A broken chain

Front matter

cP*

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V

Chapter I

It was nearly ten o'clock one morning in the month of November, 1883, as two young men sauntered out of one of the most fashionable Parisian clubs. Fatigued from a sleepless night, their eyes still accustomed to the glaring lights of the salons, they stopped for a moment, dazzled by the bright daylight. A flood of sunshine bathed the house-tops, casting its golden fringe over the fronts of the houses to the street below. Notwithstanding the lateness of the season the air was bracing and the sky clear and blue. The boulevards were already alive with carriages and the circulating throng momentarily increasing. That great intense life, already commenced — though it never stops — was almost at its full height.

“Scandalous! that is my opinion,” muttered Commandant de Sainte-Avene as he raised his coat-collar. “We are scandalous. Don’t you think so, Anderic? I am fortunate in not being my own son, for I would administer myself some rather forcible paternal advice.”

Instead of replying, his companion beckoned to a 5 cabman, who immediately answered the summons.

“What! are you going to leave me?” exclaimed the commandant in surprise. “But no! come, we shall breakfast together.”

“Impossible,” rejoined his friend. “I have urgent business to attend to.”

“You? the most idle of men,” said Sainte-Avene, shaking his head doubtfully and looking, annoyed at the refusal. “But then, I have no wish to be indiscreet. If you have business to attend to — ”

“Yes. But to-morrow — ”

“You forget that I leave this afternoon.”

“True enough! — one reason more, then, why I should leave you now. I shall see you again by and by, Sainte-Avene.”

“Very well, my dear Anderic.”

They shook hands warmly; Anderic gave the address to the coachman and jumped into the carriage. A few minutes later he rang the bell at one of the prettiest houses on the Avenue Friedland, near the Arc de Triojnphe. He was ushered into a luxuriously furnished room, decorated with discreet and exquisite taste, where all ostentatious display had been banished as a vain superfluity.

The master of the house soon made his appearance, smiling affably, and with open arms.

“What good fortune brings you here, my dear count?” he cried.

Anderic did not rush into the open arms, however, but replied in a haughty tone:

“Would good fortune bring me here, Keissman? It would be the first time.”

“Ah! — What is it then, Monsieur de Nivron?”

The young man threw back the fur coat which concealed his evening dress, passed his hand over the white cravat which remained unruffled through the emotions of the game, and, notwithstanding his hesitating glance, said in a careless tone:

“I must have one hundred and forty thousand francs, at once.”

Keissman pointed to an arm-chair near the fire-place and took a seat opposite. Whatever might be Nathan Keissman’s profession, he exercised it as a gentleman. So many great families had stranded and foundered in his home, in the persons of their amiable heirs, that first the dwelling, and then by degrees its occupant had acquired a varnish of elegance — just as the chameleon borrows its colors from the plants to which it clings.

“I regret to say that I have no funds of which I can dispose.”

“To others!”

“I certainly make an essential difference between you and others. Monsieur le Comte, although logically I should make none, for you are totally ruined.”

“This explains your want of funds?”

“I have a daughter,” muttered Keissman, shrugging his shoulders.

“And I, a creditor. Your daughter can wait; my creditor is going away. You are mistaken, Keissman ; I am not totally ruined. M. Gaulier, my notary, has received the authorization to sell Viellefort.

I sent it to him last night.”

“And Viellefort was sold three months ago.”

“Three months! — Why did you not say so before? — I must see Gaulier at once.”

“I would advise you to do so.”

The bird of prey never abandons its victim while there is a drop of blood or a grain of flesh left. Keissman’s tranquillity, therefore, surprised Anderic; it foreboded no good. He resolved to sound him.

“If Viellefort is sold, why do you refuse me this loan of one hundred and forty thousand francs?”

“Because you will scarcely touch one penny of the amount received. Your late uncle, M. le Comte de Nivron, had mortgaged it for the sum of two hundred thousand francs in favor of Prat, his steward.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Your memory did not serve you as well in regard to the payment of interest, and it has in consequence eaten up your property. I repeat it, your authorization of yesterday was three months late. This is what comes of traveling with pretty women. As the Indians say, ‘the pleasures that break the limbs, sometimes break the back also.’”

Keissman might have continued his aphorisms indefinitely but Anderic was not listening. Ruin arose before him against these walls which perspired an invisible gold — gold brought to this cavern by himself and others like him. Here, his fortune had melted as if in a crucible. But he was not thinking of this in that supreme moment of disaster. A name rang in his ears, a face haunted him: it was that of Sainte- Avene, with its frowning, ill-humored and satirical expression. He must pay Sainte-Avene at any cost, and at once, since he was leaving for Africa.

“Come, Keissman, be reasonable,” he said.

“There is Gaulier, your grandfather’s, your father’s, your uncle’s, and your own notary — why in the deuce don’t you ask him?”

Patience was.not one of Anderic’s virtues, and this correct, imperturbable face, with its expression of the grand seigneur — this mask of a sordid and vulgar soul, jarred on his nerves.

“My venerable friend, M. Gaulier, is not a usurer,” he retorted quickly.

“He is right,” replied the phlegmatic Keissman, “there is too much risk.”

“Is this your final decision?”

“Do you ask me seriously?”

“Yes, seriously.”

“Listen, Monsieur de Nivron; I feel a deep interest in you — ”

“Indeed?”

TO

“On my honor! And I will try to prove it. I have long had my eye on you.”

“I am quite flattered.”

“In spite of your youthful extravagances — ”

“What?”

“You appear to me the perfect type of a true gentleman: good, brave and loyal. If I were to confide what I have most precious in the world to someone, I would make you the sole trustee. You are ruined it is true, but in a particularly enviable condition, for you have but to will it to become the possessor of millions. Your uncle’s will makes you his sole heir under the simple condition that you marry. Why do you hesitate?”

“I do not hesitate in the least. I may be ruined, but will never be married. No! I prefer the army.”

“As you choose, but you will none the less be disgraced at the club no later than to-morrow.”

A cold perspiration froze Anderic’s temples while Keissman closely watched the change in his countenance.

“A good resolution,” resumed Keissman, “and I will count out one hundred and forty thousand francs on the spot.”

“You must then have a fiancee for me in your safe?”

“Perhaps!”

“The deuce!”

“On the day you submit to your uncle’s wishes,

I I

you enter into possession of his landed estate, which he has made inalienable and to which it would be proper to add Viellefort.”

“Sold, Keissman, you told me so yourself a few moments ago. It is sold!”

“But repurchased on the spot by M. Gaulier, for Prat was but the instrument. Moreover, one million in cash comes into your hands on the day of your marriage contract; one million of which you shall have the free disposal, the rest goes to your children — unless you prefer to see it go to charitable institutions. You are therefore a brilliant match: two hundred thousand francs of income, a million in cash in your pocket — ”

“And the firm resolution of dying a bachelor.”

“Even if I intrdouce you to a beautiful, intelligent and accomplished young girl, as rich as yourself in perspective?”

“How much for brokerage?”

Keissman arose, bowed solemnly to Anderic, whom this preamble placed on his guard, and in a voice of mingled affection and pride, said:

“The honor of having you for a son-in-law, my dear count.”

In one bound the count was on his feet, his brow contracted, his nostrils dilated, his eyes flashing: “Your price is too high! Good day!” he cried with withering scorn as he banged the door behind him, leaving the presumptuous financier astounded at this rebellious pride, and discomfited at having exposed his daughter to so perfectly characterized an outrage.

Charles-Maximilian-Anderic de Nivron, was the only surviving heir of one of the noblest families of Bourgogne and an orphan from childhood. He had been brought up by an uncle — his father’s eldest brother — in a manner very agreeable to both, inasmuch as the child had the continual satisfaction of his every whim, and the old man the happiness of an unshared affection. Anderic had therefore become accustomed to see the bright side of life only, leaving the cold and shadows for others. This complete freedom, though it might have unrooted his natural virtues, merely spread a gloss of egotism on this young soul. Charming, distingue, very handsome, with a fine silky mustache that half-concealed lips on which there always lurked a sarcastic smile, of tall and elegant figure, a good horseman and a master shot, he was particularly dangerous through the somewhat morbid and feminine grace of his whole person. He had been early launched in the world, and committed all sorts of extravagant follies in Paris which cost him his fortune. He soon realized the truth of that arithmetic operation, in which the divisor exceeding the dividend, the quotient is zero. But exact science harassed him, and besides, he considered his uncle an inexhaustible mine, so he continued to astound his companions. It was his turn to be astounded, however, when he was suddenly summoned to Chateau de Nivron and threatened with dire disaster if he did not marry at once. However alluring may be a certain form of suicide, it possesses no charm to one who has no wish to commit suicide in any form; and Anderic made but one bound from the chateau to the station. His uncle was much grieved, for he approved his nephew’s resolution in secret; but he nevertheless counted on his financial situation to make him marry, and on his marriage to save their name. This was the objective. He could not allow the genealogical tree of a family, which had scrupulously observed the propagation of race for a half-dozen centuries, to dry through a mere caprice. For his part he had remitted this task to his younger brother, who had paid their common debt in the person of the refractory and delicious Anderic. And he could not evade a servitude which had almost become an appanage. His enthuisasm, however, may be judged by his astonishment and flight.

Touched by his disappointment, the count’s dowager friends resolved to console him. They reminded him that there existed, within a few rods of the chateau, a very handsome person, of thirty-six years of age, and gifted with a sufficient number of virtues. In a word, the person in question was Mademoiselle Johanna de Rochemaure, who would make an admirable wife, and, if it pleased Providence, furnish an heir to the house de Nivron. He knew her antecedents well. Her father, a widower with a son in the army, had married her mother, a German from the North, who possessed the three qualifications of being protestant, sentimental and jealous. Soon after Johanna’s birth, her husband died, and the widow lost no time in leaving France. She settled in Spandau, where she soon ruined herself by her extravagance, became an invalid with no one but her daughter to nurse her. Mademoiselle de Rochemaure had nobly consecrated herself to her duty, so unreservedly in fact, that at her mother’s death, her bright, beautiful eyes, which had been her only dowry, were nearly worn with watching. Left without resources, she took refuge with a rich brother of her mother, and paid highly the privilege of gratuitous hospitality. It was a hell, and she wrote to a cousin, married to a Parisian artist, begging her to assist her. Madame de Mac Oney forwarded the letter to M. de Rochemaure, and the latter, who, for the past thirty years had completely forgotten his sister, hastened in quest of her and brought her to the fraternal fireside. This fireside was cheerless. M. de Rochemaure had suddenly lost his idolized wife, and under the influence of his despair had resigned his commission in the army, retired to his estates, and devoted his life to the education of his daughter Edith, and a handsome youth whom he had partly adopted. He begged Johanna as a favor, to make her home with them, but she was not duped by this delicacy, and vowed a veritable devotion to this brother who opened his house and heart to her. The adoration, increased as she learned to appreciate him better, extended to Edith, whom she had loved from the first day, assumed proportions of apotheosis, and the noble creature — always somewhat romantic — gave free rein to her pent-up affection and devotion.

Count de Nivron knew the different phases of this irreproachable existence. This, added to his resentment against Anderic, facilitated the operations of his dowager friends. He believed himself responsible to his ancestors for the future of his race, and he therefore laid siege to the Chateau de Fresnois. But at the first fire, the garrison, represented by Johanna, cried out in horror. M. de Rochemaure urged capitulation, in vain. It was an honorable alliance; M. de Nivron had been an intimate friend of their father’s and notwithstanding his age —

“What do I care about his age,” interrupted Johanna, “although to tell the truth, I consider it highly indecent in a man of his age. Besides, do you suppose I was made to get married ?”

“The same as everybody else.”

“That is, no doubt, why nobody ever asked me.”

“You see very well that — ”

“No, no, no! But why do you insist! Am I in your way? Tell me, am I in your way?”

“You know better.”

“Then, what is it?”

“But, consider, my dear- -there are things we must

1 6 provide for — life is so uncertain ! and especially, so short! Who can tell what to-morrow may bring? I may be wrong in speaking to you in this way — I have no wish to grieve you; only I feel that I am failing ever day. When I am gone you- shall be too much alone, Edith and you.”

“How absurd you are. Besides, how can we ever be alone when there are two of us?”

There was no gainsaying such reasonings. While the battle still continued to rage, Anderic, repenting his hasty action, came to make a visit of apology to his uncle. He was, of course, received with open arms and heard the news of the pending hostilities with a smile. The thought that he would lose his inheritance on the day that a treaty of peace was signed, never troubled him for a single moment. Disinterestedness armed him against mean regrets. His tranquillity would henceforth be assured, if Mademoiselle de Rochemaure lowered her flag, and this would be an inestimable privilege. To hasten matters, he became an assiduous visitor at Fresnois, began to plead what he called his own cause, lauded the old count’s virtues, and never dreamed that this courtship in the name of a third person, resembled a courtship in his own name. So much zeal turned against him however. The amazed Johanna heard his voice more than his words, and looked at him still more than she listened to him. What beautiful eyes and fine figure! The shoulders of a Hercules

1 7 with the waist of a wasp, the brow of a thinker, with a ray of poetry — what she found admirable in the uncle was the nephew. Indeed she could marry the former still less when she understood the impossibility of marrying the latter. He was only a child, but what an adorable child! with the fire and spirit of his twenty years, his clear loyal gaze, his renouncements — the romantic side of this excellent woman’s nature asserted itself. Edith and M. de Rochemaure ceased to be the sole inhabitants of her heart; Anderic took his place beside them — it was a strange sentiment, less passionate than love, less calm than friendship, more that of a sister than a mother, yet more motherly than sisterly. Johanna now had veritable paroxysms of indignation when the subject of marriage was broached to her. It did not only irritate her on her own account, but it also seemed a Machiavelian theft, an unpardonable ambush. She was determined that the young man should receive his inheritance, and since he must submit to the matrimonial tyrannies of his uncle, she would do the impossible to render them acceptable, even though she were obliged to go to the end of the world herself, in search of the miraculous woman who was to cure him of his anticonjugal prejudices.

And in all her conversations, Anderic continually returned, grew, radiated, before M. de Rochemaure’s eyes and a great deal more to little Ed*$h, who always* i8 kept herself timidly out of sight during the visit of this hero.

“You love him more than me,” she said one day to her aunt.

The whole brightness of the beautiful sunset illuminated and lighted up Johanna’s face. Her two deepest affections, Edith and Anderic, unconsciously melted into one. From that day, her path was clear before her. Leaving all scruples aside, never thinking for a moment of the oddness of a step little authorized by circumstances, she asked M. de Nivron for a secret interview, from which they emerged quite enchanted.

Having expressed her gratitude for the count’s flattering offer of marriage, she excused her refusal by pointing out how necessary she was to Fresnois and her interest in Anderic. She demonstrated that there was no harm in allowing the young man to become a man, while Edith, with time, would become an accomplished fiancee. They would then unite them and the long series of de Nivron would run no risk of being interrupted. The compact concluded, Johanna acquired full sway over the two chateaux of Nivron and Fresnois — Viellefort which constituted the rest of Anderic’s property counting only at the mortgage bureau. The incorrigible nephew, who was no longer disturbed in his pleasures, obtained a loan of two hundred thousand francs from his uncle on this security.

Three years passed by without changing anything in appearance, except that M. de Rochemaure died and also the relative with whom Johanna had taken refuge, at the time of her mother’s death, leaving her sole heiress of his possessions. The hunting season brought Anderic to Bourgogne periodically, and regularly at the end of six weeks he disappeared, brilliant and fugitive as a meteor.

“Things are not progressing very fast, my dear friend,” said M. de Nivron.

“It will come out all right, I assure you; leave it to me,” replied Johanna.

She wanted to do too well. We are often lost through our best intentions, which should prevent us from ever entertaining any. Her ill-timed zeal put things beyond her reach.

Worn out by his wild life, Anderic came to the chateau to recover his breath. Between his horses, a daily visit to Fresnois and a chat with his uncle, the hours passed somehow or other. It was not gay, but endurable, and might have done well enough had not Mademoiselle de Rochemaure taken it into her head to make him admire little Edith. An unformed girl, with big, red hands, tangled hair, and timid air, who bowed awkwardly — when she did bow — and spoke in a hoarse voice. He only saw in her an insignificant, overgrown girl in short petticoats, whom he might have danced on his knee. When Johanna began to sing her praises, he acquiesced through politeness; when she passed to eulogy, he thought she must be laughing at him; but when she reached the dithyrambic, a light dawned on him. They were then setting a trap for him. He questioned his uncle, who confessed the truth. Two hours later, Anderic was leaving the chateau, and the next day M. de Nivron, under the inspiration of Johanna, made a new will. Then, as if to give more weight to his last wishes, he departed for a better world to join his ancestors.

Anderic paid a large tribute to his memory, and his carelessness even decreased. Although a bad calculator, he could not help prognosticating the embarrassment his tastes and habits would soon cause him. Viellefort was already considerably amputated, and would not last long. He therefore began to put some order to his general disorder. He was incapable of reforming all at once, but he nevertheless diminished his stable, did not allow himself to be loved as much as formerly, and was of exemplary reserve at the club. One of his last follies had been his sojourn on the shores of the Neva in company with a very posi • tive charmer. On his return after a few weeks, he suspected Viellefort to be about gone and realized that it was beyond his power to regain it. Melancholy thoughts then assailed him. He remembered, with a certain regret, his noble uncle, so generous, so affectionate, so full of solicitude, mingled with obstinacy, as was proved by his supreme dispositions, paraphrased as a defiance — a command from beyond the grave to take a wife or have nothing. Well, then! it would be nothing. This is what drove him to his last act of folly. The agitation of his thoughts, mingled so completely the actual and the dead hours, that all was confusion in his mind. The come-andgo of the members of the club before the sofa on which he sat dreaming, the buzzing of conversation, the table where M. de Sainte-Avene complained against the obstinacy of ill-luck, and on the other side the former generosity of his uncle, the high forest of Nivron, all that past of tranquil luxury drove away reality. The most precious service imagination can render us is to annihilate the present and its bitterness, to soothe us with the calm happiness of the past.

He approached the players, dropped a few blue notes, and became so fascinated by the game, as he saw the pile increasing, that the next morning he found himself deeply in debt to de Sainte-Avene. It was rather a disagreeable awakening, but he consoled himself with the thought of Viellefort, thinking he might save something from the wreck.

But Keissman had blasted his hopes at one blow.

Andefic could scarcely tell which exasperated him most, the announcement of his complete ruin or the offer of his daughter’s hand, and he reached M. Gaulier’s house in a great state of excitement. The notary welcomed him with warmth, having been conf I- tyid with the young man’s family for half a century.

“Where have you been hiding, and what are you doing?” he asked.

“What am I doing? I am looking for one hundred and forty thousand francs.”

“Ah! as usual, no small sum will satisfy you.”

“Viellefort is sold, I am told.”

“Yes, and if you can spare me a moment I will explain the situation. Your uncle loaned you two hundred thousand francs on Viellefort.”

“Represented by a mortgage, in Prat’s name.”

“About three months ago suit was brought by a certain Keissman — ”

“Ah! ah!”

“I must say that you associate with fine people. This Keissman held notes to the value of fifteen thousand pounds — ”

“Of which I have had a third!”

“Don’t boast of it — he invaded my study and declared that you had disappeared, and as he feared to lose his money he would sell your property. Not knowing your whereabouts, I had to do the best I could. I made arrangements with Prat, paid the notes, and transferred Viellefort to the Nivron estate. When you marry it will therefore all come back into your hands.”

Anderic smiled as he thought of this ironical marriage of a fortune which left him in misery. He related his adventures of the night, his anxieties, the anguish of his first struggle in life, his terror of failing in a sacred engagement.

“What demon drove me there?” he cried bitterly. “I arrived yesterday from St. Petersburg and had not the least intention of playing — had I gone to bed instead of entering the club — ”

“You should not be worried about this miserable debt, but you would nevertheless be ruined.”

“With the difference that I could still join the army while now there is Sainte-Avene — do you understand? An obligation, a necessity. Oh! the impudence of that rascally Jew. His daughter! I have the choice between his daughter and a bullet through the brain. I prefer the bullet, do you hear?”

“And I congratulate you on the choice,” observed the notary with a sly look at his young friend. The old man had long foreseen that this charming spendthrift would be forced to submit to his uncle’s wishes sooner or later. “Yes,” he repeated with a shade of raillery, “I congratulate you heartily, for of the two extremes it is certainly the best. Only a bullet through the brain is a. grave solution. It is so difficult to return to life.”

“You are laughing at me, my excellent friend.”

“Perhaps. Now, my dear Anderic, what have you to reproach Mademoiselle Keissman?”

“Her origin.”

“Suppress it.”

“Even if I killed the father?”

“That would be excessive. But we can find someone of a more acceptable origin.”

“Who would become my wife?”

“Assuredly.”

“Before two o’clock this very afternoon?”

“Of course we shall have to go through more formalities.”

“And while these are being accomplished Sainte- Avene will brand me. Paris will point its finger at me. I shall be the insolvent gentleman. My dear friend, you have violent but inefficacious remedies. And besides, I will never marry! No, I swear it. Only imbeciles or virtuous men can come to that resolution.”

“I do not ask you to become an imbecile; become virtuous, that is all.”

“The recipe?”

“I do not possess it, but it cannot be difficult. The sight of the Pont du Gard sufficed Rousseau. Do like the Swiss, my boy. In the winter they work down in the valley, and regain the summits with the fine weather. You have labored until now by plunging into the bogs of pleasure; reascend toward the pure and fresh atmosphere. Will you permit me to be frank with you? Be a man! For you would be mistaken in believing yourself one.”

“Pray don’t judge me harshly.”

“But—”

“But you have not paid highly, as I have done, to learn to know women. Ah, my venerable friend, what illusions could I have retained? You may blame the sort of existence I have led, but it at least has the merit of having edified me on many subjects. ‘Woman’, says the learned man, ‘is the desolation of the just;’ it is also that of the unjust. It may be the cloak of lead attached to the shoulders of the damned of Dante, but I prefer it to that composition of gauze, tulle, and cotton which sees everything and knows nothing, which wants everything and gives nothing, which — ”

“You might as well admit that your excursion to St. Petersburg — ”

“Was a charming excursion,” interrupted the young man with a smile, for Gaulier was mistaken; the shores of the Neva were a terrestrial paradise, only the apples were beyond his means. “Yes, charming, and I should have remained there twenty-four hours longer. No, I am merely expressing the depth of my thoughts; I am giving you the result of my experience.”

“You are severe.”

“Infinitely less than Hippocrates, Saint Thomas, or Pope Innocent III.”

“You may change your opinion.”

“Not until woman* herself changes — and that is against the order of probable things.”

“Your choice then is a bullet through the head.”

“But you assure me that one cannot return,” he retorted laughing.

The notary saw that his young friend was losing his grounds and asked for nothing better than a helping hand. His prejudices against marriage were almost torn by the roots, by the storm that had assailed them in the last few hours.

“Do you want an adorable wife?” suggested Gaulier.

“Whom I know?”

“Yes.”

“I have never yet known an adorable woman.”

“Edith de Rochemaure.”

“That child!” he exclaimed, recalling the awkward bows and timid manner of the overgrown girl he had known.

“That child, as you call her, is twenty and an angel.”

“Naturally.”

“And richer than you shall ever be. Give me your word that you will marry her within six months and I shall furnish you the means of paying Sainte- Avene.”

“But, my friend, she is undoubtedly married.”

“She might be if it were not that her aunt destines her to you.”

“To me! Great heavens! — but it is only what I deserve. A pretty scheme! and you are an accomplice? You, who flattered me by not taking me for an imbecile! — Why an imbecile would have seen through it — chekmated by an old maid!”

“Come, give me your word”

Auderic hesitated a moment to save appearances, but he was conquered.