Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  Moreover, he had acquired a sort of dim consciousness that his own departed lady, notwithstanding her close alliance with the Gotha Almanack, would have been a more brilliant and a more renowned personage in the salons of Paris, than she had ever been within the venerable walls of Schloss Schwanberg.

  Such thoughts as these had naturally prepared him to listen to whatever Count Hernwold proposed, with a very decided conviction that he must be right; and the Count, with all his conscious superiority in such matters, had no great difficulty in persuading the wealthy father of his beautiful fiancée, that however costly his plans for their future menage might appear, the birth, the station, the beauty, and the future fortune of his peerless daughter, rendered it no more than she had a right to expect.

  What lavish expenditure was it possible he could propose, which would not have appeared a positive duty under such circumstances?

  Upon one or two occasions, soon after this brilliant marriage had been proposed and accepted, it happened that a sort of generous rivalship displayed itself between the two gentlemen, as to which of them should manifest the most profuse generosity in the preparations that were making for its celebration; and there was certainly more than one Parisian tradesman who profited largely by this magnificent spirit of emulation.

  As to the fair idol who received the offerings, had she been formed of wood or stone, she could scarcely have been more indifferent as to the beauty or the value of all that was thus laid upon her altar.

  There was one point, however, on which, as the preparations went on, she soon ceased to be indifferent; and this variation from the dignified tranquillity with which she heard of, or received all the various offerings and preparations which marked the progress of the great affair of which all Paris was talking, arose upon the subject of the house that was about to be prepared for her reception in this gayest of cities.

  When it was definitely settled between the baron and the Count that Gertrude was to have a mansion’ fitted up for her in Paris, it was Count Hernwold who, having convinced the baron of the necessity of it, seemed naturally enough to think that the pleasant task of selecting and embellishing it, devolved on him; and of course the execution of this task was rendered more agreeable still, by the necessity it occasioned of very frequent reference and consultation to, and with, the lovely lady in whose service he was employed.

  Now this, after being exposed to it for a short time, became too great an annoyance to Gertrude to be endured.

  Since the tremendous hour of self-examination which led to the atonement she was now making for all the disobedient feelings of her past life, she had persevered in the resolution then taken with unflinching constancy; feeling, perhaps, that any and every misery was preferable to what she had endured, when writhing, during the long hours of that dreadful night, under the intolerable weight of a self-accusing conscience.

  But it appeared to her, that the sitting to listen to Count Hernwold’s pompous boastings of all the expense, as well as all the trouble he meant to bestow upon the mansion which it was his purpose to purchase, and decorate expressly for her, was a penance that no duty called upon her to endure. There was something too in her manner of discussing the subject, which seemed perpetually calling for her gratitude; and as she felt none, she did not think it a part of her duty to affect it.

  Why should she feel grateful?

  She knew perfectly well that she was heiress to a very large fortune; for alas! poor girl, the knowledge of this fact had been the source of all the misery of her life.

  But hateful as the consciousness of this had so often been to her, it might at least, she thought, save her from any feeling of gratitude for having a suitable house prepared for her.

  “Gratitude should be a delightful feeling!” thought the melancholy girl. “It should be such as I used to feel for my dear mother, every day, and all day long.... Such as I have felt, and must ever feel, for Rupert, though he does not love me! But before he knew what love meant, he saved my life at the risk of his own. I can feel grateful for that... but I cannot, and will not, feel grateful because a man thinks it proper to prepare a fine house for himself and his family to live in. Count Hernwold is quite aware of the large fortune which must eventually be mine, and the fine house will some day or other be paid for by my father.”

  There was no form of words, however, that she could hit upon, by which she could civilly remind her noble lover of this fact; and at length it occurred to her, that the only means by which she could escape his annoyance, which she shrank from as a very painful addition to the various other miserable feelings which beset her, was by suggesting to her father, that it would be more accordant to the dignity of her position, as his daughter and his heiress, that the house preparing for her should be prepared by him, and not by the Count.

  When she began her harangue, her father prepared to listen to her with a smiling countenance, his hands cosily folded over each other, and with the self-satisfied look which he generally wore, when she was talking to him, and which indicated that he was sure of being pleased — as, of course, he could not fail to be — as he considered every word she uttered, was spoken, as it were, by inheritance, and therefore, in fact, emitted by himself.

  It was probably this persuasion which at once reconciled him to her proposal, which, to say the truth, was extremely far from being a rational one, and could only be excused in the poor captious bride-elect, by her profound ignorance of the ordinary usages of the world in matters of business.

  The superb baron himself, however, was certainly not much more familiar with such matters than she was; but, nevertheless, it is possible he might have demurred a little at hearing this unexpected proposal, even though it proceeded from her, had it not been that it touched directly upon his ruling passion for being the first, and, in fact, the only very important person, in every business that was going on.

  This was quite enough to procure his consent, and ensure his perfect happiness, as long as the bustling business lasted.

  Of course, the first thing to be done, was to write to Count Hernwold, informing him of his paternal wish to be himself the purchaser, and the arranger of all the domestic elegancies and comforts which were to make the splendid dwelling provided for his daughter, worthy of the highly-honoured lady who had been selected as its mistress.

  The Count was a good deal surprised by the receipt of this epistle, as he had certainly expected that the furnishing the elegant dwelling he had chosen was to be done at his expense, as well as the purchasing it. However, he was not a person to be at all likely to quarrel with such an arrangement as that now proposed. He was certainly possessed of a large landed property, but being one of those self-indulgent individuals who never refuse themselves any gratification as long as it is in their power to obtain it, he was as little desirous of spending money, when the doing so would not increase his gratification, as of sparing it when it would.

  He wrote, therefore, a sort of playful answer to the baron’s pompous announcement of his intentions, declaring that to him, and to him only, would he have yielded the delightful task of decorating the palace of his future sovereign.

  Count Hernwold, in fact, was one of those gentlemen who, as the saying goes, had lived all the days of his life; and the consequence of so doing was, that, beautiful as he thought the Baroness Gertrude von Schwanberg, he would no more have thought of marrying her, than of marrying her maid Teresa, had he not known her to be an heiress, as well as a beauty.

  It is certain, however, that it had never entered his head as a thing possible, that he might immediately turn her wealth to account, by getting her father to furnish his house for him; and the proposition afforded him all the pleasure of a most agreeable surprise, as well as being extremely convenient.

  Not indeed that Count Hernwold contemplated any difficulty in achieving this necessary work himself, for his estate was large, and his credit good; but, nevertheless, like most other men of fashion, he would occasionally have been well pleased to
have found a little more ready money at his bankers than he had been able to leave there. For, though by no means deserving the epithet of gambler, Count Hernwold liked play, and would at any time have considered himself as being in an extremely disagreeable position had he entered a salon where this pleasant excitement was to be found, with the consciousness that he had better not play, because it would be inconvenient to him to lose.

  Nor was he by any means sufficiently in love to prevent his still wishing to pass the last animating hour or two of the day, where play, in a gentlemanlike and honourable style, was going on.

  But since the important affair of his marriage had been arranged, he had been rather shy of risking the price even of a bracelet or a mirror, for a certain degree of inconvenience would have been the consequence, had he lost it; and Count Hernwold detested inconveniences of all kinds, as heartily as we are assured the evil spirit hates holy water.

  The having his fine house furnished for him, without his producing a single rap to pay for it, was, therefore, an accident quite as welcome as it appeared to him whimsical, and he became gayer and more debonair than ever.

  But the relief which this arrangement produced to Gertrude, was great indeed; for not only did it exonerate her from the necessity of listening to daily statements of the gallant and tender anxiety with which the Count was decorating their future blissful abode; but she was relieved also from the heavy necessity of hearing her father rehearse, in his most oppressive style of eloquence, her extreme good fortune in having captivated a nobleman, whose personal merits, and high connections, rendered him, in every way, so suitable an alliance for the heiress of Schwanberg.

  That her aching, weary heart felt this relief, and that she was thankful for it, is most certain; but she scarcely allowed herself to dwell upon the consolation, greater still, of being left alone, positively alone, for several hours in every day; for the baron, though deeply conscious that he was the source and head-spring of everything that influenced the destiny of his family, had never been a busy-body, and would at the present crisis have felt greatly at a loss how to perform the task he had undertaken, had he not enlisted Madame Odenthal as his assistant.

  The time had been, when Gertrude would have very painfully missed the society of this long-tried and much-loved friend during the many hours of the day that she was driving about with the baron, from shop to shop, and from warehouse to warehouse, in order to assist him in selecting the vast variety of articles necessary for completing the task he had undertaken; but now the case was different.

  Excepting Rupert himself, his mother was the person with whom she most dreaded to be tête-à-tête.

  It is true, that from the time of her engagement to Count Hernwold, Gertrude had become a very altered person to her. She was, indeed, still observant, still gentle, still careful of her accommodation and comfort; but the tone of loving familiarity was gone.

  Had Madame Odenthal believed such a change possible, she would have thought that Gertrude no longer considered her as a person with whom she could converse in a tone of perfect equality; but as often as this obvious idea suggested itself, it was very nearly rejected, both by the clear head and the warm heart of the affectionate Englishwoman.

  Had she not known her from a child? And was it possible that such a nature as she had watched in Gertrude for long years of the most familiar union, could be suddenly changed in every feeling of the heart, and every process of the understanding, because she was about to be married to a middle-aged gentleman, whom her father had chosen for her husband? —

  The answer to this questioning would have been a decisive and indignant negative, had not facts occurred too strong to be set aside by any foregone conclusions.

  Gertrude contrived, without any very positive breach of civility, however, to keep out of her way; and from the very day that her engagement to Count Hernwold was announced, the good woman had never found herself tête-à-tête with for her five minutes together, without the occurrence of something or other which was converted into an excuse for their being separated.

  The position of Madame Odenthal in the family, where for the last year or two she had found so comfortable a home, was indeed strangely altered in more ways than one, for within a week or so of the painful charge she had remarked in the manners of Gertrude towards her, she endured the great additional sorrow of being informed that her worthy brother, Father Alaric, had been suffering from a severe illness, and that he expressed so earnest a wish for the immediate return of Rupert, as to leave no possibility of refusing it.

  Rupert himself, though so long an alien from the little vicarage which had been his early home, testified as much eagerness to comply with this request, as the good priest in making it; and within twenty-four hours after receiving the letter which summoned him, Rupert had taken a hurried and agitated leave of his mother, and of the family of which he had so long been a member, and was on his road to his former humble dwelling at Francberg.

  CHAPTER XXVII.

  Good Madame Odenthal was sorry for the illness of her brother, and sorry for the absence of her son; but she was considerably comforted, especially for the last-mentioned misfortune, by the marked change which again became visible in the manner of the capricious Gertrude towards herself.

  Whether it were occasioned by the pity she felt for her, for having lost the society of her son, who was so justly beloved, or from a feeling that, perforce, she must be well-nigh weary of the assiduous attendance required of her by the indefatigable baron; in short, whatever might be the cause, it very speedily became evident to Madame Odenthal that there was no longer to be any estrangement between her and her long-loved Gertrude.

  How then, that they were again on their former confidential terms together, her dame de compagnie ventured to hint to her that she thought the baron was going to greater expense than could be necessary in furnishing and decorating a house which was to be her residence for only a third part of every year.

  “If I mistake not,” she added, “you are to pass four months out of every twelve at your own beautiful Schloss Schwanberg, four at Count Hernwold’s fine place in Hungary, and the remaining four — merely the winter season, you know — in Paris.” Gertrude appeared to listen to her very attentively, and she had taken the hand of her old friend in hers, and fixed her loving eyes upon her face, in a way that could not leave any doubt as to her being fully engrossed by what she was saying; and yet there was something absent and vague in the tone in which she replied— “I suppose papa thinks that I shall like to have fine furniture, and, if so, it is very good-natured of him to take so much trouble about it.”

  “And is he right, Gertrude?” returned Madame Odenthal, looking anxiously at her. “Will it give you great pleasure to have all this fine, costly furniture?”

  Gertrude withdrew her eyes from the examining glance of her companion, but she did not withdraw her hand, sitting for a minute or two motionless and silent. “Answer me, dear love!” said Madame Odenthal.

  “What was your question, dear?” returned Gertrude, shaking her head, as if to rouse herself from the fit of absence into which she seemed to have fallen.

  “I asked you, dear Gertrude, whether your father was right in thinking that it will give you pleasure to have your house so splendidly furnished?”

  Gertrude was again silent for a few seconds, and then replied, in a voice that expressed anything rather than anticipated pleasure, “If the house, and all that he is putting into it, were more splendid than any other in Paris, or in the world, it would not, and could not, create in me the slightest sensation of satisfaction.”

  The delicate complexion of Madame Odenthal turned from pale to red, and from red to pale again. The gloomy words, and still more gloomy manner in which the unfortunate Gertrude made this declaration, seemed in an instant to remove everything like doubt from the mind of her truly unhappy friend, and to realise all the miserable suspicions which had long haunted her respecting the real state of poor Gertrude’s feeling on t
he subject of her approaching marriage.

  Madame Odenthal had been long debating with herself as to whether it would be most kind or most cruel to encourage the poor girl in opening her heart to her on the subject; and it is probable the decision would have been in favour of confidence, instead of reserve, had it not been for the again-and-again rejected, and the again-and-again returning, suspicion of the real object of the unfortunate heiress’s affection. It was this which prevented her from seeking a confidence which she dreaded to receive; and even now, when the avowal of her repugnance to the marriage seemed more than half made, she affected to misunderstand the feeling she expressed, and replied, “I quite agree with you, my dear, in thinking that many people waste both time and money very idly in the decoration of their dwellings. Comfort is, in my opinion, much more essential than splendour.”

  “Comfort, Madame Odenthal? Comfort for me? Where am I to look for it? In uniting myself to such a man as Count Hernwold?”

  Relieved by these words, melancholy as they were, from the dread which haunted her of hearing the name of the man she preferred to him, Madame Odenthal felt her courage revive, and, after giving a moment’s rapid reflection to the subject, replied: “If you do not love him, Gertrude, it is not yet too late to say so. Your father’s love for you is unbounded; and did he know that you disliked Count Hernwold, he would speedily find means to break the engagement.”

  “No, Madame Odenthal!” replied Gertrude, gently; “my father’s love for me is not unbounded; but, even if it were so, it might not be in his power to make me happy. But this is idle talking. Your observation would not be useless, if you were to say that my good father loves me dearly. I know he does; I know that he loves me so dearly, as well to merit that I should love him a little in return. But I fear I have never yet loved him as I ought to do. My spirit is a perverse spirit. There is something within me that will not let me act as I would wish to do. But hitherto, perhaps, he has never had the misfortune to discover how very far I am from being what he wishes me to be... and from what he believes I am! He may be dead, and I too, my dear old friend, before I shall find so good an opportunity of pleasing him. I am quite determined to marry Count Hernwold. You must see, as plainly as I do, that papa is perfectly delighted — perfectly happy — at the idea of my doing so. It can make very little difference to me who it is I marry; and I do not mean that you, or anybody else, should ever hear me complain about it. Only I don’t see any reason why I should add to my sins by pretending to love the carpets and curtains.”