Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  It was such an authority as this, which had made the high-minded, intellectual Baroness von Schwanberg the companion for life of the prejudiced and heavy-minded baron.

  It has been already stated, that this unfortunate lady’s greatest cause of anxiety, during the infancy of her daughter, arose from her dread, lest her child should inherit the weak and slow capacity of its father; and the happiest period of her married life was decidedly that, during which the bright faculties and clear intellect of her child were displaying themselves under her own able and ardent tuition, in a manner very effectually to convince her, that all such fears were vain.

  It is was only since the domestication of the young Rupert in the family, that this new cause of natural uneasiness had suggested itself to her. Hitherto, the reading of Gertrude, though extremely agreeable both to the teacher and the taught, had for the most part been selected more with a view to solid instruction than present amusement; and though the enchantment created by poetry was beginning to be felt by the young student, it had as yet only reached her in the form of, or, at least, blended with instruction.

  Before her accident, too, so large a portion of her favourite exercise, and her favourite pleasure, was enjoyed with her father, and derived solely from his care and attention to her wishes, that her mother’s tender conscience was perfectly at ease respecting the mutual feelings of both father and daughter. But the terrific accident which had led to Rupert Odenthal’s becoming a member of the family, had, for some time, greatly checked and curtailed this enjoyment; for the baron, himself, had been too seriously terrified to be very eager for a speedy renewal of the exercise; and the mother’s agony at the idea of it was such, that Gertrude, from very love and pity to her, was long before she ventured to propose the renewal of her favourite exercise.

  But, somehow or other, it seemed as if the taking the catalogue of the library supplied a source of occupation and amusement, sufficient to make them forget the want of any other. The baron, of course, continued his usual habit of spending some hours of every day on horseback; and many weeks elapsed before he even wished to enjoy the much-loved delight of seeing Gertrude riding by his side, so fresh was still the recollection of what he had suffered from seeing her life in danger.

  During this interval, the baroness, and her aidful daughter also, had not only found the examination and arrangement of the library to be an occupation full of interest and amusement; but they found also, that, in order to bring it into the condition in which it ought to be, it would be absolutely necessary that Rupert should have all the assistance they could give him.

  They had neither of them, as yet, been very careful librarians; but, nevertheless, they knew their way among the shelves well enough to render his task very much easier than it would have been without them. For the first few days that they thus worked together, the efforts of the trio, though they had all the same object in view, namely, the orderly arrangement of the volumes which were, as yet, for the most part, placed side by side, without any regular arrangement at all; for the first few days of their labour there was little or no attempt among them to pursue any fixed plan of operations, though one and the same ultimate object was always in view; on the contrary, indeed, a looker-on might have been tempted to declare, that the object of each was perfectly different and distinct from that of the others. The baroness might have been observed to bring the German, French, and English books, which furnished the fund from which she drew her own resources, into the part of the room where she usually sat; while it was quite evident, that Gertrude’s selection of permanent lodgings for the favourites to whom she looked for future companionship, in a great measure depended upon altitude of position, as she carefully avoided placing any volume which it was her purpose to read, above the easy reach of her own hand.

  Rupert’s manœuvres seemed to be regulated on a principle quite different from either; for he very sedulously divided the volumes according to the different languages in which they had been written, but placing them with very little regard to anything else.

  The tremendous business of dusting, it must be observed, had been previously performed under the eye of the house-steward, who, by the help of some half-dozen assistants, had, in the course of a few days, taken down every volume, and replaced it again, so as to leave both shelves and books in a condition to be approached and handled, without any risk to the bold invader of being smothered.

  So far, therefore, all seemed to go on smoothly; till one day, when Rupert had been, if possible, more than usually active, he suddenly suspended his operations, and approaching the baroness with somewhat of a melancholy aspect, and accosting her with a very ominous shake of the head, he said, “My lady baroness! we are all wrong! This will never do! How can a catalogue be made out in any regular order, where there is no order in the books themselves?”

  The baroness immediately suspended her own operations, and looked and listened with great attention.

  “Explain yourself, dear Rupert,” she said. “What is it that you would propose?”

  “I scarcely know, myself, dear lady,” he replied; “but I am quite sure, that if the books are left as we are placing them now, no catalogue that I can make, will ever assist any one in finding the particular volume that may be wished for.”

  The lady of the castle raised her hand to her forehead, and remained for some moments in meditation. At length she replied, with rather a deep sigh, “I am very much afraid that you are right, Rupert.”

  “And I am afraid so too,” replied the anxious-looking boy. “But if we are to begin all over again,” he added, “you must please to promise me, that neither you, nor the young baroness, will do any more with your own hands. You look tired now, dear lady! Will you promise not to take any more trouble?”

  “But what terrible labour is it you are going to propose? I assure you, I like the work, Rupert; and if I give you the promise you ask for, I should really be promising to give up a very great pleasure. Remember what your mother’s darling poet says.

  ‘The labour we delight in, physics pain.’”

  “Yes, dear lady! I understand that, and I feel it, too. But when labour has been performed, the having to undo it, and begin over again, is likely to produce a more disagreeable consciousness of fatigue. Do you not think so, madam?”

  ““Why, perhaps I do, Rupert,” replied the baroness, laughing; “but do you really think that we are in that unhappy condition?”

  It was with some reluctance, and a great deal of modesty, that Rupert was at length fully brought to explain himself, and to show, which he certainly did very clearly, that a catalogue continued upon so very miscellaneous a scheme as that which he had began, accompanied by such an unsystematic arrangement of the volumes on the shelves, was not likely to insure either the information or the inconvenience which had been contemplated.

  Rupert Odenthal and his fair assistants were by no means the first, and will probably not be the last, who have been sorely troubled in finding out the easiest way of getting at the one book we want, among many thousands that we do not want; and whether the tri-partite ingenuity which was upon this occasion brought to bear upon the question, produced the best result which has been as yet hit upon, I will not pretend to say; their labours had at least, one effect, which was certainly very agreeable to all the parties concerned, for it would have been very difficult to hit upon any device which would so quickly have led to an equal degree of friendly intimacy and practical equality among the trio thus employed; and the modest bearing and boyish age of Rupert, as well as the childishness of Gertrude, so effectively prevented all objection to the sort of domestic familiarity which ensued, from even suggesting itself, that Rupert might have been heard issuing orders to “Gertrude,” and Gertrude might have been seen very meekly obeying them, without any thought ever occurring to the busy baroness, that it might be as necessary to keep noble girls and plebeian boys exactly in their respective places, as folios and duodecimos in theirs.

  And yet, it is s
carcely fair to employ such a phrase, on such an occasion; for, if all the boys and girls in Christendom had been brought together for judgment, it would have been impossible any pair so brought, at the respective ages of fifteen and twelve, could have been found, who would have given less reason to their mothers and fathers, their pastors and masters, for any anxiety respecting their conduct, separately or conjointly, than did Rupert Odenthal and Gertrude you Schwanberg.

  Nevertheless, wherever it is thought desirable that an immense distance should exist through life between individuals, the wisdom of placing them in very close juxtaposition, at first setting off, may fairly be questioned.

  There was also another point on which the judgment of Madame von Schwanberg showed itself defective.

  She carried her dislike, or rather her dread of ignorant dullness, to such an extent, that during the first ten years or so of Gertrude’s life, it had positively become the bête noir of her existence; and, assuredly, she must, in what she would have considered her most reasonable moments, have been ready to declare, that there would have been less of lasting misery to her in seeing her child die, than in seeing any positive symptoms in her of intellectual deficiency.

  It is certain that her anxieties on this subject were effectually and for ever removed at a somewhat earlier period of her daughter’s life than she could have reasonably expected; for Gertrude was not only a sharp-witted child, but, her animal senses being as acute as her intellect, she manifested, at a very early age, a more than ordinary degree of intelligence.

  No sooner did this great question appear to be settled in her favour, than Madame von Schwanberg became perfectly reconciled to her own destiny.

  “It would have, doubtless, been very agreeable,” thought she, “to have found a companion in my husband; but if, at this hour, the choice were offered me, I would rather, ten thousand times, find that blessing in my child!”

  Such being the result of her most secret meditations, and such the genuine feeling of her heart, it was natural enough that, in educating her daughter, she should take the most especial care to keep her bright young mind free from the only peculiarity which appeared with sufficient strength and vigour to be fairly considered as a marked feature in that of her father. Nor must this strong feeling, on her part, be considered as any proof of personal hostile feeling towards her husband. That pride of race was the masterfeeling of his mind, no one who approached him could long be permitted to doubt; but her conviction of this fact rather led her to form a higher notion of his intellect than it deserved; for she considered this overgrown and ill-regulated feeling as a species of mental fungus, which had spread over and diseased his faculties, so as to produce very nearly the effect of monomania; whereas the real state of the case was, that, if the noble baron had not happily got hold of this idea, he would probably have passed through life without enjoying the high human prerogative of being conscious of having any positive idea at all.

  That, under these circumstances, the cultivation of Gertrude’s mind became the first object of her mother’s life, may easily be understood; and it took her but little time to discover that, if Rupert’s courage and dexterity had saved the young girl’s life, his bright and varied intelligence might be of almost equal utility in assisting the powers of her young mind to develop and strengthen themselves by the help both of example and emulation.

  The good baroness either was, or fancied herself to he, peculiarly unfortunate in the intellectual peculiarities of most of her neighbours. At any rate, she made no blunder when she became, at length, fully, though reluctantly, convinced that there was not a single reading human being within twenty miles of Schloss Schwanberg. This she felt to be a grievous misfortune to herself on her own account, as well as a serious disadvantage to Gertrude; “for how,” thought she, “shall I ever be able to make her comprehend that, if she ever lives to mix with the world, she will not find all its inhabitants quite as ignorant or as dull as the noble neighbours of Schloss Schwanberg?”

  It is extremely probable that she was right in this; but highly as most assuredly she ought to rank, even amongst the most intellectual and the most highly-instructed of her sex, there was one point upon which the Baroness von Schwanberg very decidedly deluded herself.

  She would have been very indignant, and have considered herself as very cruelly misjudged, had any one told her that she might be fairly charged with displaying a more decided proof of deep-seated aristocratical feeling, than ever her husband had done.

  “I?” methinks I can hear her exclaim—” I? — who, from my very soul, abhor all such paltry and childish distinctions? Where is the human being who estimates more highly whatever superiority nature has bestowed, or more lowly the trumpery distinctions conferred by man?”

  It may be difficult to answer this challenge; but will our philosophical baroness tell us what is the feeling, and whence it arises, which causes her to look upon it as an event absolutely impossible, that her daughter Gertrude should join in the pursuits and studies of Rupert Odenthal so thoroughly, and with such sincere participation and sympathy of heart and soul, that she should at last arrive at the conclusion, that—” She of living men could love but him alone?”

  What is the feeling which makes such a conclusion appear impossible to the baroness, and whence does it arise? The feeling can correctly receive no other name than PRIDE — for it can only arise from the deep conviction that the space dividing the noble and the plebeian is too vast, too profound, too incalculably great, for any person in their senses to contemplate the passing it as a thing possible.

  That such was, in truth, the persuasion of Madame von Schwanberg, cannot be doubted; and upon no other theory can her conduct be explained or excused. Notwithstanding her painfully-low estimate of her husband’s intellect, his station as a high-born nobleman, important to his country, both from his wealth and his alliances, was recognised as fully by her as by himself; and though she might have allowed that the overthrowing the dynasty of the Emperor would be a crime more awful in its consequences, she would have scarcely considered it as more decidedly the reverse of right than any act by which the pure nobility of such an escutcheon could be compromised.

  Those who would declare that such a state of mind, in such a woman, would be unnatural, blunder as much as a born-and-bred citizen does in doubting the fact, that a thorough-bred sporting-dog would fast, almost, if not quite, to death, rather than feed on game. It is idle to call it unnatural.

  If it be an art, it is “an art that Nature makes,” as she does that by which the culture of the gardener can metamorphose a flower.

  The most satisfactory source of comfort in contemplating the existence of such a fantastic vision, in such a mind as that of the Baroness von Schwanberg, arises from remembering that Nature gives us as ample powers for the inoculation of good as of evil varieties; and that, even at this present NOW, with half the nations of the earth trying to make mince-meat of each other, without any one of them very clearly knowing why, “there’s a sweet little cherub sits perched up aloft,” who is busily employed in making many of us go in the right direction, though without showing us exactly where it may lead us.

  CHAPTER XIV.

  As it was by no means a difficult matter to excite in the mind of the Baron von Schwanberg a feeling of admiration concerning every thing that he could call his own, the orderly arrangement of the Schwanberg library, and the daily growing catalogue of the volumes it contained, soon became a new, and favourite theme for his eloquence; and as it was evident that Gertrude listened to him with more than usual interest, when he was expressing his wonder and admiration at all that had been done in that department, he went on admiring Rupert’s extraordinary industry and cleverness in the business, so warmly, that the baroness, on one occasion, took an opportunity for saying, that she was almost afraid the young man worked too hard, and that he scarcely allowed himself sufficient time for air and exercise.

  “Do you really think so, my dear lady?” exclaimed the baron,
with a most unusual degree of animation. “I should be very sorry to let any of my people injure their health by over-fatigue in my service; and with respect to this excellent lad in particular, I would rather permit the great work he is upon to be suspended altogether, than that his health should suffer from his devotion to it. We must never, under any circumstances, my dear lady, permit ourselves to forget the enormous benefit he has conferred upon us. In fact, there would be a very great impropriety in my permitting an individual, whose name I caused to be specially alluded to, nay, positively mentioned, in the service which my influence with the church enabled me to command, in the chapel of the castle; there would decidedly be a very great impropriety in my permitting a youth residing in my family under such circumstances, to run the risk of injuring his health in the performance of a task which I have assigned him, and which was done in the hope of providing him with an honourable and profitable employment, instead of doing him a serious injury.”

  The baroness, as was her wont, remained in the attitude of a listener, till her noble husband had ceased to speak; and then she replied, that she agreed with him perfectly, and that it would give her much pleasure to see so well-disposed and every way deserving a lad, permitted, and indeed encouraged, to take a little more exercise and amusement.

  It so chanced, that within an hour after this conversation had taken place, the baron and his daughter accidentally met in the hall of the castle; upon which, Gertrude stopped him, and said, with great glee, “I am so very glad, dear papa! for mamma tells me that you are going to he so land as to order dear, good Rupert to walk about and amuse himself, now and then, instead of staying in the house all day, as he does now, about the catalogue. I never guessed that you had such a quantity of books, papa! I really can hardly believe that the Emperor himself can have a much larger library than you have. I think you will be astonished to see the catalogue when it is finished. And the library is looking so different! It is grown quite magnificent,”