Her brother-in-law was the person standing next to her; but though she anxiously addressed repeated questions to him, respecting the melancholy particulars of the catastrophe, it was evident that he was paying too earnest a degree of attention to the gentleman who seemed to know most on the subject, to be able to listen to her plaintive voice with the attention which it of course deserved.
But this state of affairs did not last long. The gentle creature was far too deeply interested by the melancholy catastrophe of which they were speaking, to endure such heartless indifference; and therefore, crossing her ivory arms upon her bosom, and raising her eyes to Heaven, as an appeal either against the cruel severity of the elements, or the hard indifference of her brother-in-law, she glided across the window to the spot where Rupert stood, and gently laying her fingers on the arm of the almost unconscious young librarian, she murmured her gentle inquiries; first, in French, which she spoke with an accent which rendered it pretty nearly intelligible, and then in English, which, as she well knew, was his mother-tongue.
“Tell me,” said she, “for the love of Heaven, how much of this terrible story is true! I am not made to endure these horrors with indifference! Life lost! Human life! And so utterly without preparation! Oh tell me, Monsieur Rupert! Tell me that it is not true!”
To this pathetic appeal, the hard-hearted Rupert only replied by the unfeeling words, “I beg your pardon, madame, but I did not exactly hear what you said;” and then, abruptly turning to the individual he had been listening to, he appeared, and probably really was, utterly forgetful of her presence.
Gertrude watched all this, and smiled, for she could not help it, at the minauderies of the beauty; but as tricks such as she was now displaying were with her of every-day recurrence, she found nothing in them to account for Lucy’s air of extreme amusement.
“What is there, Lucy, in the dismal history they are giving there, that makes you look so mischievously merry?” said Gertrude, turning to her, after watching the group for a minute or two.
“My dear, darling girl, you must be the very dullest soul alive, if you find nothing to amuse you in what is going on there!.... But perhaps you do not comprehend it, Gertrude? Perhaps you never before saw a lady pay her addresses to a gentleman?”
Gertrude coloured. She felt that she did comprehend it, and would gladly have lost her usually delicate bloom for a month, could she thereby have avoided betraying emotion at that moment.
The Countess Adolphe looked at her archly, and laughed. “You look absolutely shocked, my dear! It is rather a particular manner of making a conquest, but I am so used to it, that I don’t mind it at all. Arabella has not fallen in love for nearly three months, I think, and upon my word, upon this occasion, she has, in my opinion, chosen a charming subject; for Mr. Rupert is not only the handsomest man I ever saw (excepting Adolphe, of course), but he must be a charming person, or he could not be Adolphe’s dear friend. And moreover, my dear girl,” continued the chattering little bride, “I shall really approve her marrying this young man excessively. Of course he can’t have much money of his own, or he would not be living with your papa as his librarian; and Arabella’s eighty thousand pounds sterling will be a very good catch for him, won’t it?”
The Baroness Gertrude, young as she still was, had been too long accustomed to the necessity of maintaining an appearance of composure, while every pulse was throbbing with painful emotion, to betray the feelings which this startling speech occasioned; and it was perhaps because she was accustomed to this painful task, that she now performed it so well. She had neither recourse to looking at the carpet, or at her fan; but quietly turning her eyes towards the group at the window, she said, “What can have put so strange an idea into your head, dear Lucy?”
“Exactly what must put it into your head too, my dear, if you are not blind,” replied the laughing bride.
“You need not he afraid to look at her, Gertrude,” she continued; “for when she is in this condition, she neither knows nor cares who looks at her, nor what they may think of her proceedings. I certainly never did see anybody quite like her, in this respect; but I suppose that is because it is so very seldom, you know, that one does see a girl with eighty thousand pounds sterling, entirely and altogether her own mistress. Why, you know, if she chose to marry Mr. Rupert’s servant, if he happens to have one, there is no one in the wide world that could prevent her. She knows this as well as I do, and that’s the reason that she seems to care so little what people may think of her. As to Adolphe and me, I give you my word and honour, Gertrude, that we would not take the trouble of walking across the room to prevent her marrying a shoe-black, if she took it into her head. We are quite rich enough, and I believe we shall both of us he monstrously glad when she takes herself off. And then, as to this young man, it would, of course, he a very pleasant thing to dear Adolphe to see him so well provided for. I really believe that he loves him as well as if he were his own brother.”
During this long speech, Gertrude remained with her eyes pretty steadily fixed upon the speaker; so steadily, indeed, that Lucy at last exclaimed, “Why do you look at me, Gertrude? You might have the fun of watching them, without losing a word that I am saying. Do just look their way for one moment, Gertrude. There is nothing ridiculous in him, I don’t mean that. He is looking as grave as a judge all the time. But it is a perfect treat to watch Arabella! Do you think, my dear, that any woman ever did actually melt and dissolve herself into a dew by the mere influence of the tender passion? Because if such a catastrophe ever could happen, depend upon it, Gertrude, it is going to happen now.”
The Baroness Gertrude smiled, but it was a grave, proud sort of smile, and by no means satisfied Lucy.
“Do you mean never to laugh again, that you miss so glorious an opportunity?” said she, again fixing her eyes upon the group at the window; and then, as if words were inadequate to express her enjoyment, she inflicted a merry pinch upon the arm of her resolute quite neighbour, murmuring in her ear at the same time, “Upon my honour, I think she will kiss him! I do, upon my word and honour, Gertrude; and if you will not look at them this moment, I don’t think that I will ever speak to you again!”
What might have happened next, either to the observers or the observed, had the dinner not been announced at that moment, it is impossible to say; but at this critical juncture the master of the house stepped forward, and presenting his arm to the most nobly allied married lady in the party, led the way to the diningroom.
Gertrude was so placed at the long table, around which the company were marshalled, that she could not see the pair who had afforded her friend such exquisite amusement; she only knew that they must be seated together, because she happened to turn her head as she crossed the hall, and perceived that the beautiful Arabella was hanging on the arm of Rupert.
But had she not seen this, she would have been aware of the fact from the numerous glances cast by the young Countess, who sat opposite to her, towards the lower end at the same side at which Gertrude herself was seated. As each of these somewhat indiscreetly long glances produced a smile on the saucy face of Lucy, which she took no pains to conceal, there could be little doubt that the manœuvrings of her sister were proceeding in the same style which had afforded her so much amusement in the drawing-room.
But Gertrude had not so long endured the deep-seated persuasion that the affection which Rupert felt for her was that of a brother to his sister, — she had not so long meditated upon this conviction with the unshrinking resolution of a stoic, without having taught herself to expect that she should some time or other have to watch his becoming enamoured of some other woman. And now, it seemed that the time for this had come; and the desperate sort of courage with which she determined to bear it well, might have gone far towards assisting a martyr at the utmost need.
Had she yielded with a little more complaisance to the earnest entreaties of her friend Lucy, during the discussion of the thunderstorm at the window of the drawing-room, and watched th
e cold indifference, or rather the utter unconsciousness with which Rupert suffered the fair lady’s glances and sighs to pass over him, she might have spared herself a great deal of very unnecessary suffering.
The evening of this day was, as usual, spent in music. Gertrude very rarely sang, and never in so large a party. The tone of her voice was deliciously sweet, but Madame Odenthal was the only one who was fully aware of this fact; for, conscious that she had little power, and less science, the act of singing in company was really painful to her; and with her usual quiet perseverance in doing what she thought rational, she had taught her friends and acquaintance to leave off asking her to sing.
But she played well, and had of late found solitary practice a great resource, as well as the means of great improvement. She therefore no longer declined to play when invited to do so; and she was, perhaps, proud to feel, that upon the present occasion she was as much mistress of her fingers, as if there were no such person as Arabella Morrison in the world. It so happened, that on the present occasion, one of Count Steinfeld’s guests was a young man of very prepossessing appearance, who was a stranger in the neighbourhood, though his family were near neighbours to the Count; but the young Baron Nordorffe was an officer in the Austrian service, and having been more with his family at Vienna than in the country, was personally a stranger in the vicinity of his father’s country residence. This young man had been amusing himself during the long interval passed at the dinner-table, in comparing the beauty of the English Arabella, with that of his countrywoman, Gertrude. They had both sat opposite to him, so he enjoyed a favourable opportunity for the study of both.
Under any and every imaginable circumstance, the marked contrast between them must have been striking to every one, but it was not well possible for this to have been displayed better than on the present occasion. The flaxen-haired Arabella rarely sat still for many seconds together. She had always too much to do, to permit this. She had to arrange her curls; she had to show off her hands and arms; she had to find or make opportunities for displaying her teeth; and, what was much more important than all the rest, she had to perform without ceasing, all those wonderful evolutions with her eyes, which she certainly considered as the most important of all her social duties.
The young Baron Nordorffe certainly thought her wonderfully beautiful, even before he found out that she was wonderfully amusing also; and for some time, he devoted to her pretty nearly all the attention which a young gentleman who had taken a good deal of active morning exercise, could spare from his dinner.
An object in perpetual movement when full in sight of us, is pretty sure to attract the eye; but sometimes it will also happen that the eye fixes itself upon an object because it is perfectly at rest; and thus it was, that after the young Baron Nordorffe had amused himself for some time by the ceaseless mobility of Arabella, he turned his eyes, as if for repose, on the quiet loveliness of Gertrude.
It was impossible, perhaps, that this loveliness could have been displayed with greater effect than it then was, most unconsciously to the pre-occupied girl herself. The contrast was in every way favourable to her; for not only was her beauty of a higher order, but the composure of her demeanour had as much of dignity as indifference in it. A waiting-maid, or a milliner, might have played all the tricks that Arabella was performing, without any difficulty whatever; but it is only a gentlewoman who can be sufficiently at ease in society to look as Gertrude did.
Baron Nordorffe was just then particularly unlikely to fall in love, because his head, and his heart too, were very fully occupied by a much more important affair. He had, in fact, very strong hopes of being appointed aide-de-camp to an amiable and highly fashionable general officer, and till this very interesting question was settled, he could not occupy himself seriously about anything else; nevertheless, he had certainly found considerable amusement from occasionally fixing his handsome eyes, first on the one fair lady, and then on the other; and, despite his preoccupation, he was sufficiently interested by the appearance and manner of Gertrude, to request his hostess to present him to her, when they returned to the drawing-room.
Baron Nordorffe, like the majority of his countrymen, was really fond of music, and he knew enough about it too, to be quite aware that the performance of the Baroness Gertrude was of no common order; and even if he had not thought her the handsomest woman in the room, he would probably have hovered near her with the same marked attention till the party separated.
His doing so produced, however, no very great impression upon her of any kind. He was a gentlemanlike and conversable young man, and she felt neither bored, nor even fatigued, by his talking to her; for it was by no means part of her system to have recourse to her own thoughts for amusement while in the company of others.
Whether on the present occasion these thoughts, less obedient than usual, might have wandered a little from the lively metropolitan gossip of her new acquaintance, to the information she had received from Lucy respecting the present tender passion of her sister, it would be hardly fair to inquire. If it were so, she gave no symptom that such thoughts had made any impression on her, for she returned homo at night apparently in the same equable state of spirits as usual.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
BUT the events of the day had not passed over the mind of Rupert so lightly.
As to the beauteous Arabella, however, it would have been quite “all one that she should have loved some bright particular star, and thought to wed it,” as that she should hope to make any impression upon the heart of the Baron von Schwanberg’s librarian.
He certainly must have been rather a singular young man; for it is a positive fact, that neither upon this occasion nor upon any other which had preceded it, had she made more impression upon his heart, or even upon his memory, than her pet dog had done. Had he been urged to give an opinion upon the merits of either, he could only have complied by making an effort to think more on the subject than he had yet done; and then, if he had answered with perfect honesty, he must have replied that he thought them both rather troublesome.
But although the unfortunate young man had forgotten all about her eyes, and her arms, and all the rest of her numberless claims to admiration, he had not forgotten any of the manœuvres of Baron Nordorffe, by which he had contrived to occupy the attention of Gertrude during great part of the evening.
It would be an o’er long tale to tell how well the idle notion of her inherited pride had served him as a shield against all her beauty, all her sympathy of mind, and all her kindness to his mother. But the ill-supported fabric fell at last; and long, very long before he was himself aware of his own condition, he loved her with all the devotion of an ardent and powerfully developed character.
If Gertrude on her side had loved him less, he would have been more likely to discover that her feelings towards him offered no absolutely fatal barrier to his wishes.
It was the consciousness of her own unchangeable but unasked-for love, which had made her so strongly feel the necessity of reserve; nay, of more than reserve.
She felt the necessity of adopting a line of conduct which might not only prove her indifference to him, but give him reason to suppose, that either from love of power, or an extreme fastidiousness, she was extremely likely to remain unmarried.
As no hope of possessing her was ever permitted to cross his fancy, the idea of her remaining single, was the most fortunate for himself that could have entered his head; for it fostered all his habits of study, and often suggested the idea of their latter years being still passed in a community of literary occupation, which would place him about mid-way between misery and happiness.
It was in this state of mind that he went to Paris, and in this state of mind he continued till the acceptance of the Count Hernwold dispelled this (certainly) rather presumptuous hope.
But the mind of Rupert Odenthal was not fitted to be the receptacle of despair. He certainly abandoned this hope of remaining the librarian of Schloss Schwanberg to his dying day; but
, after meditating through a few sleepless nights, he at length came to the conclusion that the approaching event would set his spirit more completely at rest, and more perfectly free, than it had ever been before; and the idea of becoming a solitary, undisturbed, literary man, and so remaining to his dying day, began to have charms for him.
At least he fancied so; but, altogether, it must be confessed that he occasionally felt a good deal like a man who had been suffering from delirium; and it was only when this doubtful, dreamy sort of sensation left him, that he became conscious of his still pitiable weakness. No sooner did this consciousness return, than his efforts to emancipate himself returned likewise. Without having any over-weening opinion of himself, he certainly felt that nature had designed him for something better than a love-lorn, hopeless swain, whose existence was to wear away in pining for a blessing that was beyond his reach.
“There is so much,” thought he, “to which I may reasonably aspire, that the fixing my wishes upon what I can never obtain, would be acting considerably more like a spoiled child, than a reasonable man.”
And fortified by this admirable philosophy, he was enabled to act, to speak, and even to look with such uniform forbearance and propriety, that a much vainer woman than Gertrude might hare been led to the conclusion at which she had arrived respecting his constant and unchangeable indifference towards her.
During the visit at Count Steinfeld’s, which has been described in the last chapter, he had, however, the mortification of fearing that he had not advanced so far towards real, genuine, and sincere indifference, as he had flattered himself. He was provoked and indignant at his own weakness, as he felt the hot blood mounting to his temples, while he marked the evident admiration of the young stranger, and on leaving his pillow on the following morning, whereon he had not dreamed, but meditated, he resolved, for the first time, to lead his mother into conversation on the subject of Gertrude, both as concerned the marriage which had been so abruptly broken off at Paris, and on the conquest which she had, in his opinion, so evidently made on the preceding evening.
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 461