The Ironmaster

Georges Ohnet, one of the most prolific and popular of French

novelists and playwrights, was born in Paris on April 3, 1848.

His father was an architect, and, after a period devoted to

the study of law, Georges Ohnet adopted a journalistic career.

He first came into prominence as the part-author of the drama

"Regina Sarpi," in 1875. "The Ironmaster, or Love and Pride,"

was originally conceived as a play, and as such was submitted

in vain to the theatrical managers of Paris. It was entitled

"Marrying for Money" ("Les Mariages d'Argent") and on its

rejection he laid it aside and directed his attention to the

novel, "Serge Panine." This was immediately successful, and

was crowned with honour by the French Academy. Its author

adapted it as a play, and then, in 1883, did the opposite with

"Les Manages d'Argent," calling it "Le Maitre de Forges." As a

novel, "The Ironmaster," with its dramatic plot and strong,

moving story, attracted universal attention, and has been

translated into several European languages.

_I.--The Faithless Lover_

The Château de Beaulieu, in the Louis XIII. style, is built of white

stone with red brick dressings. A broad terrace more than five hundred

yards long, with a balustrade in red granite, and decked with parterres

of flowers, becomes a delightful walk in autumn. M. Derblay's ironworks

may have somewhat spoilt the beauty of the landscape, but Beaulieu

remains a highly covetable estate.

Madame de Beaulieu sat in the drawing-room knitting woollen hoods for

the children in the village, while her daughter Claire contemplated,

without seeing it, the admirable horizon before her. At last, turning

her beautiful, sad face to her mother, she asked, "How long is it since

we have had any letters from St. Petersburg?"

"Come," said the marchioness, taking hold of Claire's hands--"come, why

do you always think about that, and torture your mind so?"

"What can I think of," answered Claire bitterly, "but of my betrothed?

And how can I avoid torturing my mind as you say, in trying to divine

the reason of his silence?"

"I own it is difficult to explain," rejoined the marchioness. "After

spending a week with us last year, my nephew, the Duc de Bligny, started

off promising to return to Paris during the winter. He next began by

writing that political complications detained him at his post. Summer

came, but not the duke. Here now is autumn, and Gaston no longer even

favours us with pretences. He does not even trouble to write."

"But supposing he were ill?" Claire ventured to say.

"That is out of the question," replied the marchioness pitilessly. "The

embassy would have informed us. You may be sure he is in perfect health,

and that he led the cotillon all last winter in the ball-rooms of St.

Petersburg."

Claire, forcing herself to smile, said, "It must be confessed, mother,

he is not jealous, and yet I have been courted wherever I have gone, and

am scarcely allowed to remain in peace, even in this desert of Beaulieu.

It would seem I have attracted the attention of our neighbour the

ironmaster."

"Monsieur Derblay?"

"Yes, mother; but his homage is respectful, and I have no cause to

complain of him. I only mentioned him as an example--as one of many. The

duke stays away, and I remain here alone, patient and--"

"And you act very wrongly!" exclaimed the marchioness.

The opportunity of easing her mind was not to be lost, and she told

Claire that if the marriage ever did take place she feared there would

be cause for regret. But her daughter's violent emotion made her realise

more forcibly than ever how deeply and firmly Claire was attached to the

Due de Bligny. So she assured her she had heard nothing fresh about him,

and hoped they might have news from the De Prefonts, who were to arrive

that day from Paris.

"Ah!" interrupted Mdlle. de Beaulieu, "here is Octave coming with

Monsieur Bachelin, the notary." And she went to meet them, looking the

living incarnation of youth in all its grace and vigour.

"You have had good sport, it seems," she said, waylaying her brother,

and feeling the weight of his game-bag.

"Oh, I'll be modest. This game was not killed by me," answered the

marquis; and explained that he had lost his way on the Pont Avesnes

land, and had been rather haughtily accosted by another sportsman, who,

however, as soon as he heard his name, became very polite, and forced

him to accept the contents of his own bag.

Maitre Bachelin immediately informed them that this must have been the

ironmaster himself, whom he had been to see that morning, and all

questions at issue about the boundaries of the estates were as good as

settled.

"For," said he, "my worthy friend accepts whatever conditions you may

lay down. The only point now is to sign the preliminaries, and with this

object Monsieur Derblay proposes to call at Beaulieu with his sister,

Mile. Suzanne; that is, if you are pleased to authorise him, Madame la

Marquise."

"Oh, certainly. Let him come by all means. I shall be glad to see this

Cyclops, who is blackening all the valley. But come, you have, no doubt,

brought me some fresh documents in reference to our English lawsuit."

"Yes, Madame la Marquise, yes," rejoined Bachelin, with an appealing

look. "We will talk business if you desire it."

Without asking any questions, Claire and the marquise gave their mother

a smile, and left the drawing-room.

"Well, Bachelin, have the English courts decided? Is the action lost?"

The notary lacked courage to reply in words, but his gesture was

sufficient. The marchioness bit her lips, and a tear glittered for a

moment.

"Ah!" said the notary. "It is a terrible blow for the house of

Beaulieu."

"Terrible indeed," said the marchioness; "for it implies my son's and my

daughter's ruin. Misfortunes seldom come singly," she resumed. "I

suppose you have some other bad news for me, Bachelin. Tell me

everything. You have news of the Duc de Bligny?"

"For the last six weeks M. le Duc de Bligny has been in Paris."

"He is aware of the misfortune that has overtaken us?"

"He knew of it one of the first, Madame la Marquise."

The marchioness was grieved more cruelly by this than by the money loss;

and the notary was thus emboldened to tell her that a gallant friend of

his, M. Derblay, whose father had been kind enough to call Maitre

Bachelin his friend, had fallen passionately in love with Mdlle. de

Beaulieu, and would be the happiest man in the world if he were even

allowed to hope. He advised the marchioness not to say anything at

present to her daughter. Maybe the duke would return to more honourable

feelings, and it would always be time enough for Mdlle. Claire to

suffer."

"You are right; but, at all events, I must inform my son of this blow

that strikes him."

Octave was not surprised, but affectionately taking his mother's hand,

said, "My only concern was for my sister, whose dowry was at stake. You

must leave her the part of your fortune you were reserving for me. Don't

you think, mother, that our cousin De Bligny's silence has some

connection with the loss of this lawsuit?"

"You are mistaken, child," cried the marchioness eagerly. "For the

duke----"

"Oh, fear nothing, mother," said Octave. "If Gaston hesitates now that

Mdlle. de Beaulieu no longer comes to him with a million in either hand,

we are not, I fancy, the sort of folk to seize him by the collar and

compel him to keep his promises."

"Well said, my son," cried the marchioness.

Bachelin took respectful leave of his noble clients, and hurried off to

Pont Avesnes as fast as his legs could carry him.

_II.--M. Derblay's Passion_

It was really M. Derblay whom the Marquis de Beaulieu had met in the

woods of Pont Avesnes. Letting Octave call after him as loud as he

liked, he hurried on through the woods. Chance had brought him nearer to

the woman he adored from afar, in a dream as it were, and his heart was

full of joy. He, Philippe, might approach her--he would be able to speak

to her. But at the thought of the Duc de Bligny, a feeling of deep

sadness overcame him, and his strength waned.

He recalled to mind all the exploits of his life, and asked himself if,

in virtue of the task he had accomplished, he were not really deserving

of happiness. After very brilliant studies, he had left the polytechnic

school with first honours, and had chosen the state mining service when

the Franco-German war had broken out. He was then two-and-twenty, and

had just obtained an appointment, but at once enlisted as a volunteer.

He served with distinction, and when at last he started for home he wore

on his breast the ribbon of the Legion of Honour. He found the house in

mourning. His mother had just died, and his little sister, Suzanne, just

seven years old, clung to him with convulsive tenderness. Within six

months his father also died, leaving his affairs in a most confused

state.

Philippe renounced the brilliant career as an engineer already chalked

out before him, and that his sister might not be dowerless, became a

manufacturer. In seven years he had liquidated the paternal inheritance;

his property was really his own, and he felt capable of greatly

extending his enterprises. Popular in the district, he might come

forward at the elections to be returned as a deputy. Who knew? Hope

revived in Philippe Derblay's heart.

After a long talk with Maitre Bachelin, he, on considering the

situation, felt it was not unfavourable to his hopes. When he presented

himself at Beaulieu, the marchioness received him kindly, and, touching

Suzanne's fair hair with her lips, "There is peace signed on this

child's forehead," said she. "All your sins are forgiven you, neighbour.

And now come and let me introduce you to the family."

A burning flush suffused Philippe's face, and he bowed low before the

girl he adored.

"Why, he's a gentleman, dear!" whispered the baroness to Claire. "And

think, I pictured him with a leather apron! Why, he's decorated, and the

baron isn't! He's really very good-looking, and his eyes are superb!"

Claire looked at him almost sternly. The contrast was complete between

him and Bligny, far away. Philippe was relieved to find the Baron de

Préfont present; he had read a treatise of his, which delighted the

baron, who at once became very friendly, and insisted on visiting the

ironworks. Only Claire remained frigid and indifferent, and this on his

second visit, instead of disconcerting the ironmaster, only irritated

him; and the more she pretended to ignore him the more determined he

became to compel her to notice him. They were all on the terrace when

Monsieur and Mademoiselle Monlinet were announced.

"What can these people want?" said Madame de Beaulieu.

Monsieur Monlinet was a wealthy tradesman, who had just bought the

Château de la Varenne, near by. His daughter had been at school with

Claire and the Baroness de Préfont, and a bitter warfare was waged

incessantly between the juvenile aristocrats and the monied damsels

without handles to their names. All recollections of Athénais had faded

from Claire's mind, but hatred was still rife in Mlle. Monlinet's heart;

and when her father, in view of her marriage, bought La Varenne for her,

the château was a threatening fortress, whence she might pounce down on

her enemy.

Now she advanced towards Mlle, de Beaulieu when she entered the

drawing-room at Beaulieu and threw her arms round her neck, and boldly

exclaimed, "Ah, my beautiful Claire! How happy am I to see you!"

This young person had wonderfully improved, had become very pretty, and

now paralysed her adversaries by her audacity. She soon contrived to

leave the others, and when alone with Claire informed her she had come

to beg for advice respecting her marriage.

Mlle, de Beaulieu instantly divined what her relatives had been hiding

so carefully, and though she became very pale while Athénais looked at

her in fiendish delight, she determined to die rather than own her love

for Gaston, and exerted all her will to master herself. The noise of a

furious gallop resounded, and the Duc de Bligny dashed into the

courtyard on a horse white with foam. He would have entered the

drawing-room, but the baron hindered him, while Maître Bachelin went to

ask if he might be received.

Claire wore a frightful expression of anger.

"Be kind enough"--she turned to Bachelin--"to ask the duke to go round

to the terrace and wait a moment. Don't bring him in till I make you a

sign from the window; but, in the meantime, send M. Derblay to me."

The marchioness and the baroness immediately improvided a

_mise-en-scéne,_ so that when the duke entered, he perceived the

marchioness seated as usual in her easy chair, the baroness standing

near the chimney-piece, and Claire with her back to the light. He bowed

low before the noble woman who had been his second mother.

"Madame la Marquise," he said, "my dear aunt, you see my emotion--my

grief! Claire, I cannot leave this room till you have forgiven me!"

"But you owe me no explanation, duke," Claire said, with amazing

serenity; "and you need no forgiveness. I have been told you intend to

marry. You had the right to do so, it seems to me. Were you not as free

as myself?"

Thereupon, approaching the doorway, she made a sign to Philippe. Athénais

boldly followed the ironmaster.

"I must introduce you to one another, gentlemen. Monsieur le Duc de

Bligny--my cousin." Then, turning towards her faithless lover, and

defying him, as it were, with her proud gaze, she added, "Duke, Monsieur

Derblay, my future husband."

_III.--The Ironmaster's Disappointment_

Touched by the disinterested delicacy of M. Derblay, the marchioness

sanctioned her daughter's sudden determination without anxiety. In her

mother's presence, Claire showed every outward sign of happiness, but

her heart became bitter and her mind disturbed, and nought remained of

the noble, tender-hearted Claire.

Her only object now was to avenge herself on Athénais and humiliate the

duke; and the preparations for the wedding were carried on with

incredible speed. Left ignorant of the ironmaster's generous intentions,

she attributed his ready deference to all her wishes to his ambition to

become her husband, and even felt contempt for the readiness with which

he had enacted his part in the humiliating comedy played before the

duke, so thoroughly did she misjudge passionate, generous-hearted

Philippe, whose only dream was to restore her happiness.

Mlle, de Beaulieu arrived at two decisions which stupefied everybody.

She wished the wedding to take place at midnight, without the least

pomp, and only the members of the two families to be present. The

marchioness raised her hands to heaven, and the marquis asked his sister

if she were going mad, but Philippe declared these wishes seemed very

proper to him, and so they were carried out.

The marriage contract was signed on the eve of the great day. Claire

remained ignorant of the fact that she was ruined, and signed quite

unsuspectingly the act which endowed her with half M. Derblay's fortune.

The service was performed with the same simplicity as would have been

observed at a pauper's wedding. The dreary music troubled the duke, and

reminded him of his father's funeral, when his aunt and cousins wept

with him. He was now alone. Separated for ever from the dear ones who

had been so kind to him, he compared Philippe's conduct with his own,

and, turning his eyes to Claire, divined that she wept. A light broke on

him; he realised the ironmaster's true position, and decided he might

revenge himself very sweetly.

"She weeps," he said to himself. "She hates that man, and still loves

me."

After the service he looked in vain for traces of tears. She was calm

and smiling, and spoke in perfect self-possession.

But when she was left alone, all on a sudden she found herself face to

face with the cruel reality. She held herself and Philippe in horror.

She must have been mad, and he had acted most unworthily in lending

himself to her plans. When he at last ventured to come to her, her harsh

expression astonished him. She managed to convey to him her wish to

remain alone, and he showed himself so proud and magnanimous, she asked

herself if it would be possible for her to live apart from him. How

could she for ever repel such a loyal, generous man without showing

herself unjust and cruel?

Her husband approached her. His lips touched her forehead. "Till

to-morrow," he said. But as he touched her he was seized with a mad,

passionate longing. He caught her in his arms in an irresistible

transport. "Oh, if you only knew how much I love you!"

Surprised at first, Claire turned livid.

"Leave me!" she cried in an angry voice.

Philippe drew back. "What!" he said, in a troubled voice. "You repel me

with horror! Do you hate me, then? And why? Ah, that man who forsook you

so cowardly--that man, do you still happen to love him?"

"Ah, have you not perceived that I have been mad?" cried Claire, ceasing

to restrain herself. "I have deserved your anger and contempt, no doubt.

Come, take everything belonging to me except myself! My fortune is

yours. I give it you. Let it be the ransom of my liberty."

Philippe was on the point of revealing the truth, which he had hitherto

hidden with such delicacy and care, but he cast the idea aside. "Do you

really take me for a man who sells himself?" he asked coldly. "I, who

came here but a little while ago, palpitating and trembling to tell my

love! Wasn't I more than mad, more than grotesque? For, after all, I

have your fortune. I'm paid. I have no right to complain."

Philippe burst into a bitter laugh, and falling on the sofa, hid his

face in his hands.

"Monsieur," said Claire haughtily, "let us finish this. Spare me useless

raillery----"

Philippe showed his face, down which tears were streaming. "I am not

railing, madame; I am weeping--mourning my happiness, for ever lost. But

this is enough weakness. You wished to purchase your liberty. I give it

you for nothing. You will realise one day that you have been even more

unjust than cruel, and you may then think of trying to undo what you

have done. But it will be useless. If I saw you on your knees begging my

forgiveness, I should not have a word of pity for you. Adieu, madame. We

shall live as you have willed it."

Claire simply bent her head in assent. Philippe gave her a last glance,

hoping for some softening; but she remained inert and frigid. He slowly

opened the door, and closed it, pausing again to listen if a cry or a

sigh would give him--wounded as he was--a pretext for returning and

offering to forgive. But all was silent.

"Proud creature," said he. "You refuse to bend, but I will break you."

The next morning Claire was found insensible, and for months she lay

ill, nursed by Philippe with silent devotion. From that time forth his

manner did not change. Gentle and most attentive to Claire in the

presence of strangers, he was cold, grave, and strictly polite when they

were alone.

_IV.--The Lover's Reward_

In the first expansion of her return to life she had decided she would

be amiable, and frankly grant her friendship to Philippe, but saw, to

her mortification, she was disposed to grant more than was asked of her.

When he handed her "the income of her fortune, for six months," she

became in a moment the proud Claire of other times, and refused to take

it. Their eyes met; she relapsed, conquered. He it was she loved now.

She constantly looked at him, and did whatever she thought would please

him. She learnt with surprise that her husband was on the high road to

becoming one of the princes of industry--that great power of the

century. And when she learnt, accidentally from her brother, that she

herself had had no dowry, she said, "I must win him back, or I shall

die!"

The Duc and Duchess de Bligny arrived at La Varenne. La Varenne became

the scene of numerous fetes, but Claire excused herself from attending

on the ground that she was not yet well enough to sit up late. Athénais'

anticipated pleasure was all lost, since she could not crush her rival

with her magnificence. In her jealous rage she began to devote

particular attention to Monsieur Derblay. At last, Claire judged the cup

was full, and on her fête day, encouraged for the first time by her

husband's glances, called Athénais aside and entreated her to stay away

from their home for a time, at least. Athénais, pale with rage, replied

insultingly, and Claire summoned the duke to take his wife away if he did

not wish her to be turned out in presence of everyone.

With perfect composure Bligny asked Philippe if he approved of what

Madame Derblay had done. In a grave voice, the ironmaster answered,

"Monsieur le Duc, whatever Madame Derblay may do, whatever reason she

may have for doing it, I consider everything she does as well done."

* * * * *

Claire saw two pistols lowered. With a shriek, she bounded forward and

clapped her hand on the muzzle of Bligny's pistol!

* * * * *

An hour had elapsed without her regaining consciousness. The ironmaster

was leaning over her. Suddenly her eyes opened, and she threw her arms

round his neck. An acute pain passed through her hand, and she

remembered everything--her despair, her anguish, and her sacrifice.

"One word?" she asked. "Tell me, do you love me?"

Philippe showed her a radiant face.

"Yes, I love you," he replied.

A cry escaped Claire. She clung frantically to Philippe; their eyes met,

and in inexpressible ecstasy they exchanged their first kiss of love.

* * * * *