrison’s reply; “only let me know at what hour you mean to set off to-morrow morning, and I will manage about the invitation for myself.”

  “What nonsense!” exclaimed Lucy, shrugging her shoulders.

  “You could not walk there, and back again, as I do, without fancying yourself half killed; and as to your riding! Mercy on me! Just fancy yourself and your ringlets trotting away upon such a pony as Adolphe has got for me!”

  These remonstrances were very reasonable, and founded on truths incontrovertible. But women are wilful — pretty women particularly so; and when wealth is added, without either father, mother, brother, or husband to control the wishes and whims of the fair possessor, this wilfulness sometimes assumes a degree of power and activity that becomes troublesome to those within its influence.

  CHAPTER XXXVI.

  “USE lessens marvel.” It would have been considered as a strange and portentous spectacle a year or two before, if Schloss Schwanberg had been seen any single day of the year, under the same aspect as it might now be contemplated every day, and sometimes all day long.

  The hall-door seemed now to be always standing open, instead of being always solemnly shut. The library was no longer sacred to Rupert and his catalogue; but Adolphe von Steinfeld might be seen, stretched at easy, if not at lazy length upon the sofas of this noble apartment, with more than one precious volume within easy reach of his hand there, though he might have sought for such in vain for many an Austrian mile around him.

  And Rupert was there too, but no longer like the deeply-read and careful librarian, gravely, in youthful earnestness inhaling, as it seemed, the atmosphere around him, and thankful to Heaven in his very soul, that if shut out by destiny from free communion with human hearts, he was thus enabled to exercise his intellect, side by side as it were, with the highest order of human minds. Rupert no longer passed his long mornings in solitude; nor was his free and easy friend Adolphe his only companion. For the pretty little Lucy had a great notion that she too had a taste for books; and in order to prove this to the entire satisfaction of her dearly beloved Adolphe, she rarely, or rather never suffered any of their long lounging morning visits to be brought to a conclusion without insisting upon it, that Gertrude should go with her into the library, not exactly for the purpose of reading, but in order to look at all the beautiful books, and make her clever husband, and his first-rate learned friend Rupert, talk about them.

  In all this literary lounging the beautiful Arabella took her part, although the doing so, was so striking an innovation upon her usual habits, that her sister, naturally enough, remarked upon it; and had more than once asked her what pleasure she could possibly find in sitting, or in lounging about for hours together, in a great big room, without a single looking-glass in it.

  “I suppose I find the same kind of pleasure that you and Gertrude do,” was once her reply.

  “Oh! dear no, Arabella! that is quite impossible!” returned the indignant bride. “Without ever saying a word about Gertrude, although she certainly is my very particular friend, I have, I should hope, reason enough to like to be there. If you could but be so lucky, Arabella, as to find some one handsome enough, and grand enough, to give yourself and your fortune to, you would know, without my telling you, what it is that makes me so fond of the Schwanberg library.”

  “Upon my word, my dear child, you make yourself as great a fool about your husband, as you do about everything else. If I were in your place, Lucy, I should be positively ashamed of showing such excessive fondness for any man. If Adolphe were ten times my husband, I would not follow him about as you do.”

  “You do not know what you are talking about, Arabella! When you are married yourself, my dear, I shall be much more inclined to listen to your opinion.”

  “And in that case it is most probable that my opinion would not be so much worth having,” replied the beauty. “However, while things remain as they are,” she added, “I shall do all I can to prevent your making yourself appear too ridiculous in the eyes of the Baroness Gertrude, and, it may be, of your husband, also; and of course, my taking care to be always with you, will be the most effectual way of achieving this important object.” Lucy looked in her face and laughed, but said nothing. It was a saucy look, and might have said, being interpreted, “do not trouble yourself!” The baron, meanwhile, had every appearance of being in better health and spirits than his daughter ever remembered to have seen him enjoy. Nor was she at all mistaken in this opinion; Baron von Schwanberg never had felt himself so happy before.

  It had certainly been with the expectation of finding a more illustrious son-in-law among the numerous admirers who were sure to crowd round his heiress in the splendid salons of Paris, than he could hope to meet with in the retirement of his noble, but remote castle, that he had made the joyless excursion which, in every sense, had cost him so dear; and it is highly probable that he would have sunk into very hopeless dejection, in consequence of what befel him in the course of it, had he not been sustained by firmer spirits than his own. But now, instead of this, he really felt himself a happier man than he had ever been in his whole life before. In the first place he had inflicted indignity in the very hour when he was tortured by the idea of receiving it. In the next, he felt, on returning to his own isolated baronial greatness, that no other greatness could bear a comparison with it in real dignity. And then came the agreeable surprise of finding that he was beloved, as well as reverenced, by those whose industry furnished his revenues; and last, but not least among the subjects he found for self-gratulation, was the discovery that he had not offended his good and noble neighbours of Steinfeld, by pointing out to them the lamentable fact, that their names were not to be found in the “Almanack de Gotha.”

  All this, joined to the unhoped-for blessing of seeing his heiress apparently as happy as himself, might well account for the fact that the stately baron condescended to give symptoms of being a very contented, as well as a very dignified old man.

  Had the case been otherwise, Gertrude would never have ventured, nay, she would never have wished to promote this daily and familiar intercourse with their neighbours, as cordially as she now did; nor was there any great self-delusion in her believing that she did so as much for her father’s sake, as for Rupert’s.

  But assuredly Rupert’s share in the matter was not trifling. No woman, perhaps, ever believed herself more sincerely in earn
est than Gertrude did, when she made up her mind to renounce, at once and for ever, every hope, every dream, of Rupert Odenthal’s ever becoming attached to her. But this was, in her estimation, a reason for, rather than against, the doing everything which was in her power for his permanent advantage.

  “Had Rupert loved me,” thought she, “I could have passed many happy years of life in quietly watching the development of his admirable mind, and in teaching myself to become in some degree worthy of being the companion of his life.... The happiness of my dear father would still have been the first and holiest of my daily cares; and when he should have been taken from mo, I would have become the wife of Rupert, with no fear that the spirit of my father, if removed to a higher sphere, would contemplate with displeasure my uniting myself to the most exalted being I have ever met with in this.... But now my object must he different. Rupert loves me not. But shall I withdraw my aid from him for this? Rupert must he as a brother to me; and I have only to fancy myself a few years older than I am, and that I am his elder sister (somewhat unjustly made my father’s heiress), in order to render all that I intend to do as easy as it will be righteous. But it would he very sad, should he be forced by his position here, to pass years of solitary thought, and solitary study, without any companion capable of doing him justice. Adolphe de Steinfeld is full of bright intelligence, and he does Rupert justice. Accident has thrown them into great intimacy, and it shall not be my fault if this ripen not into close and life-long friendship.”

  It was thus she reasoned, and upon this reasoning she acted. In one respect, at least, this scheme worked pleasantly, and succeeded well for no day passed without bringing the two young men together, and no sorrow followed without the feelings of mutual sympathy and esteem between them being increased.