The Headsman - James Fenimore Cooper
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It was fairly nightfall, notwithstanding the trifling distance they had
journeyed, when the travellers reached Martigny, where dispositions had
previously been made for their reception during the hours of sleep. Here
preparations were made to seek their rest at an early hour, in order to be
in readiness for the fatiguing toil of the following day.
Martigny is situated at the point where the great valley of the Rhone
changes its direction from a north and south to an east and west course,
and it is the spot whence three of the celebrated mountain paths diverge,
to make as many passages of the upper Alps. Here are the two routes of the
great and little St. Bernard, both of which lead into Italy, and that of
the Col-de-Balme, which crosses a spur of the Alps into Savoy toward the
celebrated valley of Chamouni. It was the intention of the Baron de
Willading and his friend to journey by the former of these roads, as has
so often been mentioned in these pages, their destination being the
capital of Piedmont. The passage of the great St. Bernard, though so long
known by its ancient and hospitable convent, the most elevated habitation
in Europe, and in these later times so famous for the passage of a
conquering army is but a secondary alpine pass, considered in reference to
the grandeur of its scenery. The ascent, so inartificial even to this
hour, is loner and comparatively without danger, and in general it is
sufficiently direct, there being no very precipitous rise like those of
the Gemmi, the Grimsel, and various other passes in Switzerland and Italy,
except at the very neck, or col, of the mountain, where the rock is to be
literally climbed on the rude and broad steps that so frequently occur
among the paths of the Alps and the Apennines. The fatigue of this passage
comes, therefore, rather from its length, and the necessity of unremitted
diligence, than from any excessive labor demanded by the ascent; and the
reputation acquired by the great captain of our age, in leading an army
across its summit, has been obtained more by the military combinations of
which it formed the principal feature, the boldness of the conception, and
the secrecy and promptitude with which so extensive an operation was
effected, than by the physical difficulties that were overcome. In the
latter particular, the passage of St. Bernard, as this celebrated
coup-de-main is usually called, has frequently been outdone in our own
wilds; for armies have often traversed regions of broad streams, broken
mountains, and uninterrupted forests, for weeks at a time, in which the
mere bodily labor of any given number of days would be found to be greater
than that endured on this occasion by the followers of Napoleon. The
estimate we attach to every exploit is so dependent on the magnitude of
its results, that men rarely come to a perfectly impartial judgment on its
merits; the victory or defeat, however simple or bloodless, that shall
shake or assure the interests of civilized society, being always esteemed
by the world an event of greater importance, than the happiest
combinations of thought and valor that affect only the welfare of some
remote and unknown people. By the just consideration of this truth, we
come to understand the value of a nation's possessing confidence in
itself, extensive power, and a unity commensurate to its means; since
small and divided states waste their strength in acts too insignificant
for general interest, frittering away their mental riches, no less than
their treasure and blood, in supporting interests that fail to enlist the
sympathies of any beyond the pale of their own borders. The nation which,
by the adverse circumstances of numerical inferiority, poverty of means,
failure of enterprise, or want of opinion, cannot sustain its own citizens
in the acquisition of a just renown, is deficient in one of the first and
most indispensable elements of greatness; glory, like riches, feeding
itself, and being most apt to be found where its fruits have already
accumulated. We see, in this fact, among other conclusions, the importance
of an acquisition of such habits of manliness of thought, as will enable
us to decide on the merits and demerits of what is done among ourselves,
and of shaking off that dependence on others which it is too much the
custom of some among us to dignify with the pretending title of deference
to knowledge and taste, but which, in truth, possesses some such share of
true modesty and diffidence, as the footman is apt to exhibit when
exulting in the renown of his master.
This little digression has induced us momentarily to overlook the
incidents of the tale. Few who possess the means, venture into the stormy
regions of the upper Alps, at the late season in which the present party
reached the hamlet of Martigny, without seeking the care of one or more
suitable guides. The services of these men are useful in a variety of
ways, but in none more than in offering the advice which long familiarity
with the signs of the heavens, the temperature of the air, and the
direction of the winds, enables them to give. The Baron de Willading, and
his friend, immediately dispatched a messenger for a mountaineer, of the
name of Pierre Dumont, who enjoyed a fair name for fidelity, and who was
believed to be better acquainted with all the difficulties of the ascent
and descent, than any other who journeyed among the glens of that part of
the Alps. At the present day, when hundreds ascend to the convent from
curiosity alone, every peasant of sufficient strength and intelligence
becomes a guide, and the little community of the lower Valais finds the
transit of the idle and rich such a fruitful source of revenue, that it
has been induced to regulate the whole by very useful and just ordinances;
but at the period of the tale, this Pierre was the only individual, who,
by fortunate concurrences, had obtained a name among affluent foreigners,
and who was at all in demand with that class of travellers. He was not
long in presenting himself in the public room of the inn--a hale, florid,
muscular man of sixty, with every appearance of permanent health and
vigor, but with a slight and nearly imperceptible difficulty of breathing.
"Thou art Pierre Dumont?" observed the baron, studying the open
physiognomy and well-set frame of the Valaisan, with satisfaction. "Thou
hast been mentioned by more than one traveller in his book."
The stout mountaineer raised himself in pride, and endeavored to
acknowledge the compliment in the manner of his well-meant but rude
courtesy; for refinement did not then extend its finesse and its deceit
among the glens of Switzerland.
"They have done me honor, Monsieur," he said: "it has been my good fortune
to cross the Col with many brave gentlemen and fair ladies--and in two
instances with princes." (Though a sturdy republican, Pierre was not
insensible to worldly rank.) "The pious monks know me well; and they who
enter the convent are not the worse received for being my companions. I
shall be glad to lead so fair a party from our cold valley into the sunny
glens of Italy, for, if the truth must be spoken, nature has placed us on
the wrong side of the mountain for our comfort, though we have our
advantage over those who live even in Turin and Milan, in matters of
greater importance."
"What can be the superiority of a Valaisan over the Lombard, or the
Piedmontese?" demanded the Signor Grimaldi quickly, like a man who was
curious to hear the reply. "A traveller should seek all kind of knowledge,
and I take this to be a newly-discovered fact."
"Liberty, Signore! We are our own masters; we have been so since the day
when our fathers sacked the castles of the barons, and compelled their
tyrants to become their equals. I think of this each time I reach the warm
plains of Italy, and return to my cottage a more contented man, for the
reflection."
"Spoken like a Swiss, though it is uttered by an ally of the cantons!"
cried Melchior de Willading, heartily. "This is the spirit, Gaetano, which
sustains our mountaineers, and renders them more happy amid their frosts
and rocks, than thy Genoese on his warm and glowing bay."
"The word liberty, Melchior, is more used than understood, and as much
abused as used;" returned the Signor Grimaldi gravely. "A country on which
God hath laid his finger in displeasure as on this, needs have some such
consolation as the phantom with which the honest Pierre appears to be so
well satisfied.--But, Signor guide, have many travellers tried the passage
of late, and what dost thou think of our prospects in making the attempt?
We hear gloomy tales, sometimes, of thy alpine paths in that Italy thou
hold'st so cheap."
"Your pardon, noble Signore, if the frankness of a mountaineer has carried
me too far. I do not undervalue your Piedmont, because I love our Valais
more. A country may be excellent, even though another should be better. As
for the travellers, none of note have gone up the Col of late, though
there have been the usual number of vagabonds and adventurers. The savor
of the convent kitchen will reach the noses of these knaves here in the
valley, though we have a long twelve leagues to journey in getting from
one to the other."
The Signor Grimaldi waited until Adelheid and Christine, who were
preparing to retire for the night, were out of hearing, and he resumed his
questions.
"Thou hast not spoken of the weather?"
"We are in one of the most uncertain and treacherous months of the good
season, Messieurs. The winter is gathering among the upper Alps, and in a
month in which the frosts are flying about like uneasy birds that do not
know where to alight, one can hardly say whether he hath need of his cloak
or not."
"San Francesco! Dost think I am dallying with thee, friend, about a
thickness more or less of cloth! I am hinting at avalanches and falling
rocks--at whirlwinds and tempests?"
Pierre laughed and shook his head, though he answered vaguely as became
his business.
"These are Italian opinions of our hills, Signore," he said; "they savor
of the imagination. Our pass is not as often troubled with the avalanche
as some that are known, even in the melting snows. Had you looked at the
peaks from the lake, you would have seen that, the hoary glaciers
excepted, they are still all brown and naked. The snow must fall from the
heavens before it can fall in the avalanche, and we are yet, I think, a
few days from the true winter."
"Thy calculations are made with nicety, friend," returned the Genoese, not
sorry, however, to hear the guide speak with so much apparent confidence
of the weather, "and we are obliged to thee in proportion. What of the
travellers thou hast named? Are there brigands on our path?"
"Such rogues have been known to infest the place, but, in general, there
is too little to be gained for the risk. Your rich traveller is not an
every-day sight among our rocks; and you well know Signore, that there may
be too few, as well as too many, on a path, for your freebooter."
The Italian was distrustful by habit on all such subjects, and he threw a
quick suspicious glance at the guide. But the frank open countenance of
Pierre removed all doubt of his honesty, to say nothing of the effect of a
well-established reputation.
"But thou hast spoken of certain vagabonds who have preceded us?"
"In that particular, matters might be better;" answered the plain-minded
mountaineer, dropping his head in an attitude of meditation so naturally
expressed as to give additional weight to his words. "Many of bad
appearance have certainly gone up to-day; such as a Neapolitan named
Pippo, who is anything but a saint--a certain pilgrim, who will be nearer
heaven at the convent than he will be at the death--St. Pierre pray for me
if I do the man injustice!--and one or two more of the same brood. There
is another that hath gone up also, post haste, and with good reason as
they say, for he hath made himself the but of all the jokers in Vevey on
account of some foolery in the games of the Abbaye--a certain Jacques
Colis."
The name was repeated by several near the speaker.
"The same, Messieurs. It would seem that the Sieur Colis would fain take a
maiden to wife in the public sports, and, when her birth came to be be
known, that his bride was no other than the child of Balthazar, the common
headsman of Berne!"
A general silence betrayed the embarrassment of most of the listeners.
"And that tale hath already reached this glen," said Sigismund, in a tone
so deep and firm as to cause Pierre to start, while the two old nobles
looked in another direction, feigning not to observe what was passing.
"Rumor hath a nimbler foot than a mule, young officer;" answered the
honest guide. "The tale, as you call it, will have travelled across the
mountains sooner than they who bore it--though I never knew how such a
miracle could pass--but so it is; report goes faster than the tongue that
spreads it, and if there be a little untruth to help it along, the wind
itself is scarcely swifter. Honest Jacques Colis has bethought him to get
the start of his story, but, my life on it, though he is active enough in
getting away from his mockers, that he finds it, with all the additions,
safely housed at the inn at Turin when he reaches that city himself."
"These, then, are all?" interrupted the Signor Grimaldi, who saw, by the
heaving bosom of Sigismund, that it was time in mercy to interpose.
"Not so, Signore--there is still another and one I like less than any. A
countryman of your own, who, impudently enough, calls himself Il
Maledetto."
"Maso!"
"The very same."
"Honest, courageous Maso, and his noble dog!"
"Signore, you describe the man so well in some things, that I wonder you
know so little of him in others. Maso hath not his equal on the road for
activity and courage, and the beast is second only to our mastiffs of the
convent for the same qualities; but when you speak of the master's
honesty, you speak of that for which the world gives him little credit,
and do great disparagement to the brute, which is much the best of the
two, in this respect."
"This may be true enough," rejoined the Signore Grimaldi, turning
anxiously towards his companions:--"man is a strange compound of good and
evil; his acts when left to natural impulses are so different from what
they become on calculation that one can scarcely answer for a man of
Maso's temperament. We know him to be a most efficient friend, and such a
man would be apt to make a very dangerous enemy! His qualities were not
given to him by halves. And yet we have a strong circumstance in our
favor; for he who hath once done the least service to a fellow-creature
feels a sort of paternity in him he hath saved, and would be little likely
to rob himself of the pleasure of knowing, that there are some of his kind
who owe him a grateful recollection."
This remark was answered by Melchior de Willading in the same spirit, and
the guide, perceiving he was no longer wanted, withdrew.
Soon after, the travellers retired to rest.
Chapter XXI.
As yet the trembling year is unconfirmed,
And winter oft, at eve, resumes the breeze,
Chills the pale morn, and bids his driving sleets
Deform the day delightful:----
Thomson.
The horn of Pierre Dumont was blowing beneath the windows of the inn of
Martigny, with the peep of dawn. Then followed the appearance of drowsy
domestics, the saddling of unwilling mules, and the loading of baggage. A
few minutes later the little caravan was assembled, for the cavalcade
almost deserved this name, and the whole were in motion for the summits of
the Alps.
The travellers now left the valley of the Rhone to bury themselves amid
those piles of misty and confused mountains, which formed the back-ground
of the picture they had studied from the castle of Blonay and the sheet of
the Leman. They soon plunged into a glen, and, following the windings of a
brawling torrent, were led gradually, and by many turnings, into a country
of bleak upland pasturage, where the inhabitants gained a scanty
livelihood, principally by means of their dairies.
A few leagues above Martigny, the paths again separated, one inclining to
the left towards the elevated valley that has since become so celebrated
in the legends of this wild region, by the formation of a little lake in
its glacier, which, becoming too heavy for its foundation, broke through
its barrier of ice, and descended in a mountain of water to the Rhone, a
distance of many leagues, sweeping before it every vestige of civilization
that crossed its course, and even changing, in many places, the face of
nature itself. Here the glittering peak of Velan became visible, and,
though so much nearer to the eye than when viewed from Vevey, it was still
a distant shining pile, grand in its solitude and mystery, on which the
sight loved to dwell, as it studies the pure and spotless edges of some
sleepy cloud.
It has already been said, that the ascent of the great St. Bernard, with
the exception of occasional hills and hollows, is nowhere very precipitous
but at the point at which the last rampart of rock is to be overcome. On
the contrary, the path, for leagues at a time, passes along tolerably even
valleys, though of necessity the general direction is upward, and for most
of the distance through a country that admits of cultivation, though the
meagreness of the soil, and the shortness of the seasons, render but an
indifferent return to the toil of the husbandman. In this respect it
differs from most of the other Alpine passes; but if it wants the variety,
wildness, and sublimity of the Splugen. the St. Gothard, the Gemmi, and
the Simplon, it is still an ascent on a magnificent scale, and he who
journeys on its path is raised, as it were, by insensible degrees, to an
elevation that gradually changes all his customary associations with the
things of the lower world.
From the moment of quitting the inn to that of the first halt, Melchior de
Willading and the Signor Grimaldi rode in company, as on the previous day.
These old friends had much to communicate in confidential discourse which
the presence of Roger de Blonay, and the importunities of the bailiff, had
hitherto prevented them from freely saying. Both had thought maturely,
too, on the situation of Adelheid, of her hopes, and of her future
fortunes, and both had reasoned much as two old nobles of that day, who
were not without strong sympathies for their kind, while they were too
practised to overlook the world and its ties, would be likely to reason on
an affair of this delicate nature.
"There came a feeling of regret, perhaps I might fairly call it by its
proper name, of envy," observed the Genoese, in the pursuance of the
subject which engrossed most of their time and thoughts, as they rode
slowly along, the bridles dangling from the necks of their mules,--"there
came a feeling of regret, when I first saw the fair creature that calls
thee father, Melchior. God has dealt mercifully by me, in respect to many
things that make men happy; but he rendered my marriage accursed, not only
in its bud, but in its fruit. Thy child is dutiful and loving, all that a
father can wish; and yet here is this unusual attachment come to
embarrass, if not to defeat, thy fair and just hopes for her welfare! This
is no common affair, that a few threats of bolts and a change of scene
will cure, but a rooted affection that is but too firmly based on
esteem.--By San Francesco, but I think, at times, thou wouldst do well to
permit the ceremony!"
"Should it be our fortune to meet with the absconding Jacques Colis at
Turin, he might give us different counsel," answered the old baron drily.
"That is a dreadful barrier to our wishes! Were the boy anything but a
headsman's child! I do not think thou couldst object, Melchior, had he
merely come of a hind, or of some common follower of thy family?"
"It were far better that he should have come of one like ourselves,
Gaetano. I reason but little on the dogmas of this or that sect in
politics; but I feel and think, in this affair, as the parent of an only
child. All those usages and opinions in which we are trained, my friend,
are so many ingredients in our happiness, let them be silly or wise, just
or oppressive; and though I would fain do that which is right to the rest
of mankind, I could wish to begin to practise innovation with any other
than my own daughter. Let them who like philosophy and justice, and
natural rights, so well, commence by setting us the example."
"Thou hast hit the stumbling-block that causes a thousand well-digested
plans for the improvement of the world to fail, honest Melchior. Could we
toil with others' limbs, sacrifice with others' groans, and pay with
others' means, there would be no end to our industry, our
disinterestedness, or our liberality--and yet it were a thousand pities
that so sweet a girl and so noble a youth should not yoke!"
"'Twould be a yoke indeed, for a daughter of the house of Willading;"
returned the graver father, with emphasis. "I have looked at this matter
in every face that becomes me, Gaetano, and though I would not rudely
repulse one that hath saved my life, by driving him from my company, at a
moment when even strangers consort for mutual aid and protection, at Turin
we must part for ever!"
"I know not how to approve, nor yet how to blame thee, poor Melchior!
'Twas a sad scene, that of the refusal to wed Balthazar's daughter, in the
presence of so many thousands!"
"I take it as a happy and kind warning of the precipice to which a foolish
tenderness was leading us both, my friend."
"Thou may'st have reason; and yet I wish thou wert more in error than ever
Christian was! These are rugged mountains, Melchior, and, fairly passed,
it might be so arranged that the boy should forget Switzerland for ever.
He might become a Genoese, in which event, dost thou not see the means of
overcoming some of the present difficulty?"
"Is the heiress of my house a vagrant, Signor Grimaldi, to forget her
country and birth?"
"I am childless, in effect, if not in fact; and where there are the will
and the means, the end should not be wanting. We will speak of this under
the warmer sun of Italy, which they say is apt to render hearts tender."
"The hearts of the young and amorous, good Gaetano, but, unless much
changed of late, it is as apt to harden those of the old, as any sun I
know of;" returned the baron, shaking his head, though it much exceeded
his power to smile at his own pleasantry when speaking on this painful
subject. "Thou knowest that in this matter I act only for the welfare of
Adelheid, without thought of myself; and it would little comport with the
honor of a baron of an ancient house, to be the grandfather of children
who come of a race of executioners."
The Signor Grimaldi succeeded better than his friend in raising a smile,
for, more accustomed to dive into the depths of human feeling, he was not
slow in detecting the mixture of motives that were silently exercising
their long-established influence over the heart of his really
well-intentioned companion.
"So long as thou speakest of the wisdom of respecting men's opinions, and
the danger of wrecking thy daughter's happiness by running counter to
their current, I agree with thee to the letter; but, to me, it seems
possible so to place the affair, that the world shall imagine all is in
rule, and, by consequence, all proper. If we can overcome ourselves,
Melchior, I apprehend no great difficulty in blinding others."
The head of the Bernois dropped upon his breast, and he rode a long
distance in that attitude, reflecting on the course it most became him to
pursue, and struggling with the conflicting sentiments which troubled his
upright but prejudiced mind. As his friend understood the nature of this
inward strife, he ceased to speak, and a long silence succeeded the
discourse.
It was different with those who followed. Though long accustomed to gaze
at their native mountains from a distance, this was the first occasion on
which Adelheid and her companion had ever actually penetrated into their
glens, or journeyed on their broken and changing faces. The path of St.
Bernard, therefore, had all the charm of novelty, and their youthful and
ardent minds were soon won from meditating on their own causes of
unhappiness, to admiration of the sublime works of nature. The cultivated
taste of Adelheid, in particular, was quick in detecting those beauties of
a more subtle kind which the less instructed are apt to overlook, and she
found additional pleasure in pointing them out to the ingenuous and
wondering Christine, who received these, her first, lessons in that grand
communion with nature which is pregnant with so much unalloyed delight,
with gratitude and a readiness of comprehension, that amply repaid her
instructress. Sigismund was an attentive and pleased listener to what was
passing, though one who had so often passed the mountains, and who had
seen them familiarly on their warmer and more sunny side, had little to
learn, himself, even from so skilful and alluring a teacher.