Rensselaer Union, Volume 7, Number 44, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 July 1875 — Marrying a French “Baron”-A Sad Story. [ARTICLE]

Marrying a French “Baron”-A Sad Story.

The death of her father, a shrewd and respected merchant, left Miss R., an only child, to the care of a foolish mother, and placed her fortune —a round million—in the hands of two relatives, men of high position and of scrupulous integrity, w-ho were named trustees under the will. The rents'and profits of the property, which consisted mainly of real estate on Manhattan Island, accumulated during a long minority, and when the young lady, not yet eighteen, was taken to Europe by her mamma, with the avowed object of marrying a title, little doubt was entertained by people accustomed to angle in Continental waters that bait so tempting would draw a very great fish. In fact, nothing but an unparalleled mixture of native stupidity and willful blindness on the mother's part can explain the woeful miscarriage of her silly scheme. She was not taken on the wing, for she remained some time in Paris. She could not lack counsel, if she would ask it, having brought strong letters of introduction to persons the most competent to direct her movements and fix with absolute precision the status of any aspirant for her daughter’s hand. For that matter; a. single novel of Balzac or Edmond About should have revealed to her the difference (broad enough, Heaven knows!) between the genuine and the pseudo noblesse. But easily gulled by flattery and smooth pretenses, and too vain of her own judgment to await inquiry or heed warning, this judicious" parent astonished her friends on this side of the Atlantic by suddenly announcing that the Baron de C, had been accepted as her future son-in-law. And no doubt that brilliant noble would have straightway published the banns, but for an awkward clause in the old merchant's will, whereby the fair inheritance lapsed «a Mo to col lateral relatives if his daughter married without the consent of her trustees. Now, these gentlemen desired to look upon the groom’s features before they gave away the bride—which was well enough, though a confidential note to some intelligent Frenchman would have been a more * -

sagacious < and fruitful measure, 'in due time Mrs. R. and daughter reached New York, attended by the obsequious Baron, and, a solemn presentation taking place, the worthy and conscientious trustees (who, perhaps, did not jxwsess the discernment of the Faubourg St. Gennain) pronounced their new acquaintance a most affable and polished gentleman. An early day having been set for the wedding, and the arriere dan of-kinsfolk convoked by sound of trumpet, a short time before the ceremony the dowager Baroness arrived in person, and with her (superb evidence of ancestral dignity) the magnificent family Ijewels, in charge of a quiet, but keen-looking, individual, who was presented by Mme. De C. as her only brother. Very gracious and yet imposing was that right high and puissant dame, and beautiful the assiduous devotion of that bachelor uncle, particularly when the costly gems gracing the fair neck of his niece seemed to recall to his fond remembrance the historical splendors of his house. The marriageknot securely tied, and the large American connection duly impressed by the brilliant alliance, the happy pair, with the bridegroom’s relatives, returned to la belle France, accompanied by the triumphant Mrs. R., who beheld the dream of her life fulfilled. ’Twas a poor, foolish, wicked little dream, and tlie awakening was abrupt and bitter. The polished Baron had no more the right to entree to theFaubourgSt. Germain than the valet who cleaned his boots. His boasted patent of nobility dated no further back than the Empire, and was probably spurious at that. Moreover, he was a sot and a sharper, debauched and rotten to the core. His venerable mother, ‘when her mask was flung aside, betrayed the coarseness and insolence of the average “ Sairy Gamp,” while those family jewels turned out to have been hired for the occasion, and the assiduous uncle to be tlie wily goldsmith’s confidential clerk, who cheerfully surrendered his avuncular role for the more congenial counter. So far the story reads like, a farce, but the next chapter, if I dared to tell it otherwise than vaguely, would show a tinge of melodrama. It seems our honest gentleman had pocketed but half the spoils after all, and, like most craftsmen of his kidney, believed himself to have been grossly defrauded. Another clause in that pestilent will bequeathed only the life income of the estate to his wife, and gave the fee, if she had no children, to the next heir. Now, the Baron was a husband, but not a father, nor likely to become one. While there is life, however, there is hope, and divers rumors of an expected happy event reached America from time to time, invariably followed by a persistent effort to transfer the estate to the prospective father in the interest of the little stranger. But the grasp of the trustees was firm, and somehow the -heir was never forthcoming. What savage taunts, what brutal menace the poor wife had to bear was never known, for a flAse shame held her dumb. Meanwhile $50,000 a year melted like snow in her husband’s hands, until, crushed beneath an avalanche of debt, his desperation knew no bounds. What schemes seemed too dark or base, what counsel too sinister to the panting wretch who saw the prize still beyond his clutch! At length, after fifteen years, when the husband’s shrunken cheeks and quivering hands told the tale of riot and corruption —a blooming infant was presented by the Baroness to her enraptured lord. The great fact was beyond dispute. The birth had been properly attested by numerous competent witnesses — not a shadow of doubt rested on the maternity of the child. Of course the electric cable flashed the news across the Atlantic, and the trustees had no resource but to make over the estate to the owner of the fee, or rather to the natural guardian. But just as the necessary proceedings were concluded the Baron died — struck down by a trivial disorder which a sound, vigorous man might have laughed away. I have not heard whether the widow has married again (she has hardly had time yet), but sure I am she will ponder well her next experiment.— N. Y. Cor. San Francisco Chronicle.