The Headsman - James Fenimore Cooper
Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36
"This girl at least is a treasure of itself, of which I must envy thee the
possession," the Signor Grimaldi at length rejoined.
The Swiss made one of those quick movements which betray surprise, and it
was very apparent, that, just at the moment, he was more affected by some
interest of his friend, than by the apprehensions which usually beset him
when any very direct allusion was made to his surviving child.
"Gaetano, thou hast a son!"
"He is lost--hopelessly--irretrievably lost--at least, to me!"
These were brief but painful glimpses into each other's concerns, and
another melancholy and embarrassed pause followed. As the Baron de
Willading witnessed the sorrow that deeply shadowed the face of the
Genoese, he almost felt that Providence, in summoning his own boys to
early graves, might have spared him the still bitterer grief of mourning
over the unworthiness of a living son.
"These are God's decrees, Melchior," the Italian continued of his own
accord, "and we, as soldiers, as men, and more than either, as Christians,
should know how to submit. The letter, of which I spoke, contained the
last direct tidings that I received of thy welfare, though different
travellers have mentioned thee as among the honored and trusted of thy
country, without descending to the particulars of thy private life."
"The retirement of our mountains, and the little intercourse of strangers
with the Swiss, have denied me even this meagre satisfaction as respects
thee and thy fortunes. Since the especial courier sent, according to our
ancient agreement, to announce--"
The baron hesitated, for he felt he was again touching on forbidden
ground.
"To announce the birth of my unhappy boy," continued the Signor Grimaldi,
firmly.
"To announce that much-wished-for event, I have not had news of thee,
except in a way so vague, as to whet the desire to know more rather than
to appease the longings of love."
"These doubts are the penalties that friendship pays to separation. We
enlist the affections in youth with the recklessness of hope, and, when
called different ways by duties or interest, we first begin to perceive
that the world is not the heaven we thought it, but that each enjoyment
has its price, as each grief has its solace. Thou hast carried arms since
we were soldiers in company?"
"As a Swiss only."
The answer drew a gleam of habitual humor from, the keen eye of the
Italian, whose countenance was apt to change as rapidly as his thoughts.
"In what service?"
"Nay, a truce to thy old pleasantries, good Grimaldi--and yet I should
scarce love thee, as I do, wert thou other than thou art! I believe we
come at last to prize even the foibles of those we truly esteem!"
"It must be so, young lady, or boyish follies would long since have weaned
thy father from me. I have never spared him on the subjects of snows and
money, and yet he beareth with me marvellously. Well, strong love endureth
much. Hath the baron often spoken to thee of old Grimaldi--young
Grimaldi, I should say--and of the many freaks of our thoughtless days?"
"So much, Signore," returned Adelheid, who had wept and smiled by turns
during the interrupted dialogue of her father and his friend, "that I can
repeat most of your youthful histories. The castle of Willading is deep
among the mountains, and it is rare indeed for the foot of stranger to
enter its gates. During the long evenings of our severe winters, I have
listened as a daughter would be apt to listen to the recital of most of
your common adventures, and in listening, I have not only learned to know,
but to esteem, one that is justly so dear to my parent."
"I make no doubt, now, thou hast the history of the plunge into the canal,
by over-stooping to see the Venetian beauty, at thy finger's ends?"
"I do remember some such act of humid gallantry," returned Adelheid,
laughing.
"Did thy father tell thee, child, of the manner in which he bore me off in
a noble rescue from a deadly charge of the Imperial cavalry?"
"I have heard some light allusion to such an event, too," returned
Adelheid, evidently trying to recall the history of the affair, to her
mind "but--"
"Light does he call it, and of small account? I wish never to see another
as heavy! This is the impartiality of thy narratives, good Melchior, in
which a life preserved, wounds received, and a charge to make the German
quail, are set down as matters to be touched with a light hand!".
"If I did thee this service, it was more than deserved by the manner in
which, before Milan----"
"Well, let it all pass together. We are old fools, young lady, and should
we get garrulous in each other's praise, thou mightest mistake us for
braggarts; a character that, in truth, neither wholly merits. Didst thou
ever tell the girl, Melchior, of our mad excursion into the forests of the
Apennines, in search of a Spanish lady that had fallen into the hands of
banditti; and how we passed weeks on a foolish enterprise of errantry,
that had become useless, by the timely application of a few sequins on the
part of the husband, even before we started on the chivalrous, not to say
silly excursion?"
"Say chivalrous, but not silly," answered Adelheid, with the simplicity of
a young and sincere mind. "Of this adventure I have heard; but to me it
has never seemed ridiculous. A generous motive might well excuse an
undertaking of less favorable auspices."
"'Tis fortunate," returned the Signor Grimaldi, thoughtfully, "that, if
youth and exaggerated opinions lead us to commit mad pranks under the name
of spirit and generosity, there are other youthful and generous minds to
reflect our sentiments and to smile upon our folly."
"This is more like the wary grey-headed ex-pounder of wisdom than like the
hot-headed Gaetano Grimaldi of old!" exclaimed the baron, though he
laughed while uttering the words, as if he felt, at least a portion of the
other's indifference to those exaggerated feelings that had entered much
into the characters of both in youth. "The time has been when the words,
policy and calculation, would have cost a companion thy favor!"
"'Tis said that the prodigal of twenty makes? the miser of seventy. It is
certain that even our southern sun does not warm the blood of threescore
as suddenly as it heats that of one. But we will not darken thy daughter's
views of the future by a picture too faithfully drawn, lest she become
wise before her time. I have often questioned, Melchior, which is the most
precious gift of nature, a worm fancy, or the colder powers of reason. But
if I must say which I most love, the point becomes less difficult of
decision. I would prefer each in its season, or rather the two united,
with a gradual change in their influence. Let the youth commence with the
first in the ascendant, and close with the last. He who begins life too
cold a reasoner may end it a calculating egotist; and he who is ruled
solely by his imagination is in danger of having his mind so ripened as to
bring forth the fruits of a visionary. Had it pleased heaven to have left
me the dear son I possessed for so short a period, I would rather have
seen him leaning to the side of exaggeration in his estimate of men,
before experience came to chill his hopes, than to see him scan his
fellows with a too philosophical eye in boyhood. 'Tis said we are but clay
at the best, but the ground, before it has been well tilled, sends forth
the plants that are most congenial to its soil, and though it be of no
great value, give me the spontaneous and generous growth of the weed,
which proves the depth of the loam, rather than a stinted imitation of
that which cultivation may, no doubt, render more useful if not more
grateful."
The allusion to his lost son caused another cloud to pass athwart the brow
of the Genoese.
"Thou seest, Adelheid," he continued, after a pause--"for Adelheid will I
call thee, in virtue of a second father's rights--that we are making our
folly respectable, at least to ourselves--Master Patron, thou hast a
well-charged bark!"
"Thanks to your two honors;" answered Baptiste, who stood at the helm,
near the group of principal passengers. "These windfalls come rarely to
the poor, and we must make much of such as offer. The games at Vevey have
called every craft on the Leman to the upper end of the lake, and a little
mother-wit led me to trust to the last turn of the wheel, which, as you
see, Signore has not come up a blank."
"Have many strangers passed by your city on their way to these sports?"
"Many hundreds, noble gentleman; and report speaks of thousands that are
collecting at Vevey and in the neighboring villages. The country of Vaud
has not had a richer harvest from her games this many a year."
It is fortunate, Melchior, that the desire to witness these revels should
have arisen in us at the same moment. The hope of at last obtaining
certain tidings of thy welfare was the chief inducement that caused me to
steal from Genoa, whither I am compelled to return forthwith. There is
truly something providential in this meeting!"
"I so esteem it," returned the Baron de Willading; "though the hope of
soon embracing thee was strongly alive in me. Thou art mistaken in
fancying that curiosity, or a wish to mingle with the multitude at Vevey,
has drawn me from my castle. Italy was in my eye, as it has long been in
my heart."
"How!--Italy?"
"Nothing less. This fragile plant of the mountains has drooped of late in
her native air, and skilful advisers have counselled the sunny side of the
Alps as a shelter to revive her animation. I have promised Roger de Blonay
to pass a night or two within his ancient walls, and then we are destined
to seek the hospitality of the monks of St. Bernard. Like thee, I had
hoped this unusual sortie from my hold might lead to intelligence touching
the fortunes of one I have never ceased to love."
The Signor Grimaldi turned a more scrutinizing took towards the face of
their female companion. Her gentle and winning beauty gave him pleasure;
but, with his attention quickened by what had just fallen from her
father, he traced, in silent pain, the signs of that early fading which
threatened to include this last hope of his friend in the common fate of
the family. Disease had not, however, set its seal on the sweet face of
Adelheid, in a manner to attract the notice of a common observer. The
lessening of the bloom, the mournful character of a dove-like eye, and a
look of thoughtfulness, on a brow that he had ever known devoid of care
and open as day with youthful ingenuousness, were the symptoms that first
gave the alarm to her father, whose previous losses, and whose
solitariness, as respects the ties of the world, had rendered him keenly
alive to impressions of such a nature. The reflections excited by this
examination brought painful recollections to all, and it was long before
the discourse was renewed.
In the mean time, the Winkelried was not idle. As the vessel receded from
the cover of the buildings and the hills, the force of the breeze was
felt, and her speed became quickened in proportion; though the watermen of
her crew often studied the manner in which she dragged her way through the
element with a shake of the head, that was intended to express their
consciousness that too much had been required of the craft. The cupidity
of Baptiste had indeed charged his good bark to the uttermost. The water
was nearly on a line with the low stern, and when the bark had reached a
part of the lake where the waves were rolling with some force, it was
found that the vast weight was too much to be lifted by the feeble and
broken efforts of these miniature seas. The consequences were, however,
more vexatious than alarming. A few wet feet among the less quiet of the
passengers, with an occasional slapping of a sheet of water against the
gangways, and a consequent drift of spray across the pile of human heads
in the centre of the bark, were all the immediate personal
inconveniencies. Still unjustifiable greediness of gain, had tempted the
patron to commit the unseaman-like fault of overloading his vessel. The
decrease of speed was another and a graver consequence of his cupidity,
since it might prevent their arrival in port before the breeze had
expended itself.
The lake of Geneva lies nearly in the form of a crescent, stretching from
the south-west towards the north-east. Its northern, or the Swiss shore,
is chiefly what is called, in the language of the country, a _cote_, or a
declivity that admits of cultivation; and, with few exceptions, it has
been, since the earliest periods of history, planted with the generous
vine. Here the Romans had many stations and posts, vestiges of which are
still visible. The confusion and the mixture of interests that succeeded
the fall of the empire, gave rise, in the middle ages, to various baronial
castles, ecclesiastical towns, and towers of defence, which still stand on
the margin of this beautiful sheet of water, or ornament the eminences a
little inland. At the time of which we write, the whole coast of the
Leman, if so imposing a word may be applied to the shores of so small a
body of water, was in the possession of the three several states of
Geneva, Savoy, and Berne. The first consisted of a mere fragment of
territory at the western, or lower horn of the crescent; the second
occupied nearly the whole of the southern side of the sheet, or the cavity
of the half-moon; while the latter was mistress of the whole of the convex
border, and of the eastern horn. The shores of Savoy are composed, with
immaterial exceptions, of advanced spurs of the high Alps, among which
towers Mont Blanc, like a sovereign seated in majesty in the midst of a
brilliant court, the rocks frequently rising from the water's edge in
perpendicular masses. None of the lakes of this remarkable region possess
a greater variety of scenery than that of Geneva, which changes from the
smiling aspect of fertility and cultivation, at its lower extremity, to
the sublimity of a savage and sublime nature at its upper. Vevey, the
haven for which the Winkelried was bound, lies at the distance of three
leagues from the head of the lake, or the point where it receives the
Rhone; and Geneva, the port from which the reader has just seen her take
her departure, is divided by that river as it glances out of the blue
basin of the Leman again, to traverse the fertile fields of France, on its
hurried course towards the distant Mediterranean.
It is well known that the currents of air, on all bodies of water that lie
amid high and broken mountains, are uncertain both as to their direction
and their force. This was the difficulty which had most disturbed Baptiste
during the delay of the bark, for the experienced waterman well knew it
required the first and the freest effort of the wind to "drive the breeze
home," as it is called by seamen, against the opposing currents that
frequently descend from the mountains which surrounded his port. In
addition to this difficulty, the shape of the lake was another reason why
the winds rarely blow in the same direction over the whole of its surface
at the same time. Strong and continued gales commonly force themselves
down into the deep basin, and push their way, against all resistance, into
every crevice of the rocks; but a power less than this, rarely succeeds in
favoring the bark with the same breeze, from the entrance to the outlet of
the Rhone.
As a consequence of these peculiarities, the passengers of the Winkelried
had early evidence that they had trifled too long with the fickle air. The
breeze carried them up abreast of Lausanne in good season, but here the
influence of the mountains began to impair its force, and, by the time the
sun had a little fallen towards the long, dark, even line of the Jura, the
good vessel was driven to the usual expedients of jibing and hauling-in of
sheets.
Baptiste had only to blame his own cupidity for this disappointment; and
the consciousness that, had he complied with the engagement, made on the
previous evening with the mass of his passengers, to depart with the dawn,
he should now have been in a situation to profit by any turn of fortune
that was likely to arise from the multitude of strangers who were in
Vevey, rendered him moody. As is usual with the headstrong and selfish
when they possess the power, others were made to pay for the fault that he
alone had committed. His men were vexed with contradictory and useless
orders; the inferior passengers were accused of constant neglect of his
instructions, a fault which he did not hesitate to affirm had caused the
bark to sail less swiftly than usual, and he no longer even answered the
occasional question of those for whom he felt habitual deference, with his
former respect and readiness.
Chapter IV.
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice again, to make up nine
Macbeth.
Baffling and light airs kept the Winkelried a long time nearly stationary,
and it was only by paying the greatest attention to trimming the sails and
to all the little minutiae of the waterman's art that the vessel was
worked into the eastern horn of the crescent, as the sun touched the hazy
line of the Jura. Here the wind tailed entirely, the surface of the lake
becoming as glassy and smooth as a mirror, and further motion, for the
time at least, was quite out of the question. The crew, perceiving the
hopelessness of their exertions, and fatigued with the previous toil,
threw themselves among the boxes and bales, and endeavored to catch a
little sleep, in anticipation of the north breeze, which, at this season
of the year, usually blew from the shores of Vaud within an hour or two of
the disappearance of the sun.
The deck of the bark was now left to the undisputed possession of her
passengers. The day had latterly been sultry, for the season, the even
water having cast back the hot rays in fierce reflection, and, as evening
drew on, a refreshing coolness came to relieve the densely packed and
scorching travellers. The effect of such a change was like that which
would have been observed among a flock of heavily fleeced sheep, which,
after gasping for breath beneath trees and hedges, during the time of the
sun's power, are seen scattering over their pastures to feed, or to play
their antics, as a grateful shade succeeds to cool their panting sides.
Baptiste, as is but too apt to be the case with men possessed of brief
authority, during the day had mercilessly played the tyrant with all the
passengers that were beneath the privileged degrees, more than once
threatening to come to extremities with several, who had betrayed
restlessness under the restraint and suffering of their unaccustomed
situation. Perhaps there is no man who feels less for the complaints of
the novice than your weather-beaten and hardened mariner; for,
familiarized to the suffering and confinement of a vessel, and at liberty
himself to seek relief in his duties and avocations, he can scarcely enter
into the privations and embarrassments of those to whom all is so new and
painful. But, in the patron of the Winkelried, there existed a natural in
difference to the grievances of others, and a narrow selfishness of
disposition, in aid of the opinions which had been formed by a life of
hardship and exposure. He considered the vulgar passenger as so much
troublesome freight, which, while it brought the advantage of a higher
remuneration than the same cubic measurement of inanimate matter, had the
unpleasant drawback of volition and motion. With this general tendency to
bully and intimidate, the wary patron had, however, made a silent
exception in favor of the Italian, who has introduced himself to the
reader by the ill-omened name of Il Maledetto, or the accursed. This
formidable personage had enjoyed a perfect immunity from the effects of
Baptiste's tyranny, which he had been able to establish by a very simple
and quiet process. Instead of cowering at the fierce glance, or recoiling
at the rude remonstrances of the churlish patron, he had chosen his time,
when the latter was in one of his hottest ebullitions of anger, and when
maledictions and menaces flowed out of his mouth in torrents, coolly to
place himself on the very spot that the other had proscribed, where he
maintained his ground with a quietness and composure which it might have
been difficult to say was more to be imputed to extreme ignorance, or to
immeasurable contempt. At least so reasoned the spectators; some thinking
that the stranger meant to bring affairs to a speedy issue by braving the
patron's fury, and others charitably inferring that he knew no better. But
thus did not Baptiste reason himself. He saw by the calm eye and resolute
demeanor of his passenger that he himself, his pretended professional
difficulties, his captiousness, and his threats, were alike despised; and
he shrank from collision with such a spirit, precisely on the principle
that the intimidated among the rest of the travellers shrunk from a
contest with his own. From this moment Il Maledetto, or, as he was called
by Baptiste him self, who it would appear had some knowledge of his
person, Maso, became as completely the master of his own movements, as if
he had been one of the more honored in the stern of the bark, or even her
patron. He did not abuse his advantage, however, rarely quitting the
indicated station near his own effects, where he had been mainly content
to repose in listless indolence, like the others, dozing away the minutes.
But the scene was now altogether changed. The instant the wrangling,
discontented, and unhappy, because disappointed, patron, confessed his
inability to reach his port before the coming of the expected
night-breeze, and threw himself on a bale, to conceal his dissatisfaction
in sleep, head arose after head from among the pile of freight, and body
after body followed the nobler member, until the whole mass was alive with
human beings. The invigorating coolness, the tranquil hour, the prospect
of a safe if not a speedy arrival, and the relief from excessive
weariness, produced a sudden and agreeable re-action in the feelings of
all. Even the Baron de Willading and his friends, who had shared in none
of the especial privations just named, joined in the general exhibition of
satisfaction and good-will, rather aiding by their smiles and affability
than restraining by their presence the whims and jokes of the different
individuals among the motley group of their nameless companions.
The aspect and position of the bark, as well as the prospects of those on
board as they were connected with their arrival, now deserve to be more
particularly mentioned. The manner in which the vessel was loaded to the
water's edge has already been more than once alluded to. The whole of the
centre of the broad deck, a portion of the Winkelried which, owing to the
over-hanging gangways, possessed, in common with all the similar craft of
the Leman, a greater width than is usual in vessels of the same tonnage
elsewhere, was so cumbered with freight as barely to leave a passage to
the crew, forward and aft, by stepping among the boxes and bales that were
piled much higher than their own heads. A little vacant space was left
near the stern, in which it was possible for the party who occupied that
part of the deck to move, though in sufficiently straitened limits, while
the huge tiller played in its semicircle behind. At the other extremity,
as is absolutely necessary in all navigation, the forecastle was
reasonably clear, though even this important part of the deck was
bristling with the flukes of no less than nine anchors that lay in a row
across its breadth, the wild roadsteads of this end of the lake rendering
such a provision of ground-tackle absolutely indispensable to the safety
of every craft that ventured into its eastern horn. The effect of the
whole, seen as it was in a state of absolute rest, was to give to the
Winkelried the appearance of a small mound in the midst of the water, that
was crowded with human beings, and seemingly so incorporated with the
element oh which it floated as to grow out of its bosom; an image that the
fancy was not slow to form, aided as it was by the reflection of the mass
that the unruffled lake threw back from its mirror-like face, as perfectly
formed, as unwieldy, and nearly as distinct, as the original. To this
picture of a motionless rock, or island, the spars, sails, and high,
pointed beak, however, formed especial exceptions. The yards hung, as
seamen term it, a cockbill, or in such negligent and picturesque positions
as an artist would most love to draw, while the drapery of the canvass was
suspended in graceful and spotless festoons, as it had fallen by chance,
or been cast carelessly from the hands of the boatmen. The beak, or prow,
rose in its sharp gallant stem, resembling the stately neck of a swan,
slightly swerving from its direction, or inclining in a nearly
imperceptible sweep, as the hull yielded to the secret influence of the
varying currents.