Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  Nothing could be more satisfactory than the scene which followed, for, in addition to the fervent expressions of gratitude uttered by the priest and his sister, who seemed to have recovered their senses in some degree upon the entrance of the physician, the doctor himself joined the chorus of praise and admiration, saying:

  “Upon my word, my Lord Baron, your conduct has been as noble as your name, and that is saying a good deal for it. But, truly, your contriving to get these good people here, notwithstanding the distance and the darkness, has been most kind and most considerate. And now, my Lord Baron,” he added, “I believe that I may venture to pronounce the words which your kindness will make the most welcome to you. This brave boy here is now very healthily asleep, and, I venture to predict, that, when he wakes, his delirium will have left him, and that he will be in a state to join his friends in returning thanks to you for the great kindness which has been shown to him.”

  The baron, upon this, bent his head forward, very nearly an inch from the perpendicular, and, with a charming mixture of condecension and dignity, replied:

  “I should be unworthy the name I bear, my good doctor, had I done less: nor shall I be satisfied till I have done much more. I should be grieved if it could be supposed by any one throughout the whole district in which I live, that my gratitude for the preservation of my daughter and heiress should not prove such as to influence the destiny of this brave youth through life. I have decided, in my own mind, that reference shall be distinctly made to him in the service which I shall order to be performed in the chapel of the castle, and,”

  “Hush! — please hush!” whispered the mother of this highly-favoured individual; “I think, doctor, he is going to wake!”

  “Well, good woman, and if he does, there is no harm in that,” replied the doctor, cheerily. “I want him to wake. I want to see if he knows you.”

  “He did not know me when I spoke to him only a very few minutes before he went to sleep,” she replied, in a whisper; “and I thought it only disturbed him when he looked at me.”

  “That is very likely: but I have got his pulse under my thumb, you see; and if he fairly wakes up, I will bet a florin he knows you now.”

  A very few minutes proved the doctor to be right. Rupert Odenthal did fairly wake up, and immediately gave the most decisive proof that he recognized his mother; for he placed his hand in hers, and, in a minute or two, relapsed into quiet sleep again.

  CHAPTER VIII.

  THE recovery of the boy from the effects of the accident was both rapid and complete; and if the Baron von Schwanberg had been of an inconsistent character, which he really was not, he would have scarcely found time to change all the generous projects he had formed in his favour, before the boy was in a condition to profit by them.

  Having, however, exhibited his magnanimous condescension in the remarkable manner recounted in the last chapter, he did not appear to deem it necessary that the future favours he meant to bestow should be accompanied by any similar excess of personal familiarity.

  His pledged word was most faithfully redeemed by the special introduction of his name into the service, etc etc etc. — which was performed as an act of thanksgiving in the chapel; moreover, the whole adventure was at full length recorded on a marble tablet erected in the vestibule of the said chapel. Neither did he forget his promise of providing a comfortable retreat for his venerable confessor, Father Ambrose, and of appointing Father Alaric to the office in his stead.

  But when all this was done, his daughter, Gertrude, said to him one day, in her pretty spoilt-child manner, “You are a dear, good papa, for caring so much, and doing so much, all about me. But you have not yet told us what you mean to do for poor Rupert himself. I am not going to complain about what you have done for his dear, darling of a mother, for I really do think that she is the most” —

  “The most what? My dearest love!” said her father, gazing at her according to custom, as if he were in presence of an oracle.

  “Why, really I don’t know what to call it,” replied Gertrude, laughing; “the most huggable, and kissable dear soul in the world; that is what I mean, I believe. And as to your new confessor, Father Alaric, if you were to make him an archbishop, or a cardinal, I should think it very right and proper; but you know, papa, after all, the real truth is, that it was Rupert who jumped into the river to pick me up; and therefore I do think you should give him something beside physic, and that is all he has had, as yet, to reward him.”

  To say the truth, it would have been a difficult matter for Gertrude to say anything which her father did not think the very cleverest thing that ever was said under the circumstances; and it is no wonder, therefore, that the speech above quoted, appeared to him so admirable, that he almost thought it was uttered from a species of inspiration.

  “It is a very remarkable thing,” he said to his lady, the next time he found himself tête-à-tête with her; “a very remarkable thing, that so young a girl as Gertrude, should never give her opinion on any subject, without displaying a degree of judgment which might, and must, make most full-grown people feel themselves her inferiors. I mean, of course, her inferiors in ability; her inferiors in station, most persons must, unavoidably, be. She has just been speaking to me of her obligations to the poor boy, Rupert Odenthal, and HER obligations are, of course, MY obligations, also. And yet, excepting that I commanded his name to be mentioned in the special service which I caused to be performed in the chapel of the castle, she is perfectly right in stating, that as yet, the whole of our efforts towards remuneration have been confined, as far as the boy himself is concerned, to obtaining the necessary medical assistance for him. How has it happened, baroness, that this has escaped your observation? There was an acuteness wonderfully beyond her years in the remark, that the only reward which he has hitherto received for the immense obligation he has laid upon us, has been in the shape of physic!”

  The well-disciplined baroness did not laugh; she did not even smile; in truth, she had pretty effectually drilled herself into a systematic and constant avoidance of any such equivocal demonstration of the effects of the baron’s eloquence; but she replied, “that she doubted not but that, sooner or later, some arrangement would be made, which would properly remunerate the boy for the service he had done them.”

  The baron kept his large dull eyes fixed upon her as she spoke, and when she ceased, he uttered a deep groan.

  After this, he paused for a moment, as if to collect his thoughts; and then he said, “You must forgive me if I express myself both shocked, and surprised, at the cold indifference which you display, madam, on a subject which is, in my estimation, the most important that can by possibility be presented for our consideration. For it does not concern the demonstration of my gratitude, the gratitude of the Baron von Schwanberg, for the preservation of his only child and heiress? I implore you, baroness, not to mistake me, and not to imagine for a moment that I mean to reproach you. I can never forget, that you are of the noble house of Wolkendorf, or cease to remember, with proper deference and respect, that you are also Baroness von Schwanberg. But the difference in our characters and manner of thinking, is too remarkable, not to produce often an emotion approaching to wonder and astonishment. Happily, however, this marked difference of character between us is not likely in the least degree to lead to any mischievous result. Your principles as a virtuous wife, and honourable lady, will, of course, ever prevent you from interfering in any way that would trouble or annoy me; and it really seems like an especial blessing of Providence, that our daughter, who is to be my successor here, should, in all things, inherit the character, qualities, and opinions of her father. On the subject of the noble-spirited youth who has made us so deeply their debtors, I think it will be desirable that we should have no farther discussion. It is evident, that your feelings towards him are by no means in unison with those of my daughter and myself; but your daughter knows her duty too well to utter to you anything that should be mistaken for a remonstrance on the subj
ect; and you, on your side, will, I am sure, consent to promise me, that you will not interfere in any way with my intentions respecting him.”

  The baroness readily gave the promise required, and the more readily, from her conviction, that Gertrude was not the least likely to mistake her non-interference, for either indifference or ingratitude towards the individual to whom she certainly owed her life.

  How matters might have gone on, however, if it had not chanced, before the occurrence of the conversation above recited, that Gertrude had overheard her mother and old Agatha discussing together their hopes, that the baron would make some permanent provision for the boy, it is impossible to say; for, till the young lady had made the pertinent remark above cited, respecting her hopes, that Rupert would have something beside physic as his reward; it is certain, that his being permitted to remain with his mother in the house (probably, because he was still too lame to walk out of it), had appeared to the lord of the castle, to be the very perfection of the most generous and condescending hospitality.

  But no sooner had the half-jocose remonstrance of his daughter been uttered, than he determined, however playfully her reproach had been spoken, that HE would consider the matter seriously, and that he would go as far beyond his daughter’s grateful wishes, as he had appeared hitherto to fall short of them. But, as I have before stated, the baron was a slow man, as his only reply to Gertrude’s remonstrance, was in these words:

  “You are as right on this subject, my dear child, as I hope and expect my daughter ever will be on every subject, upon which she may condescend to bestow her attention. I will inform you, my dear Gertrude,” he added, “what my purpose is respecting this very meritorious lad, as soon as I have had leisure to consider all the circumstances of his position.”

  How much, or how little, this meant, Gertrude did not very clearly understand; and she therefore, as in all cases of doubt, applied to her mother.

  “Papa has been talking most royally about what he intends doing for Rupert; only he says, he must have more time to think about it. I think he ought to tell Father Alaric at once, what he means to do about him. What do you think, mamma?”

  “Why, to tell you the truth, Gertrude,” replied the baroness, “I perfectly agree with your father, as to the necessity of taking time to deliberate, before any particular destination for him is proposed. He is only now just beginning to let me talk to him as if he were not afraid to answer; and till we can get him to speak freely of himself, and his former pursuits, and future hopes, I think it would be injudicious to propose any particular career to him.”

  Gertrude looked in her mother’s face, and laughed.

  “What is there in what I have said,” said the baroness, smiling, “which appears to you so superlatively ridiculous?”

  “Ridiculous!” repeated Gertrude; “my laugh was the laugh of triumph, mamma, and not of ridicule.”

  “Explain,” returned her mother; “and then, perhaps, I may enjoy a laugh, too.”

  “And so you ought,” said Gertrude; “and it should he a very thankful, happy laugh. I was thinking, what a very clever pair we must be! Papa says, that everything I say is right; and I think everything you say is right. What lucky people we are! But when shall you begin to bestow some of your most particular cleverness upon Rupert, in order to find out whether he is most fit to be a priest like his uncle, or a soldier like his father? His father, you know, mamma, was killed in battle.”

  “No, Gertrude, I did not know it. But there are more professions and occupations than two. Perhaps I had better begin by talking a little with his mother.”

  “Right again, mamma! You ought to be called the wise woman of Schwanberg Schloss. May I be present at the talk? Do you know, mamma, that if I see her often, I shall love that sweet mother of his better than anybody in the whole world, except yourself? There is not one of all the baronesses, and countesses, or princesses either, that I have ever seen, that I like one half quarter so well.”

  “There is something peculiarly pleasing in Madame Odenthal,” replied the baroness, thoughtfully; “I, too, feel that I should get very much attached to her, if she were to be much with me. I am greatly inclined to believe that her education was befitting a higher station than what she now holds. Not that she ever talks to me of the pursuits of her youth, or having been at all different from what they are at present; but nevertheless, there is something in her language, as well as in her manner of thinking, which leads me to suspect that she has been better educated than her present station seems to account for.”

  “Then, of course, I am a marvellously clever person, mamma; for I must have made the same discovery without being conscious that I had made it,” said Gertrude. “You laugh, mamma,” she continued, very gravely; “but I am quite in earnest. I have thought again and again, quite to myself, as you know, — for if I did not talk about it to you, I certainly should not talk about it to anybody else, — but I have thought over and over again, when I have been listening to the Frau Odenthal, that she did not talk like the other people, who appear to be of the same rank, as far as outward appearances go. Papa and I, you know, ride about in all directions; and though he does not seem to think it proper to speak much to any people who live in cottages, that are not upon the Schwanberg estate, he is constantly stopping to talk at the doors of those who are. And very long talkings they are, sometimes, for though his manner to them is very stiff, and stately, he seems very much interested about them all; but I never, in all these visitings, met with anybody at all like Madame Odenthal.”

  “I quite agree with you, Gertrude,” replied her mother; “and I ain glad to hear you make the observation, though I don’t think it shews any marvellous cleverness, dearest, because the fact is so obvious; but, at least, it shews something like the power of discrimination, which is always desirable. But is your cleverness enough to make you aware, that our discovery adds greatly to our difficulties respecting the son of this mysterious Frau Odenthal?”

  “No, mamma, I don’t see that, at all,” was the reply. “Why should it be more difficult for papa to benefit the boy, because his mother has been well educated?”

  “If you were really very clever, I think you might guess, Gertrude. You ride about, as you truly say, a great deal with your papa, and I am quite sure that you must have been present on many occasions when he has shewn himself able, as well as willing, to assist his deserving tenants in the difficult matter of disposing of their sons advantageously. No year passes in which he does not benefit some of them in this way. But can you not perceive, that he would find it much more difficult to do this, in a case where the boy whom he wished to serve, had been brought up by a mother whose education had enabled her to instruct her son in a manner very likely to unfit him for any of the humbler stations of life?”

  “Yes, mamma, I do see it,” was now her more grave reply.

  “His uncle’s profession is the only one, that I know of, in which a good, or, at least, a somewhat learned education, is found in so humble a state of life as that of Father Alaric,” resumed the baroness; “and I certainly am of opinion,” she continued, “that the obligation we are under to this boy, ought to be rewarded by our placing him in a more comfortable station of life, than any which Father Alaric is likely to attain. Your father might easily obtain for him a place as clerk, in some government office; but if he resembles his mother, such an appointment would not satisfy my ideas of what we ought to do for him.”

  The conversation between the mother and daughter was interrupted here by the arrival of a noble neighbour, who had driven in state some half-dozen miles or more, in order to learn all particulars respecting the young baroness’s perilous adventure, and to offer congratulations for her providential escape, etc., etc., etc.

  CHAPTER IX.

  WITHIN a day or two after the conversation had occurred between the Baroness von Schwanberg and her daughter, which has been recorded in the last chapter, it happened that the noble lady, and the humble guests whose manners had f
ormed the subject of it, met accidentally in one of the alleys of the castle garden.

  Gertrude was enjoying, with her thrice-happy father, the first gallop to which he had invited her since her accident; for he had deemed it necessary, or, at least, proper, that the pony should be daily exercised for a fortnight after it had occurred, before the young lady was again permitted to mount him, in order to ascertain that he had not been taught to start by his misadventure.

  Poor Rupert, meanwhile, though quite recovered as to his general health, was still too lame to walk beyond the limits of his room, or, at least, of the floor on which he was lodged, for the getting up and down stairs was still forbidden by Dr. Nieper; and it was therefore in solitude that his mother availed herself of the baroness’s permission, or rather invitation, to walk in the beautiful pleasure grounds for which Schloss Schwanberg was justly celebrated.

  The salutation with which the baroness treated the Frau Odenthal, was as usual, full of kindness; and it was no feigned interest, as to the state of Rupert’s health, which gave so soothing a tone to every question she asked concerning him. But these enquiries being all satisfactorily answered, the grateful mother of the boy stood aside, to make way for the onward course of the lady of the castle; but instead of passing Madame Odenthal, the baroness turned, and putting her arm under that of her modest visitor, she said, “Let us walk together, my good friend. I am pretty sure that our thoughts have often, at least, one subject in common. Let us discuss it together. You will easily guess that I allude to Rupert, and I will almost venture to say, that you are not more occupied about his future plans than I am. You must be aware, from what the baron has already said, both to you and to him, that it is his purpose to remunerate him (as far as such a service can be remunerated), for having saved the life of our child, to say nothing of what he has suffered since, himself, in consequence of his perilous enterprise.”