COLONEL CHABERT (Oberst Chabert)

It was summer-time in Paris; and late one night during the year 1817, lights still burned in the office of Derville, the famous lawyer, betokening that work was still proceeding in one spot of the gay city, in spite of the fact that thousands of pleasure-seekers paced the streets and filled the theatres, and that no reasonable person could possibly have the desire to be cooped up in a close room until midnight when the soft warm air of a June evening was to be enjoyed outside.

But Derville, the lawyer, was the fashion; and he had so many clients and so many interesting cases to conduct that his offices were often open until a late hour. Not that Derville himself was to be found there of an evening; for he was a young man, who, though clever and shrewd in his profession, yet desired to enjoy the good things of life and sought pleasure whilst he might. But his two clerks toiled on unceasingly, preparing deeds and documents against the return of their master at midnight, when they might retire to rest and Derville himself would take his turn, remaining up until early dawn to con the papers they had left for him.

Old Boucard, the elder clerk, would grumble now and again because of the late hours he was compelled to keep; but Godeschal, his companion, never complained, for he was an old soldier and afraid of no hardships. He was glad of the work to occupy his mind, after the troubles and vicissitudes he had been through as a sergeant in Napoleon's army.

Napoleon was now in exile at St Helena; but though peaceful days were at present his lot, Godeschal oft looked back with regret to the stirring past and sighed for the days when he had fought side by side with Chabert, his beloved Colonel. How he had loved Chabert; and how grief-stricken he had been when the brave Colonel had fallen at the battle of Eylau!

Nor was he alone in his grief—for when the news of Colonel Chabert's death was brought to Paris, there was general grief for the loss of so gallant a man; and his fair young wife, Rosine, became the chief object of sympathy in Parisian society, and, later on, its petted favourite.

In a very short time, however, Chabert was forgotten, and Rosine became the wife of the fascinating young Comte Ferraud, a peer of France. The pair had a deep love for one another; and when two children were born to them as the years went by, their happiness was complete.

And now, on this hot night in June, ten years after the battle of Eylau, their happiness was about to be shattered.

For Chabert was not dead, as had been believed; and he was even now entering Derville's office, with the object of proving his identity and claiming his wife. He had been struck down at Eylau, fearfully wounded, and after the battle his unconscious body had been taken up for dead and cast into a huge grave or charnel pit with the other slain; but later, on recovering consciousness and realising his awful position, he had managed by almost superhuman efforts to free himself. Then, as he lay on the top of the ground, he had been found by a poor peasant woman, who gave him shelter in her hut until his wounds were healed.

Better for him would it have been had he never effected so miraculous an escape from burial alive, for when at length, after many weary months, he went forth to tell his tale and seek assistance to return to his wife and home, no one would believe his story, and all laughed to scorn the idea that the gaunt, disfigured and ragged beggar before them could be the gallant Chabert, whom they knew to have been slain and buried at Eylau.

Stunned by the helplessness of his position, Chabert lost his senses for a time, and was locked up in a mad-house for declaring himself to be the dead Colonel; and then, finally securing his release by giving up his claim and calling himself instead Hyacinth the Beggar, he began to wander on foot through many towns and country wilds, frequently writing letters to his wife imploring her aid on his behalf, to none of which he received any reply.

Many further disasters fell upon him, for he was often imprisoned as a vagabond, since no one would believe his tale or give him help; but, at last, after ten years' weary wanderings, he earned sufficient money to enable him to make his way back to Paris—there to learn the despairing news that his beloved Rosine was now the happy wife of another man.

Though full of grief at this additional crushing blow, Chabert yet determined to establish his identity at all costs, and to claim his wife; and for this purpose he sought the assistance of the most famous lawyer in Paris.

Nearly a dozen times that day had he called at the offices of Derville, only to find the great man absent, or engaged; and when he finally appeared again as midnight was about to strike, old Boucard was highly indignant, and wished to deny him admission, since he did not approve of his wild and wretched looks and his beggarly garments.

Godeschal, however, was interested in the stranger, and bade him enter; and as the haggard client came forward with feverish eagerness, the ex-sergeant stared at him curiously, trying to chase some elusive recollection as to where he had seen those scarred and worn features before, since he felt sure the man was no stranger to him, though he could not yet place him in his book of memory. His musings, however, were cut short by the entrance of Derville, who sent both clerks into an adjoining room, and sat down at once to interview his strange client.

No sooner did the ragged late-comer declare himself to be the famous Chabert so long believed to be dead, than the young lawyer became intensely interested; for the beautiful Comtesse Rosine, the supposed widow of Chabert and the wife of Comte Ferraud, was also his client, and one of the most fascinating of his many lady admirers. He, therefore, invited the unhappy man before him to tell him his whole story; and by the time the heart-rending recital had come to an end, he felt entirely convinced that the stranger was indeed the Chabert who had been mourned as dead.

At this moment, Godeschal entered to inform his master that the Comtesse Rosine had unexpectedly arrived and desired an immediate interview; and upon hearing that his beloved one was about to enter the room, Chabert became violently agitated, forgetting, for the instant, that she was now the wife of another man, and only longing to clasp her in his arms.

Derville, however, though now more than ever satisfied as to the truth of the story which had been told to him, thrust Chabert into an adjoining chamber, bidding him to possess himself in patience a little while longer; and then he gave orders for the Comtesse to be admitted, at the same time scolding Godeschal for staring after the mysterious ragged stranger—for the old sergeant had started violently on hearing the raised voice of Chabert, and it had brought back to him a flood of recollections. Half dazed, he admitted the Comtesse Rosine, retiring from the room as she entered; and Derville turned readily to receive his beautiful client, kissing her hand with his usual charming courtesy and leading her to a seat.

That Rosine was agitated, he could easily perceive; and though she began her interview by an attempted flirtation with the handsome young lawyer, Derville skillfully evaded her advances and led her to relate her troubles to him.

He was not greatly surprised to learn that Chabert was the cause of her late visit; and he soon discovered that, though terrified, Rosine desired him to believe that she was merely annoyed by the threats of a blackmailer. She declared that an impostor calling himself Chabert had written to her many letters, in which he claimed to be her first husband who had had a wonderful escape from death and burial; and she added that this person had now come to Paris and begun to haunt her house.

Derville's quick brain instantly realised that the Comtesse secretly believed the so-called impostor to be indeed her first husband, since she had, doubtless, recognised his handwriting on the letters, but that she was determined to refuse to acknowledge his identity; and the truth of his surmise was instantly forthcoming, for Chabert, unable to restrain himself longer, now burst into the room, and seizing Rosine's trembling hands in his, greeted her as his wife in passionate tones of love.

Rosine turned deadly pale, and, thus taken unawares, unconsciously proved to the watchful Derville the identity of Chabert by her instant shrinking away from his embrace, and by the hoarse murmur of his name under her breath; but the next moment, full of despair at the thought of losing her beloved Ferraud, she passionately denounced him as an impostor and utterly repudiated the idea that she had ever beheld him before.

Chabert, crushed again by her unexpected denial of him, feverishly recounted to her all that he had done for her in the past—how he had found her, an orphaned, destitute young girl, on the banks of the Seine, about to drown herself; how he had saved her, and, loving her from the first, had married her; and how, until the time of his departure to the wars, he had loaded her with every kindness and sought nothing but her happiness.

To all this, Rosine still stubbornly refused to admit any confirmation whatever; but, in spite of her repudiation, undeniable proof of the stranger's identity was again accorded by the sudden entry of old Godeschal, who, full of emotion, flung himself at the feet of Chabert and tearfully addressed him as his beloved Colonel, whom he now completely recognised, in spite of his scars and haggard looks.

Finding herself thus defeated, Rosine uttered a distracted cry and rushed out of the office, determined to cling to her beloved Ferraud whilst she might; and when Chabert, now furious at her cruel denial of him, would have followed with intent to kill her, Derville held him back, and proceeded to calm his rage and to lay before him plans for his next action.

Meanwhile, Rosine reached her home, and passed a restless, anxious night, trying to seek a loophole from her terrible position. She dared not yet make any statement to Ferraud, without whose love she felt she could not exist; and next day, as she sat alone in one of the large palatial rooms of her beautiful home, she determined to make an appeal to Chabert himself to forego his claim, for she saw that he loved her still and selfishly thought that he might be willing to put her happiness before his own.

Elated by this idea, she was about to order her carriage and seek Chabert, when Derville entered the room, unannounced.

Rosine, though last evening willing enough to win to her side the handsome young lawyer by exercising her arts of fascination, now resented his intrusion; for she knew that he had never for an instant believed in her denial of Chabert's identity, that he even suspected her of further deceit, and she feared him accordingly.

Her fears were well-founded; for Derville declared that he had come to acquaint the Comte Ferraud with the fact of her first husband's existence. Once again, Rosine indignantly denied that his ragged client of last night was Chabert; but, next moment, she was completely nonplussed by Derville calmly accusing her of having received all the imploring letters which Chabert had sent to her during his wretched wanderings, and of even having been in possession of his first communication before her marriage with Ferraud took place.

Closely the lawyer watched the effect of his accusing words upon the white face of Rosine; then, seeking a proof from herself of the truth of his assertion, he added mercilessly: "I have proof of all this!"

Rosine fell into his trap at once; for, knowing that he spoke the truth, she quickly determined to purchase his silence by the offer of gold, and drawing from her writing-table a bag containing a thousand louis d'or, she entreated him to take it and leave her in peace.

But Derville was not to be bought; and he sternly bade the agitated woman to put back her gold, declaring that though he had held no proof before of his suspicions, she had herself now revealed to him the truth of his accusation by her foolish attempt to buy his silence.

The self-accused Rosine bowed her head in humiliation; but upon Ferraud's entry into the room at that moment, she still endeavoured to avert the blow she knew must fall.

Ferraud, young, handsome, and full of gaiety, had brought in flowers from the garden for his beloved wife, whom he greeted tenderly, at the same time extending a hearty greeting to Derville; but soon realising that something was wrong, he demanded an explanation. In reply, Derville, ignoring Rosine's imploring glances, asked for an interview; and as the two men retired into Ferraud's study and closed the door, the distracted wife listened outside, with her ear to the keyhole, for the words that should seal her doom.

She heard Derville relating the story of her first husband's return; and when the pair came out of the room, and the lawyer had departed to fetch Chabert, she hastened, sobbing, to Ferraud, who clasped her in his arms in a passionate embrace. To her joy, she found that Ferraud refused to believe the story he had been told; and the pair remained for a few happy minutes in their lovers' paradise, until interrupted by the return of Derville with Chabert and the faithful ex-sergeant, Godeschal, who refused to leave his newly-found and well-beloved Colonel, fearing lest some conspiracy might be made against his life.

Ferraud met the newcomers with dignity, and haughtily challenged Chabert to substantiate his claim to be the famous Colonel of whose death and burial definite reports had been received and believed; and upon Rosine again doggedly repudiating the fact that the changed man before them was indeed her first husband, old Godeschal sprang forward and furiously denounced the unhappy woman as a traitress, accusing her of having been in possession of Chabert's first letter announcing his escape before she was married to the Comte Ferraud.

Derville, out of pity for the harassed wife, had withheld the latter information from Ferraud, who was thunderstruck on hearing the terrible words of Godeschal; and seizing Rosine's hands in an agitated grip, he commanded her to answer on oath that the accusation was false. In vain Rosine, half-fainting, endeavoured to utter the words of denial that Ferraud longed to hear; but, conscience-stricken, she could not swear on oath that which she knew to be untrue, and, with bowed head, she now admitted that the returned stranger was indeed her first husband, Chabert, and that she had known him to be alive on the very day on which she had been married to Ferraud.

She entreated the latter to forgive her, since her deep love for him had been the reason for her guilty silence; but Ferraud, crushed by the blow which must lay his family honour and pride in the dust, and furious at the deception which had been practised upon him, flung the weeping Rosine into the arms of Chabert, announcing to the latter that he thus restored to him all that he had unwittingly robbed him of.

The wretched Rosine entreated him not to cast her off, again declaring her love for him; but Ferraud, though moved by her grief, rushed out into the open air, and Chabert and his despairing wife were left alone.

Rosine, half-dazed, remained silent for a long time; and then, on awakening to the full realisation of her awful position, she pleaded passionately to Chabert to resign his claim to her and to declare himself an impostor. Presently seeing her two children by Ferraud approaching, she called them in, fondling them with loving embraces, and, tearfully bewailing the dishonour that must fall upon their innocent heads should her own unhappy story become known, she entreated once more to be recognised as their father's wife.

Chabert was deeply moved at the sight of the pretty children; and Rosine, perceiving this, now used her last shaft and declared boldly that she had never loved him, but that her regard for him in the past had been merely gratitude for his kindness to her, and that the real love of her life had been given to Ferraud, the father of her children.

Entirely crushed by thus realising that his deep faithful love had never been returned, Chabert staggered from the room for a few moments to recover his senses; and Rosine seized the opportunity to take out from a secret drawer in her writing-desk a phial containing a deadly poison, determining to swallow it and die rather than be compelled to leave her beloved Ferraud.

Ere the poison reached her lips, however, Chabert returned, and seeing what she was about to do, snatched the phial from her trembling hand and thrust it into his breast pocket.

Rosine, baulked in her purpose, repeated again the cruel statement that she had never loved any man but Ferraud; and then taking her children by the hand, she hurried with them from the room.

Chabert, left alone, became a prey to the gloomiest thoughts; and, completely broken as he realised the fact that Rosine had never loved him, but that he must himself yet love her to the end of his days, he determined to go back to the oblivion of death and thus interfere with her happiness no more. Deliberately, he sat at the desk and wrote a note, in which he declared himself to be an impostor who had posed as Chabert for blackmailing purposes, but who was in reality merely Hyacinth the Beggar; and then, feeling for his pistol, he stepped out into the garden, cautiously hiding himself behind the bushes and keeping from the sight of the watchful Godeschal.

Meanwhile, Rosine had met with Ferraud once more, and had implored him again not to cast her off, but to keep her story from public knowledge for the sake of their children; but Ferraud, though deeply suffering himself, gently but firmly declared that his honour could only be satisfied by restoring to Chabert his rightful position.

Just then, a pistol shot rang out from the garden; and, fearing the worst, Derville and Godeschal, followed by Ferraud, hastened outside to look for Chabert, whose body they found amongst the bushes, slain by his own hand.

Reverently they bore the corpse into the house; and Rosine, horror-struck at the tragedy, was overcome with grief and remorse as she now realised that Chabert had died for love of her, and despairing because her own deceptions had alienated Ferraud's affections, she flung herself upon the prostrate body, and feeling for the phial of poison he had taken from her, swallowed the contents, before Ferraud could stay her hand.

Overcome with horror and grief, the Comte rushed forward to catch her swaying body as it fell; and Rosine, with Chabert's name on her lips, uttered a deep sigh and expired in his arms.