The words so lightly spoken by his friend, produced a degree of agitation both in heart and head, which it required a very strong effort to conceal; but the effort was made, and not in vain. Where fortitude and self-command are imperatively called for, from such a man as Rupert Odenthal, they are rarely found wanting.
“May I ask you to explain yourself?” said Rupert, quietly.
“Yes, you may,” replied his friend, with the same tone of unsuspicious gaiety with which he had began the subject; “and I will answer you, too, if you will promise not to shoot me, by way of punishing the impertinence of my wife; she actually offered me a bet the other day, with very long odds in my favour too, that you would be married to the Baroness Gertrude von Schwanberg before two years were over. Before I took the bet, however, I was generous enough to tell her that she was taking a leap in the dark, and that I was not; for that I happened to know, from the very best possible authority, that the Baroness Gertrude’s style of beauty did not please your fancy.”
“Such an assurance must have been sufficient, I should think, to convince the fair lady that she was wrong,” replied Rupert, with a very masterly command of voice.
“Not a bit!” returned Adolphe, laughing; “my wife is the most resolute little creature I ever knew. Her only answer was,. ‘Will you take the bet, Adolphe? Ten English sovereigns against ten German thalers.’ Excessively obstinate of the little creature, was it not?”
“The Countess Adolphe looks upon sovereigns as we do upon counters,” replied Rupert, with a somewhat unmeaning smile.
“No! that is not the right explanation, Rupert. English ladies, both young and old, know the value of sovereigns perfectly well. But the best part of the joke is, that with all the confidence she expresses about winning her bet, she declares that the love is altogether on the lady’s side, and that, as yet, you are perfectly heart-whole. But she is, in truth, a most enthusiastic admirer of the Countess Gertrude, ten times more so than ever I was in my tenderest days, before I was choked with the Gotha Almanack; and she predicts that, despite the nymph of the fountain, and the middle-aged lady before mentioned, your hard heart will be melted at last, and that you will return her tender passion.”
The very respectable degree of composure with which this prophecy was listened to, did Rupert Odenthal great credit; the only symptom he gave of not being in a state of perfect selfpossession, was his attempting to take his leave immediately, without saying another word concerning the important business which had brought him there. Fortunately, however, Count Adolphe was less thoughtless.
“Do not go, Rupert!” said he, laughingly detaining him by the arm; “for pity’s sake don’t leave me without giving me some few instructions as to what is to be done or said to Arabella — If I comprehend your modest hints aright, you have received from, by, or with the consent of my rich, fair, and rare, sister-in-law, an intimation that if you are in love with her, you will find no reason either to hang or drown yourself. Is this, in sober earnest, the fact?”
“Unless the baron has mistaken her,” replied Rupert (looking a good deal provoked at having such an avowal to make), “such is the case.”
“And what answer to this delicate intimation do you mean to return?”
“I wish,” replied Rupert, very coaxingly, “that the answer could be given in the shape of advice from her friends, without letting her know that I had ever been made acquainted with her generous condescension.”
“Excellent!” cried the greatly-amused Adolphe; “and may I ask which of her Mends you would select to perform this pleasant office?”
“Of course I cannot presume to give such a commission to any one,” replied Rupert; “for as the person whom she selected as her ambassador evidently intends to have no more to do with her, there is no one from whom I have any right to ask such a service. But if Madame la Comtessa—”
“What! My poor dear little wife?” exclaimed Adolphe. “Have you really the cruelty to inflict such a task upon her?.... Why, it must be in revenge, I think, for her having hinted the disagreeable surmise about the Baroness Gertrude, which I mentioned to you just now. Fie, Rupert! Fie!”
The two young men stood looking at each other for a minute or two, with aspects as strongly contrasted as those of Tragedy and Comedy; till at length, the good-natured Adolphe took pity upon his really embarrassed Mend, and said, “I cannot look quite so grave as you do about it, my dear Rupert, but the silly girl must be answered in some way. She has a faith absolutely fanatic in the power of her own beauty, and her own wealth; and I do verily believe that she thinks, in all sincerity, that any man, and every man, would be delighted to marry her, if he could. But, in this particular instance, I have no doubt that still another cause has helped to make a fool of her, and that she has taken this most absurd step in consequence of a conversation which took place among us the other day, respecting the different customs which prevail in different countries as to the mode of marrying, and giving in marriage. I observed at the time, that she listened very attentively to my father’s statement concerning the manner in which the friends of the parties negotiate the affair for them; and you may depend upon it, that she thought, by employing the superb baron, she was commencing a negotiation in the most dignified and approved style possible.”
“Very likely,” replied Rupert, looking very little comforted by this suggestion; “but it really seems to me as if the baron thought so too.”
“And if he does, I think you must get the Baroness Gertrude to talk to him,” returned Adolphe. “Her influence over him, you know, is unbounded,” he continued; “and if my sharp-witted little wife is right in the notion I have just mentioned to you respecting her, she will be sure of finding some way or other of convincing her noble papa that he must himself put an extinguisher on the tender passion of my admirable sister-in-law.”
The kind-hearted Adolphe was one of the last men in the world to say, or to do, what might have given pain to any one; and so sincerely was he attached to Rupert, that he would willingly have endured much pain himself, rather than inflict it on him. But the impression which had been made upon him by the former declaration of his friend, “that he saw no great charm in Gertrude,” was still so fresh in his memory, that it never occurred to him as a thing possible that he could have changed his mind upon the subject. Nor did any such possibility occur to him now. He only saw, in the heightened colour and agitated expression of Rupert’s countenance that he was harassed and ill at ease; and seeing him suddenly preparing to depart, he said, “If you don’t wish to see me quarrel outright with this absurd Arabella, you must snap your fingers at her, Rupert, instead of looking so profoundly miserable. Set your heart at rest, however, as to her doing anything further to annoy you. I did but jest when I exclaimed so loudly against Lucy’s having anything to say to her on the subject. Depend upon it, that if we confide to her the task of informing your fair innamorata that her scheme has not answered, it will cause nothing but mirth to Lucy, and a good deal of impotent rage, perhaps, on the part of Arabella. So set your heart at rest, dear Rupert! If she is likely to be troublesome to any of us, Lucy shall give her a hint that there is some one dying for love of her, either in Pans, or London, or Jerusalem, and she will immediately discover that the climate of Germany does not agree with her.”
It was but a languid sort of smile that poor Rupert bestowed upon his friend in return for the pleasant hopes of a speedy release from the beauty which he thus bestowed upon him; yet, such as they were, they, nevertheless, proved quite sufficient to chase all annoyance on that score from his memory. It was not upon Arabella Morrison that his thoughts were fixed as he slowly rode back to Schloss Schwanberg.
CHAPTER XLIV.
HAD the climate in which the said Schloss Schwanberg was situated been suddenly changed either into that of Asia or of Siberia, the effect of the alteration, both upon Rupert and upon Gertrude, would have been very much less than that produced by the sort of glimmering light which the circumstances just relat
ed had caused to shine on both of them.
So much has already been said explanatory of what their respective feelings really were, that there is no need of repeating it here; and presuming the reader to understand perfectly that they were very devotedly attached to each other, despite the many very strong reasons existing to make such a state of things extremely inconvenient, all that is left for their historian to detail, is the result to which this strangely-assorted attachment eventually led.
It was pretty nearly impossible that such a woman as Madame Odenthal, deficient neither in natural acuteness nor natural affection, could long continue unaware of the complete revolution which had taken place in the state of mind, and, as it seemed, in the character of her son.
Little as she could ever have wished (reasonable and well-principled as she was) that the hardly-tried yet still-devoted love of the high-born heiress should end in a mutual attachment, it would have been unnatural, not to say impossible, for her not to feel pleasure in witnessing the obvious happiness which had quietly taken the place of the uncomplaining but melancholy resignation of Gertrude; while Rupert seemed suddenly endowed with a brilliancy of talent and an energy of character which she had never witnessed in him before, but which it was difficult to witness now without pleasure.
Yet these powerful though often-fluctuating feelings were entirely confined to her own bosom. The young people had already given sufficient proof of firmness of character, to convince her that no lecturing of hers could have any effect beyond that of paining them; and, therefore, after very deliberate consideration of the subject, she determined to let matters take their course; and, to all outward appearance, the relative position of the parties continued to be exactly the same as it ever had been.
Nevertheless, Gertrude had the very great satisfaction of understanding, from a multitude of seemingly trifling circumstances, that this dearly-beloved second mother was aware of the improvement which had taken place in the mental condition of her son. He was, in fact, no longer like the same being; and yet it was only to this mother and Gertrude that his change was perceptible.
To the baron he was, as he always had been, observant, yet unobtrusive; not appearing under embarrassment or restraint of any kind, yet never passing or forgetting the distance which the difference in rank placed between them.
That the baron, therefore, never found out that he was associating with an individual whom he had never known before, is not extraordinary; but such was, in truth, the case.
Not even to each other, however, did Rupert and Gertrude fully open their hearts upon the subject of the future. They scrupled not to deprecate the reserve which had thrown, for years, so deep a gloom over the hearts of both; but not even in the unbounded confidence to which such retrospection necessarily led, did they either of them venture to prophecy of the future.
The reason for this was obvious. As long as the baron lived, the idea of an union between them seemed about equally impossible to both; for Gertrude felt it to be impossible that she should cause her father such pain as this alliance would produce; while Rupert felt it to be equally impossible that he should urge her to do what it was evident her conscience pronounced to be wrong.
But the axiom of our French friends has all the truth of philosophy in it — everything is comparative; and in comparison to the state of mind in which Rupert and Gertrude had passed the last three years of their young lives, their present condition was one of great — of very great happiness.
The comic little embarrassment which the tender passion of the beautiful Arabella occasioned to the ungrateful Rupert, was not permitted to have any very great or lasting effect on this newborn happiness; but as the good feelings of Adolphe were soon awakened, notwithstanding the ceaseless jestings of his wife, to the consciousness that they were doing wrong in permitting her to persevere in her absurdity, he contrived, as gently as he could, to make her understand that Rupert was not at all a marrying man.
On his first using this strictly English phrase in speaking of him, Arabella looked at him with great contempt, and replied, “I don’t think, Mr. Count, that you know much about the matter.”
“At any rate, my dear Arabella,” he replied, “I think I must know more about him than you can do.... I have known him far more years than you have known him months, my dear.”
“That is very possible,” she replied; “but I am a woman, and you are only a man; and everybody allows, you know, that we women understand all about the heart, a great deal better than you men do-”
“And what do you think that you have found out respecting the heart of Rupert Odenthal?” returned her brother-in-law.
“You have no right to ask me any such question,” she replied, with great dignity, adding with another toss of her handsome head; “and I thank God that there is nobody living who has such a right. However,” she continued, “I have no sort of objection to answering you, and I think that I have found out that he would have no sort of objection to marrying me.”
Count Adolphe felt that this sort of light skirmishing would not effect the purpose he had in view, and, therefore, he very courageously ventured to say, “My dear Arabella, I think it is my duty to tell you that you are mistaken.”
She coloured violently, but remained silent for a minute or two, and then said, “On whose authority, Sir, do you tell me this?”
“It is the opinion of the Baron von Schwanberg, Arabella, and, therefore it is mine.... for he is a great deal too wise a man to be mistaken.”
This very judicious answer seemed to have great effect, for she now remained silent for a much longer interval. In fact, she had been waiting with some anxiety for a message from her aged and noble confidant, and not receiving any, concluded, that, from some accident or other, the grand old gentleman had been too constantly engaged to see her in private.
Upon hearing her brother-in-law thus gravely assert, however, that this said grand old gentleman did not believe his librarian was inclined to marry her, every feeling of her heart was converted into absolute hatred towards the despicable individual, who might be the happiest of men, if he were not an idiot.
Could she have had the power of condemning this offending individual to immediate destruction, it is extremely likely that, in the frame of mind which she was in at that moment, she would have done it; but as, fortunately, this power was wanting, she sought the relief of solitude, and having reached her own apartment, she locked herself into it as carefully as if she expected to he besieged.
She had not, however, enjoyed this uninterrupted solitude long, before she had very resolutely determined the plan of conduct she should pursue.
It did not take her long to decide, that the low-born Rupert, notwithstanding his stately figure, and his handsome face, was neither more nor less than a clown and a fool; and as such, she threw all remembrance of him to the winds.
In fact, as she very vehemently told herself, he was not worth a thought, and she would not give him one. But her “little vixen of a sister” was not to escape so easily. Arabella felt strongly persuaded that she, and her Dutch husband (as she constantly called Adolphe when she was angry with him), had been in some way or other the cause of her noble and most generous feelings having been so basely requited; and it took her but a very short time to decide upon the mode of vengeance she would adopt, in order to be revenged.
“They think,” she muttered, “that because I am still unmarried, I am in want of them, and their precious protection! They think that they are sure of carrying me about with them wherever they go, and of bringing themselves into notice by the brilliant effect which I am always sure to make in society... And no bad scheme, either! I will do them the justice to allow that my fortune and my face together, would be likely enough to atone for their own detestable folly and insignificance, if anything could do it. But I will teach them the difference. That giggling idiot, Lucy, has made the most detestable sort of marriage’ in the world! A title! A pretty title, without one atom of style or fashion belongin
g to it! They shan’t be many months older, before they have both learned to know the difference between my presence and my absence.”
These muttered meditations were far from being the mere idle ebullitions of transitory disappointment and ill-temper; on the contrary, they were the result of her deepest feelings, and most resolute purposes. And we may take our final leave of this beautiful creature at once, by stating, that by the help of her quick-witted and intriguing little waiting-maid, she contrived to get at a groom, who spoke French glibly, and took bribes with equal facility and intelligence. By his assistance she managed to convey herself, her wardrobe, her maid, and this said groom (suddenly promoted to the rank of courier), to an obscure exit from the castle court-yard, where her own fine travelling carriage, in which she had made her journey from England, awaited her, and at an hour so early in the morning as to secure her from the embarrassment of encountering any of the noble family of Steinfeld.
It was generally supposed that this well-managed elopement had been arranged by some fortunate individual, whom Lucy would be speedily informed had been added to her family connections, by way of a brother.
But Lucy herself knew her half-sister better. “No!” said she, when this very natural surmise was suggested; “no! Arabella will fall in love a great many more times yet, before she falls into marriage. She has always been very subject to love fits; but with all her folly in this way, she has always seemed clever enough to get out of an engagement as easily as she got into it; and I should not wonder, if she went on in the same way for years! Arabella is certainly very proud of her beauty, and is excessively fond of dressing herself, and of being told that she is an angel, and that one man after another is dying for her. But take my word for it, Adolphe, she loves her money still more tenderly than she loves her beauty.”
This harangue, which was very kindly uttered in order to calm the useless activity of her husband (who seemed to think that it was his duty to look after the runaway, and induce her to return to them, if still unmarried), not only produced the effect for which it was spoken, but was often quoted by Adolphe afterwards, as having been perfectly prophetic.
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 466