The Headsman - James Fenimore Cooper
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"We shall have a mild winter, for I have never known the Herr Hofmeister
so courteous;" observed Roger de Blonay, while showing his guests into the
castle. "Thy Bernese authorities, Melchior, are little apt to be lavish of
their compliments to us poor nobles of Vaud."
"Signore, you forget the interest of our friend;" observed the laughing
Genoese. "There are other and better bailiwicks, beyond a question, in
the gifts of the Councils, and the Signor de Willading has a loud voice in
their disposal. Have I found a solution for this zeal?"
"Thou hast not," returned the baron, "for Peterchen hath little hope
beyond that of dying where he has lived, the deputed ruler of a small
district. The worthy man should have more credit for a good heart, his
own, no doubt, being touched at seeing those who are, as it may be,
redeemed from the grave. I owe him grace for the kindness, and should a
better thing really offer, and could my poor voice be of account, why, I
do not say it should be silent; it is serving the public well, to put men
of these kind feelings into places of trust."
This opinion appeared very natural to the listeners, all of whom, with the
exception of the Signor Grimaldi, joined in echoing the sentiment. The
latter, more experienced in the windings of the human heart, or possessing
some reasons known only to himself, merely smiled at the remarks that he
heard, as if he thoroughly understood the difference between the homage
that is paid to station, and that which a generous and noble nature is
compelled to yield to its own impulses.
An hour later, the light repast was ended, and Roger de Blonay informed
his guests that they would be well repaid for walking a short distance, by
a look at the loveliness of the night. In sooth, the change was already so
great, that it was not easy for the imagination to convert the soft and
smiling scene that lay beneath and above the towers of Blonay, into the
dark vault and the angry lake from which they had so lately escaped.
Every cloud had already sailed far away towards the plains of Germany, and
the moon had climbed so high above the ragged Dent de Jaman as to its rays
to stream into, the basin of the Leman. A thousand pensive stars spangled
the vauk images of the benign omnipotence which unceasingly pervades and
governs the universe, whatever may be the local derangements or accidental
struggles of the inferior agents. The foaming and rushing waves had gone
down nearly as fast as they had arisen, and, in their stead, remained
myriads of curling ridges along which the glittering moonbeams danced,
rioting with mild impunity on the surface of the placid sheet. Boats were
out again, pulling for Savoy or the neighboring villages: and the whole
view betokened the renewed confidence of those who trusted habitually to
the fickle and blustering elements.
"There is a strong and fearful resemblance between the human passions and
these hot and angry gusts of nature;" observed the Signor Grimaldi, after
they had stood silently regarding the scene for several musing
minutes--"alike quick to be aroused and to be appeased; equally
ungovernable while in the ascendant, and admitting the influence of a
wholesome reaction, that brings a more sober tranquillity, when the fit is
over. Your northern phlegm may render the analogy less apparent, but it is
to be found as well among the cooler temperaments of the Teutonic stock,
as among us of warmer blood. Do not this placid hill-side, yon lake, and
the starry heavens, look as if they regretted their late unseemly
violence, and wished to cheat the beholder into forgetfulness of their
attack on our safety, as an impetuous but generous nature would repent it
of the blow given in anger, or of the cutting speech that had escaped in a
moment of spleen? What hast thou to say to my opinion, Signor Sigismund,
for none know better than thou the quality of the tempest we have
encountered?"
"Signore," answered the young soldier, modestly, "you forget this brave
mariner, without whose coolness and forethought all would have been lost.
He has come up to Blonay, at our own request, but, until now, he has been
overlooked."
Maso came forward at a signal from Sigismund, and stood before the party
to whom he had rendered so signal aid, with a composure that was not
easily disturbed.
"I have come up to the castle, Signore, at your commands," he said,
addressing the Genoese; "but, having my own affairs on hand, must now beg
to know your pleasure?"
"We have, in sooth, been negligent of thy merit. On landing, my first
thought was of thee, as thou knowest: but other things had caused me to
forget thee. Thou art, like myself, an Italian?"
"Signore, I am."
"Of what country?"
"Of your own, Signore; a Genoese, as I have said before."
The other remembered the circumstance, though it did not seem to please
him. He looked around, as if to detect what others thought, and then
continued his questions.
"A Genoese!" he repeated, slowly: "if this be so, we should know something
of each other. Hast ever heard of me, in thy frequent visits to the port?"
Maso smiled; at first, he appeared disposed to be facetious; but a dark
cloud passed over his swarthy lineaments, and he lost his pleasantry, in
an air of thoughtfulness that struck his interrogator as singular.
"Signore," he said, after a pause, "most that follow my manner of life
know something of your eccellenza; if it is only to be questioned of this
that I am here, I pray leave to be permitted to go my way."
"No, by San Francesco! thou quittest us not so unceremoniously. I am
wrong to assume the manner of a superior with one to whom I owe my life,
and am well answered. But there is a heavy account to be settled between
us, and I will do something towards wiping out the balance, which is so
greatly against me, now; leaving thee to apply for a further statement,
when we shall both be again in our own Genoa."
The Signor Grimaldi had reached forth an arm, while speaking, and received
a well-filled purse from his countryman and companion, Marcelli. This was
soon emptied of its contents, a fair show of sequins, all of which were
offered to the mariner, without reservation. Maso looked coldly at the
glittering pile, and, by his hesitation, left a doubt whether he did not
think the reward insufficient.
"I tell thee it is but the present gage of further payment. At Genoa our
account shall be fairly settled; but this is all that a traveller can
prudently spare. Thou wilt come to me in our own town, and we will look to
all thy interests."
"Signore, you offer that for which men do all acts, whether of good or of
evil. They jeopard their souls for this very metal; mock at God's laws;
overlook the right; trifle with justice, and become devils incarnate to
possess it; and yet, though nearly penniless, I am so placed as to be
compelled to refuse what you offer."
"I tell thee, Maso, that it shall be increased hereafter--or--we are not
so poor as to go a-begging! Good Marcelli, empty thy hoards, and I will
have, recourse to Melchior de Willading's purse for our wants, until we
can get nearer to our own supplies."
"And is Melchior de Willading to pass for nothing, in all this!" exclaimed
the Baron; "put up thy gold, Gaetano, and leave me to satisfy the honest
mariner for the present. At a later day, he can come to thee, in Italy:
but here, on my own ground, I claim the right to be his banker."
"Signore," returned Maso, earnestly and with more of gentle feeling than
he was accustomed to betray, "you are both liberal beyond my desires, and
but too well disposed for my poor wants. I have come up to the castle at
your order, and to do you pleasure, but not in the hope to get money. I am
poor; that it would be useless to deny, for appearances are against me--"
here he laughed, his auditors thought in a manner that was forced--"but
poverty and meanness are not always inseparable. You have more than
suspected to-day that my life is free, and I admit it; but it is a mistake
to believe that, because men quit the high-road which some call honesty,
in any particular practice, they are without human feeling. I have been
useful in saving your lives, Signori, and there is more pleasure in the
reflection, than I should find in having the means to earn twice the gold
ye offer. Here is the Signor Capitano," he added, taking Sigismund by the
arm, and dragging him forward, "lavish your favors on him, for no practice
of mine could have been of use without his bravery. If ye give him all in
your treasuries, even to its richest pearl, ye will do no more than
reason."
As Maso ceased, he cast a glance towards the attentive, breathless
Adelheid, that continued to utter his meaning even after the tongue was
silent The bright suffusion that covered the maiden's face was visible
even by the pale moonlight, and Sigismund shrunk back from his rude grasp
in the manner in which the guilty retire from notice.
"These opinions are creditable to thee, Maso," returned the Genoese,
affecting not to understand his more particular meaning, "and they excite
a stronger wish to be thy friend. I will say no more on the subject at
present, for I see thy humor. Thou wilt let me see thee at Genoa?"
The expression of Maso's countenance was inexplicable, but he retained his
usual indifference of manner.
"Signor Gaetano," he said, using a mariner's freedom in the address,
"there are nobles in Genoa that might better knock at the door of your
palace than I; and there are those, too, in the city that would gossip,
were it known that you received such guests."
"This is tying thyself too closely to an evil and a dangerous trade. I
suspect thee to be of the contraband, but surely it is not a pursuit so
free from danger, of so much repute, or, judging by thy attire, of so much
profit even, that thou needest be wedded to it for life. Means can be
found to relieve thee from its odium, by giving thee a place in those
customs with which thou hast so often trifled."
Maso laughed outright.
"So it is, Signore, in this moral world of ours. He who would run a fair
course, in any particular trust has only to make himself dangerous to be
bought up. Your thief-takers are desperate rogues out of business; your
tide-waiter has got his art by cheating the revenue; and I have been in
lands where it was said, that all they who most fleeced the people began
their calling as suffering patriots. The rule is firmly enough established
without the help of my poor name, and, by your leave, I will remain as I
am; one that hath his pleasure in living amid risks, and who takes his
revenge of the authorities by railing at them when defeated, and in
laughing at them when in success."
"Young man, thou hast in thee the materials of a better life!"
"Signore, this may be true," answered Maso, whose countenance again grew
dark; "we boast of being the lords of the creation, but the bark of poor
Baptista was not less master of its movements, in the late gust, than we
are masters of our fortunes. Signor Grimaldi, I have in me the materials
that make a man; but the laws, and the opinions, and the accursed strife
of men, have left me what I am. For the first fifteen years of my career,
the church was to be my stepping-stone to a cardinal's hat or a fat
priory; but the briny sea-water washed out the necessary unction."
"Thou art better born than thou seemest--thou hast friends who should be
grieved at this?"
The eye of Maso flashed, but he bent it aside, as if bearing down, by the
force of an indomitable will, some sudden and fierce impulse.
"I was born of woman!" he said, with singular emphasis.
"And thy mother--is she not pained at thy present course--does she know of
thy career?"
The haggard smile to which this question gave birth induced the Genoese to
regret that he had put it. Maso evidently struggled to subdue some feeling
which harrowed his very soul, and his success was owing to such a command
of himself as men rarely obtain.
"She is dead," he answered, huskily; "she is a saint with the angels. Had
she lived, I should never have been a mariner, and--and--" laying his hand
on his throat, as if to keep down the sense of suffocation, he smiled, and
added, laughingly,--"ay, and the good Winkelried would have been a
wreck."
"Maso, thou must come to me at Genoa. I must see more of thee, and
question thee further of thy fortunes. A fair spirit has been perverted in
thy fall, and the friendly aid of one who is not without influence may
still restore its tone."
The Signor Grimaldi spoke warmly, like one who sincerely felt regret, and
his voice had all the melancholy and earnestness of such a sentiment. The
truculent nature of Maso was touched by this show of interest, and a
multitude of fierce passions were at once subdued. He approached the noble
Genoese, and respectfully took his hand.
"Pardon the freedom, Signore," he said more mildly, intently regarding the
wrinkled and attenuated fingers, with the map-like tracery of veins, that
he held in his own brown and hard palm; "this is not the first time that
our flesh has touched each other, though it is the first time that our
hands have joined. Let it now be in amity. A humor has come over me, and I
would crave your pardon, venerable noble, for the freedom. Signore, you
are aged, and honored, and stand high, doubtless, in Heaven's favor, as in
that of man--grant me, then, your blessing, ere I go my way."
As Maso preferred this extraordinary request, he knelt with an air of so
much reverence and sincerity as to leave little choice as to granting it.
The Genoese was surprised, but not disconcerted. With perfect dignity and
self-possession, and with a degree of feeling that was not unsuited to the
occasion, the fruit of emotions so powerfully awakened, he pronounced the
benediction. The mariner arose, kissed the hand which he still held, made
a hurried sign of salutation to all, leaped down the declivity on which
they stood, and vanished among the shadows of a copse.
Sigismund, who had witnessed this unusual scene with surprise, watched him
to the last, and he saw, by the manner in which he dashed his hand across
his eyes, that his fierce nature had been singularly shaken. On recovering
his thoughts, the Signor Grimaldi, too, felt certain there had been no
mockery in the conduct of their inexplicable preserver, for a hot tear had
fallen on his hand ere it was liberated. He was himself strongly agitated
by what had passed, and, leaning on his friend, he slowly re-entered the
gates of Blonay.
"This extraordinary demand of Maso's has brought up the sad image of my
own poor son, dear Melchior," he said; "would to Heaven that he could have
received this blessing, and that it might have been of use to him, in the
sight of God! Nay, he may yet hear of it--for, canst thou believe it, I
have thought that Maso may be one of his lawless associates, and that some
wild desire to communicate this scene has prompted the strange request I
granted."
The discourse continued, but it became secret, and of the most
confidential kind. The rest of the party soon sought their beds, though
lamps were burning in the chambers of the two old nobles to a late hour of
the night.
Chapter IX.
Where are my Switzers? Let them guard the door:
What is the matter?
Hamlet.
The American autumn, or fall, as we poetically and affectionately term
this generous and mellow season among ourselves, is thought to be
unsurpassed, in its warm and genial lustre, its bland and exhilarating
airs, and its admirable constancy, by the decline of the year in nearly
every other portion of the earth. Whether attachment to our own fair and
generous land, has led us to over-estimate its advantages or not, and
bright and cheerful as our autumnal days certainly are, a fairer morning
never dawned upon the Alleghanies, than that which illumined the Alps, on
the reappearance of the sun after the gust of the night which has been so
lately described. As the day advanced, the scene grew gradually more
lovely, until warm and glowing Italy itself could scarce present a
landscape more winning, or one possessing a fairer admixture of the grand
and the soft, than that which greeted the eye of Adelheid de Willading,
as, leaning on the arm of her father, she issued from the gate of Blonay,
upon its elevated and gravelled terrace.
It has already been said that this ancient and historical building stood
against the bosom of the mountains, at the distance of a short league
behind the town of Vevey. All the elevations of this region are so many
spurs of the same vast pile, and that on which Blonay has now been seated
from the earliest period of the middle ages belongs to that particular
line of rocky ramparts, which separates the Valais from the centre cantons
of the confederation of Switzerland, and which is commonly known as the
range of the Oberland Alps. This line of snow-crowned rocks terminates in
perpendicular precipices on the very margin of the Leman, and forms, on
the side of the lake, a part of that magnificent setting which renders the
south-eastern horn of its crescent so wonderfully beautiful. The upright
natural wall that overhangs Villeneuve and Chillon stretches along the
verge of the water, barely leaving room for a carriage-road, with here
and there a cottage at its base, for the distance of two leagues, when it
diverges from the course of the lake, and, withdrawing inland, it is
finally lost among the minor eminences of Fribourg. Every one has observed
those sloping declivities, composed of the washings of torrents, the
_debris_ of precipices, and what may be termed the constant drippings of
perpendicular eminencies and which lie like broad buttresses at their
feet, forming a sort of foundation or basement for the superincumbent
mass. Among the Alps, where nature has acted on so sublime a scale, and
where all the proportions are duly observed, these _debris_ of the high
mountains frequently contain villages and towns, or form vast fields,
vineyards, and pasturages, according to their elevation or their exposure
towards the sun. It may be questioned, in strict geology, whether the
variegated acclivity that surrounds Vevey, rich in villages and vines,
hamlets and castles, has been thus formed, or whether the natural
convulsions which expelled the upper rocks from the crust of the earth
left their bases in the present broken and beautiful forms; but the fact
is not important to the effect, which is that just named, and which gives
to these vast ranges of rock secondary and fertile bases, that, in other
regions, would be termed mountains of themselves.
The castle and family of Blonay, for both still exist, are among the
oldest of Vaud. A square, rude tower, based upon a foundation of rock, one
of those ragged masses that thrust their naked heads occasionally through
the soil of the declivity, was the commencement of the hold. Other
edifices have been reared around this nucleus in different ages, until the
whole presents one of those peculiar and picturesque piles, that ornament
so many both of the savage and of the softer sites of Switzerland.
The terrace towards which Adelheid and her father advanced was an
irregular walk, shaded by venerable trees that had been raised near the
principal or the carriage gate of the castle, on a ledge of those rocks
that form the foundation of the buildings themselves. It had its parapet
walls, its seats, its artificial soil, and its gravelled _allees_, as is
usual with these antiquated ornaments; but it also had, what is better
than these, one of the most sublime and lovely views that ever greeted
human eyes. Beneath it lay the undulating and teeming declivity, rich in
vines, and carpeted with sward, here dotted by hamlets, there park-like
and rural with forest trees, while there was no quarter that did not show
the roof of a chateau or the tower of some rural church. There is little
of magnificence in Swiss architecture, which never much surpasses, and is,
perhaps, generally inferior to our own; but the beauty and quaintness of
the sites, the great variety of the surfaces, the hill-sides, and the
purity of the atmosphere, supply charms that are peculiar to the country.
Vevey lay at the water-side, many hundred feet lower, and seemingly on a
narrow strand, though in truth enjoying ample space; while the houses of
St. Saphorin, Corsier, Montreux, and of a dozen more villages, were
clustered together, like so many of the compact habitations of wasps stuck
against the mountains. But the principal charm was in the Leman. One who
had never witnessed the lake in its fury, could not conceive the
possibility of danger in the tranquil shining sheet that was now spread
like a liquid mirror, for leagues, beneath the eye. Some six or seven
barks were in view, their sails drooping in negligent forms, as if
disposed expressly to become models for the artist, their yards inclining
as chance had cast them, and their hulls looming large, to complete the
picture. To these near objects must be added the distant view, which
extended to the Jura in one direction, and which in the other was bounded
by the frontiers of Italy, whose aerial limits were to be traced in that
region which appears to belong neither to heaven nor to earth, the abode
of eternal frosts. The Rhone was shining, in spots, among the meadows of
the Valais, for the elevation of the castle admitted of its being seen,
and Adelheid endeavored to trace among the mazes of the mountains the
valleys which led to those sunny countries, towards which they journeyed.
The sensations of both father and daughter, when they came beneath the
leafy canopy of the terrace, were those of mute delight. It was evident,
by the expression of their countenances, that they were in a favorable
mood to receive pleasurable impressions; for the face of each was full of
that quiet happiness which succeeds sudden and lively joy. Adelheid had
been weeping; but, judging from the radiance of her eyes, the healthful
and brightening bloom of her cheeks, and the struggling smiles that played
about her ripe lips, the tears had been sweet, rather than painful. Though
still betraying enough of physical frailty to keep alive the concern of
all who loved her, there was a change for the better in her appearance,
which was so sensible as to strike the least observant of those who lived
in daily communication with the invalid.
"If pure and mild air, a sunny sky, and ravishing scenery, be what they
seek who cross the Alps, my father," said Adelheid, after they had stood a
moment, gazing at the magnificent panorama, "why should the Swiss quit his
native land? Is there in Italy aught more soft, more winning or more
healthful, than this?"
"This spot has often been called the Italy of our mountains. The fig
ripens near yonder village of Montreux, and, open to the morning sun while
it is sheltered by the precipices above, the whole of that shore well
deserves its happy reputation. Still they whose spirits require diversion,
and whose constitutions need support, generally prefer to go into
countries where the mind has more occupation, and where a greater variety
of employments help the climate and nature to complete the cure."
"But thou forgettest, father, it is agreed between us that I am now to
become strong, and active, and laughing, as we used to be at Willading,
when I first grew into womanhood."
"If I could but see those days again, darling, my own closing hours would
be calm as those of a saint--though Heaven knows I have little pretension
to that blessed character in any other particular."
"Dost thou not count a quiet conscience and a sure hope as something,
father?"
"Have it as thou wilt, girl. Make a saint of me, or a bishop, or a hermit,
if thou wilt; the only reward I ask is, to see thee smiling and happy, as
thou never failedst to be during the first eighteen years of thy life. Had
I foreseen that thou wert to return from my good sister so little like
thyself, I would have forbidden the visit, much as I love her, and all
that are her's. But the wisest of us are helpless mortals, and scarce know
our own wants from hour to hour. Thou saidst, I think, that this brave
Sigismund honestly declared his belief that my consent could never be
given to one who had so little to boast of, in the way of birth and
fortune? There was, at least, good sense, and modesty, and right feeling,
in the doubt, but he should have thought better of my heart."
"He said this;" returned Adelheid, in a timid and slightly trembling
voice, though it was quite apparent by the confiding expression of her
eye, that she had no longer any secret from her parent. "He had too much
honor to wish to win the daughter of a noble without the knowledge and
approbation of her friends."
"That the boy should love thee, Adelheid, is natural; it is an additional
proof of his own merit--but that he should distrust my affection and
justice is an offence that I can scarce forgive. What are ancestry and
wealth to thy happiness?"