The Headsman - James Fenimore Cooper
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The venerable Doge ceased. The effort which had enabled him to speak gave
way, and he turned aside that he might weep in the decent reserve that
became his station and years.
Until now Marguerite had been silent, watching the countenances, and
drinking in with avidity the words, of the different speakers. It was now
her turn. Sigismund knelt at her feet, pressing her hands to his lips in a
manner to show that her high, though stern character, had left deep traces
in his recollection. Releasing herself from his convulsed grasp, for just
then the young man felt intensely the violence of severing those early
ties which, in his case, had perhaps something of wild romance from their
secret nature, she parted the curls on his ample brow, and stood gazing
long at his face, studying each lineament to its minutest shade.
"No," she said mournfully shaking her head, "truly thou art not of us, and
God hath dealt mercifully in taking away the innocent little creature
whose place thou hast so long innocently usurped. Thou wert dear to me,
Sigismund--very dear--for I thought thee under the curse of my race; do
not hate me, if I say my heart is now in the grave of--"
"Mother!" exclaimed the young man reproachfully.
"Well I am still thy mother," answered Marguerite, smiling, though
painfully; "thou art a noble boy, and no change of fortune can ever alter
thy soul. 'Tis a cruel parting, Balthazar and I know not, after all, that
thou didst well to deceive me; for I have had as much grief as joy in the
youth--grief, bitter grief, that one like him should be condemned to live
under the curse of our race--but it is ended now--he is not of us--no, he
is no longer of us!"
This was uttered so plaintively that Sigismund bent his face to his hands
and sobbed aloud.
"Now that the happy and proud weep, 'tis time that the wretched dried
their tears," added the wife of Balthazar, looking about her with a sad
mixture of agony and pride struggling in her countenance: for, in spite of
her professions, it was plain that she yielded her claim on the noble
youth with deep yearnings and an intense agony of spirit. "We have one
consolation, at least, Christine--all that are not of our blood will not
despise us now! Am I right, Sigismund--thou too wilt not torn upon us with
the world, and hate those whom thou once loved?"
"Mother, mother, for the sake of the Holy Virgin, do not harrow my soul!"
"I will not distrust thee, dear; thou didst not drink at my breast, but
thou hast taken in too many lessons of the truth from my lips to despise
us--and yet thou art not of us; thou mayest possibly prove a Prince's
son, and the world so hardens the heart--and they who have been sorely
pressed upon become suspicious--"
"For the love of God, cease, mother, or thou wilt break my heart!"
"Come hither, Christine. Sigismund, this maiden goes with thy wife: we
have the greatest confidence in the truth and principles of her thou hast
wedded, for she has been tried and not found wanting. Be tender to the
child; she was once thy sister, and then thou used to love her."
"Mother--thou wilt make me curse the hour I was born!"
Marguerite, while she could not overcome the cold distrust which habit had
interwoven with all her opinions, felt that she was cruel, and she said no
more. Stooping, she kissed the cold forehead of the young man, gave a warm
embrace to her daughter, over whom she prayed fervently for a minute, and
then placed the insensible girl into the open arms of Adelheid. The awful
workings of nature were subdued by a superhuman will, and she turned
slowly towards the silent, respectful crowd, who had scarcely breathed
during this exhibition of her noble character.
"Doth any here," she sternly asked, "suspect the innocence of Balthazar?"
"None, good woman, none!" returned the bailiff, wiping his eyes; "go in
peace to thy home, o' Heaven's sake, and God be with thee!"
"He stands acquitted before God and man!" added the more dignified
chatelain.
Marguerite motioned for Balthazar to precede her, and she prepared to quit
the chapel. On the threshold she turned and cast a lingering look at
Sigismund and Christine. The two latter were weeping in each other's arms,
and the soul of Marguerite yearned to mingle her tears with those she
loved so well. But, stern in her resolutions, she stayed the torrent of
feeling which would have been so terrible in its violence had it broken
loose, and followed her husband, with a dry and glowing eye. They
descended the mountain with a vacuum in their hearts which taught even
this persecuted pair, that there are griefs in nature that surpass all the
artificial woes of life.
The scene just related did not fail to disturb the spectators. Maso dashed
his hand across his eyes, and seemed touched with a stronger working of
sympathy than it accorded with his present policy to show, while both
Conrad and Pippo did credit to their humanity, by fairly shedding tears.
The latter, indeed, showed manifestations of a sensibility that is not
altogether incompatible with ordinary recklessness and looseness of
principle. He even begged leave to kiss the hand of the bride, wishing her
joy with fervor, as one who had gone through great danger in her company.
The whole party then separated with an exchange of cordial good feeling
which proves that, however much men may be disposed to jostle and
discompose their fellows in the great highway of life, nature has infused
into their composition some great redeeming qualities to make us regret
the abuses by which they have been so much perverted.
On quitting the chapel, the whole of the travellers made their
dispositions to depart. The bailiff and the chatelain went down towards
the Rhone, as well satisfied with themselves as if they had discharged
their trust with fidelity by committing Maso to prison, and discoursing as
they rode along on the singular chances which had brought a son of the
Doge of Genoa before them, in a condition so questionable. The good
Augustines helped the travellers who were destined for the other descent
into their saddles, and acquitted themselves of the last act of
hospitality by following the footsteps of the mules, with wishes for their
safe arrival at Aoste.
The path across the Col has been already described. It winds along the
margin of the little lake, passing the site of the ancient temple of
Jupiter at the distance of a few hundred yards from the convent. Sweeping
past the northern extremity of the little basin, where it crosses the
frontiers of Piedmont, it cuts the ragged wall of rock, and, after winding
_en corniche_ for a short distance by the edge of a fearful ravine, it
plunges at once towards the plains of Italy.
As there was a desire to have no unnecessary witnesses of Maso's promised
revelations, Conrad and Pippo had been advised to quit the mountain before
the rest of the party, and the muleteers were requested to keep a little
in the rear. At the point where the path leaves the lake, the whole
dismounted, Pierre going ahead with the beasts, with a view to make the
first precipitous pitch from the Col on foot. Maso now took the lead. When
he reached the spot where the convent is last in view, he stopped and
turned to gaze at the venerable and storm-beaten pile.
"Thou hesitated," observed the Baron de Willading, who suspected an
intention to escape.
"Signore; the look at even a stone is a melancholy office, when it is
known to be the last. I have often climbed to the Col, but I shall never
dare do it again; for, though the honorable and worthy chatelain, and the
most worthy bailiff, are willing to pay their homage to a Doge of Genoa in
his own person, they may be less tender of his honor when he is absent.
Addio, caro San Bernardo! Like me, thou art solitary and weather-beaten,
and like me, though rude of aspect, thou hast thy uses. We are both
beacons--thou to tell the traveller where to seek safety, and I to warn
him where danger is to be avoided."
There is a dignity in manly suffering, that commands our sympathies. All
who heard this apostrophe to the abode of the Augustines were struck with
its simplicity and its moral. They followed the speaker in silence,
however, to the point where the path makes its first sudden descent. The
spot was favorable to the purpose of Il Maledetto. Though still on the
level of the lake, the convent, the Col, and all it contained, with the
exception of a short line of its stony path, were shut from their view, by
the barrier of intervening rock. The ravine lay beneath, ragged,
ferruginous, and riven into a hundred faces by the eternal action of the
seasons. All above, beneath, and around, was naked, and chaotic as the
elements of the globe before they received the order-giving touch of the
Creator. The imagination could scarce picture a scene of greater solitude
and desolation.
"Signore," said Maso, respectfully raising his cap, and speaking with
calmness, "this confusion of nature resembles my own character. Here
everything is torn, sterile, and wild; but patience, charity, and generous
love, have been able to change even this rocky height into an abode for
those who live for the good of others. There is none so worthless that use
may not be made of him. We are types of the earth our mother; useless, and
savage, or repaying the labor, that we receive, as we are treated like
men, or hunted like beasts. If the great, and the powerful, and the
honored, would become the friends and monitors of the weak and ignorant,
instead of remaining so many watch-dogs to snarl at and bite all that they
fear may encroach on their privileges, raising the cry of the wolf each
time that they hear the wail of the timid and bleating lamb, the fairest
works of God would not be so often defaced. I have lived, and it is
probable that I shall die an outlaw; but the severest pangs I ever know
come from the the mockery which accuses my nature of abuses that are the
fruits of your own injustice. That stone," kicking a bit of rock from the
path into the ravine beneath, "is as much master of its direction after my
foot has set its mass in motion, as the poor untaught being who is thrown
upon the world, despised, unaided, suspected, and condemned even before he
has sinned, has the command of his own course. My mother was fain and
good. She wanted only the power to withstand the arts of one, who, honored
in the opinions of all around her, undermined her virtue. He was great,
noble, and powerful; while she hath little beside her beauty and her
weakness. Signori,--the odds against her were too much. I was the
punishment of her fault. I came into a world then, in which every man
despised me before I had done any act to deserve its scorn,"
"Nay, this is pushing opinions to extremes!" interrupted the Signor
Grimaldi, who had scarce breathed, in his eagerness to catch the syllables
as they came from the other's tongue.
"We began, Signori, as we have ended; distrustful, and struggling to see
which could do the other the most harm. A reverend and holy monk, who knew
my history, would have filled a soul with heaven that the wrongs of the
world had already driven to, the verge of hell. The experiment failed.
Homily and precept," Maso smiled bitterly as he continued, "are but
indifferent weapons to fight with against hourly wrongs; instead of
becoming a cardinal and the counsellor of the head of the church, I am the
man ye see. Signor Grimaldi, the monk who gave me his care was Father
Girolamo. He told the truth to thy secretary, for I am the son of poor
Annunziata Altieri, who was once thought worthy to attract thy passing
notice. The deception of calling myself another of thy children was
practised for my own security. The means were offered by an accidental
confederacy with one of the instruments of thy formidable enemy and
cousin, who furnished the papers that had been taken with the little
Gaetano. The truth of what I say shall be delivered to you at Genoa. As
for the Signor Sigismondo, it is time we ceased to be rivals. We are
brothers, with this difference in our fortunes, that he comes of wedlock,
and I of an unexpiated, and almost an unrepented, crime!"
A common cry, in which regret, joy, and surprise were wildly mingled,
interrupted the speaker. Adelheid threw herself into her husband's arms,
and the pale and conscience-stricken Doge stood with extended arms, an
image of contrition, delight, and shame. His friends pressed around him
with consolation on their tongues, and the blandishments of affection in
their manner, for the regrets of the great rarely pass away unheeded, like
the moans of the low.
"Let me have air!" exclaimed the prince; "give me air or I suffocate!
Where is the child of Annunziata?--I will at least atone to him for the
wrong done his mother!"
It was too late. The victim of another's fault had cast himself over the
edge of the precipice with reckless hardihood, and he was already beyond
the reach of the voice, in his swift descent, by a shorter but dangerous
path, toward Aoste. Nettuno was at his heels. It was evident that he
endeavored to outstrip Pippo and Conrad, who were trudging ahead by the
more beaten road. In a few minutes he turned the brow of a beetling rock,
and was lost to view.
This was the last that was known of Il Maledetto. At Genoa, the Doge
secretly received the confirmation of all that he had heard, and Sigismund
was legally placed in possession of his birth-right. The latter made many
generous but useless efforts to discover and to reclaim his brother. With
a delicacy that could hardly be expected, the outlaw had withdrawn from a
scene which he now felt to be unsuited to his habits, and he never
permitted the veil to be withdrawn from the place of his retreat.
The only consolation that his relatives ever obtained, arose from an event
which brought Pippo under the condemnation of the law. Before his
execution, the buffoon confessed that Jacques Colis fell by the hands of
Conrad and himself, and that, ignorant of Maso's expedient on his own
account, they had made use of Nettuno to convey the plundered jewelry
undetected across the frontiers of Piedmont.
The End.