 | CHAPTER XI. The headsman, or, The Abbaye des Vignerons |  |
11. CHAPTER XI.
The heir of Valdespesa's rich domain;
An only child, he grew in years and worth,
And well repaid a father's anxious pain.
Southey.
As Sigismund uttered this communication, so
terrible to the ear of his listener, he arose and fled
from the room. The possession of a kingdom
would not have tempted him to remain and note
troubled air and rapid strides as he passed them,
but, too simple to suspect more than the ordinary
impetuosity of youth, he succeeded in getting
through the inferior gate of the castle and into the
fields, without attracting any embarrassing attention
to his movements. Here he began to breathe
more freely, and the load which had nearly choked
his respiration became lightened. For half an
hour the young man paced the greensward scarcely
conscious whither he went, until he found that
his steps had again led him beneath the window
of the knights' hall. Glancing an eye upward, he
saw Adelheid still seated at the balcony, and apparently
yet alone. He thought she had been
weeping, and he cursed the weakness which had
kept him from effecting the often-renewed resolution
to remove himself, and his cruel fortunes, for
ever from before her mind. A second look, however,
showed him that he was again beckoned to
ascend! The revolutions in the purposes of lovers
are sudden and easily effected; and Sigismund,
through whose mind a dozen ill-digested plans of
placing the sea between himself and her he loved
had just been floating, was now hurriedly retracing
his steps to her presence.
Adelheid had necessarily been educated under
the influence of the prejudices of the age and of
the country in which she lived. The existence of
the office of headsman in Berne, and the nature of
its hereditary duties, were well known to her; and,
though superior to the inimical feeling which had
so lately been exhibited against the luckless Balthazar,
she had certainly never anticipated a shock
so cruel as was now produced, by abruptly learning
that this despised and persecuted being was the
father of the youth to whom she had yielded her
virgin affections. When the words which proclaimed
she listened like one who fancied that
her ears deceived her. She had prepared herself
to learn that he derived his being from some peasant
or ignoble artisan, and, once or twice, as he
drew nearer to the fatal declaration, awkward
glimmerings of a suspicion that some repulsive
moral unworthiness was connected with his origin
troubled her-imagination; but her apprehensions
could not, by possibility, once turn in the direction
of the revolting truth. It was some time before
she was able to collect her thoughts, or to reflect
on the course it most became her to pursue. But,
as has been seen, it was long before she could summon
the self-command to request what she now
saw was doubly necessary, another meeting with
her lover. As both had thought of nothing but his
last words during the short separation, there appeared
no abruptness in the manner in which he
resumed the discourse, on seating himself at her
side, exactly as if they had not parted at all.
“The secret has been torn from me, Adelheid.
The headsman of the canton is my father; were
the fact publicly known, the heartless and obdurate
laws would compel me to be his successor. He
has no other child, except a gentle girl—one innocent
and kind as thou.”
Adelheid covered her face with both her hands,
as if to shut out a view of the horrible truth. Perhaps
an instinctive reluctance to permit her companion
to discover how great a blow had been
given by this avowal of his birth, had also its influence
in producing the movement. They who
have passed the period of youth, and who can recall
those days of inexperience and hope, when the
affections are fresh and the heart is untainted with
too much communion with the world,—and, especially,
they who know of what a delicate compound
is formed, how sensitively it regards all that
can reflect credit on the beloved object, and with
what ingenuity it endeavors to find plausible excuses
for every blot that may happen, either by
accident or demerit, to tarnish the lustre of a picture
that fancy has so largely aided in drawing,
will understand the rude nature of the shock that
she had received. But Adelheid de Willading,
though a woman in the liveliness and fervor of her
imagination, as well as in the proneness to conceive
her own ingenuous conceptions to be more founded
in reality than a sterner view of things might
possibly have warranted, was a woman also in
the more generous qualities of the heart, and in
those enduring principles, which seem to have predisposed
the better part of the sex to make the
heaviest sacrifices rather than be false to their affections.
While her frame shuddered, therefore,
with the violence and abruptness of the emotions
she had endured, dawnings of the right gleamed
upon her pure mind, and it was not long before
she was able to contemplate the truth with the
steadiness of principle, though it might, at the same
time, have been with much of the lingering weakness
of humanity. When she lowered her hands,
she looked towards the mute and watchful Sigismund,
with a smile that caused the deadly paleness
of her features to resemble a gleam of the sun
lighting upon a spotless peak of her native mountains.
“It would be vain to endeavor to conceal from
thee, Sigismund,” she said, “that I could wish this
were not so. I will confess even more—that
when the truth first broke upon me, thy repeated
services, and, what is even less pardonable, thy
tried worth, were for an instant forgotten in the
reluctance I felt to admit that my fate could ever
are moments when prejudices and habits are stronger
than reason; but their triumph is short in well-intentioned
minds. The terrible injustice of our
laws have never struck me with such force before,
though last night, while those wretched travellers
were so eager for the blood of—of—”
“My father, Adelheid.”
“Of the author of thy being, Sigismund,” she
continued, with a solemnity that proved to the
young man how deeply she reverenced the tie, “I
was compelled to see that society might be cruelly
unjust; but now I find its laws and prohibitions
visiting one like thee, so far from joining in its oppression,
my soul revolts against the wrong.”
“Thanks—thanks—a thousand thanks!” returned
the young man, fervently. “I did not expect
less than this from thee, Mademoiselle de Willading.”
“If thou didst not expect more—far more, Sigismund,”
resumed the maiden, her ashen hue brightened
to crimson, “thou hast scarcely been less unjust
than the world; and I will add, thou hast never
understood that Adelheid de Willading, whose
name is uttered with so cold a form. We all have
moments of weakness; moments when the seductions
of life, the worthless ties which bind together
the thoughtless and selfish in what are called the
interests of the world, appear of more value than
aught else. I am no visionary, to fancy imaginary
and factitious obligations superior to those which
nature and wisdom have created—for if there be
much unjustifiable cruelty in the practices, there is
also much that is wise in the ordinances, of society—or
to think that a wayward fancy is to be
indulged at any and every expense to the feelings
and opinions of others. On the contrary, I
well know that so long as men exist in the condition
prudence to respect their habits; and that ill-assorted
unions, in general, contain in themselves
a dangerous enemy to happiness. Had I always
known thy history, dread of the consequences, or
those cold forms which protect the fortunate,
would probably have interposed to prevent either
from learning much of the other's character.—I
say not this, Sigismund, as by thy eye I see thou
wouldst think, in reproach for any deception, for I
well know the accidental nature of our acquaintance,
and that the intimacy was forced upon thee
by our own importunate gratitude, but simply, and
in explanation of my own feelings. As it is, we
are not to judge of our situation by ordinary rules,
and I am not now to decide on your pretensions
to my hand merely as the daughter of the Baron
de Willading receiving a proposal from one whose
birth is not noble, but as Adelheid should weigh
the claims of Sigismund, subject to some diminution
of advantages, if thou wilt, that is perhaps
greater than she had at first anticipated.”
“Dost thou consider the acceptance of my hand
possible, after what thou knowest!” exclaimed the
young man, in open wonder.
“So far from regarding the question in that
manner, I ask myself if it will be right—if it be
possible, to reject the preserver of my own life,
the preserver of my father's life, Sigismund Steinbach,
because he is the son of one that men persecute?”
“Adelheid!”
“Do not anticipate my words,” said the maiden
calmly, but in a way to check his impatience by
the quiet dignity of her manner. “This is an important,
I might say a solemn decision, and it has
been presented to me suddenly and without preparation.
Thou wilt not think the worse of me, for
in my eyes, will be for ever sacred. My father,
believing thee to be of obscure origin, and thoroughly
conscious of thy worth, dear Sigismund,
authorized me to speak as I did in the beginning
of our interview; but my father may possibly think
the conditions of his consent altered by this unhappy
exposure of the truth. It is meet that I tell
him all, for thou knowest I must abide by his decision.
This thine own sense and filial piety will
approve.”
In spite of the strong objectionable facts that he
had just revealed, hope had begun to steal upon the
wishes of the young man, as he listened to the
consoling words of the single-minded and affectionate
Adelheid. It would scarcely have been possible
for a youth so endowed by nature, and one
so inevitably conscious of his own value, though
so modest in its exhibition, not to feel encouraged
by her ingenuous and frank admission, as she betrayed
his influence over her happiness in the undisguised
and simple manner related. But the intention
to appeal to her father caused him to view
the subject more dispassionately, for his strong
sense was not slow in pointing out the difference
between the two judges, in a case like his.
“Trouble him not, Adelheid; the consciousness
that his prudence denies what a generous feeling
might prompt him to bestow, may render him unhappy.
It is impossible that Melchior de Willading
should consent to give an only child to a son of
the headsman of his canton. At some other time,
when the recollections of the late storm shall be
less vivid, thine own reason will approve of his
decision.”
His companion, who was thoughtfully leaning
her spotless brow on her hand, did not appear to
hear his words. She had recovered from the shock
and was now musing intently, and with cooler discrimination,
on the commencement of their acquaintance,
its progress and all its little incidents,
down to the two grave events which had so
gradually and firmly cemented the sentiments of
esteem and admiration in the stronger and indelible
tie of affection.
“If thou art the son of him thou namest, why
art thou known by the name of Steinbach, when
Balthazar bears another?” demanded Adelheid,
anxious to seize even the faintest hold of hope.
“It was my intention to conceal nothing, but to
lay before thee the history of my life, with all the
reasons that may have influenced my conduct,”
returned Sigismund: “at some other time, when
both are in a calmer state of mind, I shall dare to
entreat a hearing—”
“Delay is unnecessary—it might even be improper.
It is my duty to explain every thing to
my father, and he may wish to know why thou
hast not always appeared what thou art. Do not
fancy, Sigismund, that I distrust thy motive, but
the wariness of the old and the confidence of the
young have so little in common!—I would rather
that thou told me now.”
He yielded to the mild earnestness of her manner,
and to the sweet, but sad, smile with which
she seconded the appeal.
“If thou wilt hear the melancholy history, Adelheid,”
he said, “there is no sufficient reason why
I should wish to postpone the little it will be necessary
to say. You are probably familiar with
the laws of the canton, I mean those cruel ordinances
by which a particular family is condemned,
for a better word can scarcely be found, to discharge
the duties of this revolting office. This
duty may have been a privilege in the dark ages,
been educated with better hopes, can endure to pay.
My father, trained from infancy to expect the employment,
and accustomed to its discharge in contemplation,
succeeded to his parent while yet
young; and, though formed by nature a meek and
even a compassionate man, he has never shrunk
from his bloody tasks, whenever required to fulfil
them by the command of his superiors. But, touched
by a sentiment of humanity, it was his wish to
avert from me what his better reason led him to
think the calamity of our race. I am the eldest
born, and, strictly, I was the child most liable to
be called to assume the office, but, as I have heard,
the tender love of my mother induced her to suggest
a plan by which I, at least, might be rescued
from the odium that had so long been attached to
our name. I was secretly conveyed from the
house while yet an infant; a feigned death concealed
the pious fraud, and thus far, Heaven be
praised! the authorities are ignorant of my birth!”
“And thy mother, Sigismund; I have great respect
for that noble mother, who, doubtless, is endowed
with more than her sex's firmness and
constancy, since she must have sworn faith and
love to thy father, knowing his duties and the hopelessness
of their being evaded? I feel a reverence
for a woman so superior to the weaknesses, and
yet so true to the real and best affections, of her
sex!”
The young man smiled so painfully as to cause
his enthusiastic companion to regret that she had
put the question.
“My mother is certainly a woman not only to
be loved, but in many particulars deeply to be revered.
My poor and noble mother has a thousand
excellencies, being a most tender parent, with a
heart so kind that it would grieve her to see injury
not a woman, surely, intended by God to be the
mother of a line of executioners!”
“Thou seest, Sigismund,” said Adelheid, nearly
breathless in the desire to seek an excuse for her
own predilections, and to lessen the mental agony
he endured—“thou seest that one gentle and excellent
woman, at least, could trust her happiness
to thy family. No doubt she was the daughter of
some worthy and just-viewing burgher of the canton,
that had educated his child to distinguish between
misfortune and crime?”
“She was an only child and an heiress, like thyself,
Adelheid;” he answered, looking about him
as if he sought some object on which he might
cast part of the bitterness that loaded his heart.
“Thou art not less the beloved and cherished of
thine own parent than was my excellent mother of
her's!”
“Sigismund, thy manner is startling!—What
wouldst thou say?”
“Neufchâtel, and other countries besides Berne,
have their privileged! My mother was the only
child of the headsman of the first. Thus thou
seest, Adelheid, that I boast my quarterings as
well as another. God be praised! we are not legally
compelled, however, to butcher the condemned
of any country but our own!”
The wild bitterness with which this was uttered,
and the energy of his language, struck thrilling
chords on every nerve of his listener.
“So many honors should not be unsupported;”
he resumed. “We are rich, for people of humble
wishes, and have ample means of living withou
the revenues of our charge—I love to put forth
our long-acquired honors! The means of a respectable
livelihood are far from being wanted. I
have told you of the kind intentions of my mother
stigma which weighed upon us all, and the birth
of a second son enabled her to effect this charitable
purpose, without attracting attention. I was
nursed and educated apart, for many years, in ignorance
of my birth. At a suitable age, notwithstanding
the early death of my brother, I was sent
to seek advancement in the service of the house of
Austria, under the feigned name I bear. I will not
tell thee the anguish I felt, Adelheid, when the truth
was at length revealed! Of all the cruelties inflicted
by society, there is none so unrighteous in its
nature as the stigma it entails in the succession of
crime or misfortune: of all its favors, none can
find so little justification, in right and reason, as
the privileges accorded to the accident of descent.”
“And yet we are much accustomed to honor
those that come of an ancient line, and to see some
part of the glory of the ancestor even in the most
remote descendant.”
“The more remote, the greater is the world's
deference. What better proof can we have of
the world's weakness? Thus the immediate child
of the hero, he whose blood is certain, who bears
the image of the father in his face, who has listened
to his counsels, and may be supposed to have
derived, at least, some portion of his greatness
from the nearness of his origin, is less a prince
than he who has imbibed the current through a
hundred vulgar streams, and, were truth but known,
may have no natural claim at all upon the much-prized
blood! This comes of artfully leading the
mind to prejudices, and of a vicious longing in
man to forget his origin and destiny, by wishing
to be more than nature ever intended he should
become.”
“Surely, Sigismund, there is something justifiable
good and noble!”
“If good and noble were the same. Thou hast
well designated the feeling; so long as it is truly
a sentiment, it is not only excusable but wise; for
who would not wish to come of the brave, and
honest, and learned, or by what other greatness
they may be known?—it is wise, since the legacy
of his virtues is perhaps the dearest incentive that
a good man has for struggling against the currents
of baser interest; but what hope is left to
one like me, who finds himself so placed that he
can neither inherit nor transmit aught but disgrace!
I do not affect to despise the advantages of birth,
simply because I do not possess them; I only complain
that artful combinations have perverted what
should be sentiment and taste, into a narrow and
vulgar prejudice, by which the really ignoble enjoy
privileges greater than those perhaps who are
worthy of the highest honors man can bestow.”
Adelheid had encouraged the digression, which,
with one less gifted with strong good sense than
Sigismund, might have only served to wound his
pride, but she perceived that he eased his mind by
thus drawing on his reason, and by setting up that
which should be in opposition to that which was.
“Thou knowest,” she answered, “that neither
my father nor I am disposed to lay much stress on
the opinions of the world, as it concerns thee.”
“That is, neither will insist on nobility; but will
either consent to share the obloquy of a union with
an hereditary executioner?”
“Thou hast not yet related all it may be necessary
to know that we may decide.”
“There is left little to explain. The expedient
of my kind parents has thus far succeeded. Their
two surviving children, my sister and myself, were
snatched, for a time at least, from their accursed
was left, by a partiality I will not stop to examine,
to pass as the inheritor of our infernal privileges—
Nay, pardon, dearest Adelheid, I will be more cool;
but death has saved the youth from the execrable
duties, and I am now the only male child of Balthazar—yes,”
he added, laughing frightfully, “I,
too, have now a narrow monopoly of all the honors
of our house!”
“Thou—thou, Sigismund—with thy habits, thy
education, thy feelings, thou surely canst not be
required to discharge the duties of this horrible
office!”
“It is easy to see that my high privileges do not
charm you, Mademoiselle de Willading; nor can I
wonder at the taste. My chief surprise should be,
that you so long tolerate an executioner in your
presence.”
“Did I not know and understand the bitterness
of feeling natural to one so placed, this language
would cruelly hurt me, Sigismund; but thou canst
not truly mean there is a real danger of thy ever
being called to execute this duty? Should there
be the chance of such a calamity, may not the influence
of my father avert it? He is not without
weight in the councils of the canton.”
“At present his friendship need not be taxed,
for none but my parents, my sister, and thou,
Adelheid, are acquainted with the facts I have just
related. My poor sister is an artless, but an unhappy
girl, for the well-intentioned design of our
mother has greatly disqualified her from bearing
the truth, as she might have done, had it been kept
constantly before her eyes. To the world, a young
kinsman of my father appears destined to succeed
him, and there the matter must stand until fortune
shall decide differently. As respects my poor
sister, there is some little hope that the evil may be
here at Vévey, that may be the means of
concealing her origin in new ties. As for me,
time must decide my fate.”
“Why should the truth be ever known!” exclaimed
Adelheid, nearly gasping for breath, in her
eagerness to propose some expedient that should
rescue Sigismund for ever from so odious an office.
“Thou sayest that there are ample means in thy
family—relinquish all to this youth, on condition
that he assume thy place!”
“I would gladly beggar myself to be quit of
it—”
“Nay, thou wilt not be a beggar while there is
wealth among the de Willadings. Let the final
decision, in respect to other things, be what it may,
this can we at least promise!”
“My sword will prevent me from being under
the necessity of accepting the boon thou wouldst
offer. With this good sword I can always command
an honorable existence, should Providence
save me from the disgrace of exchanging it for that
of the executioner. But there exists an obstacle of
which thou hast not yet heard. My sister, who
has certainly no admiration for the honors that
have humiliated our race for so many generations
—I might say ages—have we not ancient honors,
Adelheid, as well as thou?—my sister is contracted
to one who bargains for eternal secrecy on this
point, as the condition of his accepting the hand
and ample dowry of one of the gentlest of human
beings! Thou seest that others are not as generous
as thyself, Adelheid! My father, anxious to
dispose of his child, has consented to the terms,
and as the youth who is next in succession to the
family-honors is little disposed to accept them, and
has already some suspicion of the deception as respects
her, I may be compelled to appear in order
from the curse.”
This was assailing Adelheid in a point where
she was the weakest. One of her generous temperament
and self-denying habits could scarce
entertain the wish of exacting that from another
which she was not willing to undergo herself, and
the hope that had just been reviving in her heart
was nearly extinguished by the discovery. Still
she was so much in the habit of feeling under the
guidance of her excellent sense, and it was so natural
to cling to her just wishes, while there was a
reasonable chance of their being accomplished,
that she did not despair.
“Thy sister and her future husband know her
birth, and understand the chances they run.”
“She knows all this, and such is her generosity,
that she is not disposed to betray me in order to
serve herself. But this self-denial forms an additional
obligation on my part to declare myself the
wretch I am. I cannot say that my sister is accustomed
to regard our long-endured fortunes with
all the horror I feel, for she has been longer acquainted
with the facts, and the domestic habits of
her sex have left her less exposed to the encounter
of the world's hatred, and perhaps she is partly
ignorant of all the odium we sustain. My long
absences in foreign services delayed the confidence
as respects myself, while the yearnings of a mother
towards an only daughter caused her to be received
into the family, though still in secret, several years
before I was told the truth. She is also much my
junior; and all these causes, with some difference
in our education, have less disposed her to misery
than I am; for while my father, with a cruel kindness,
had me well and even liberally instructed,
Christine was taught as better became the hopes
and origin of both. Now tell me, Adelheid, that
for having so long dared to intrude on thy company,
with the full consciousness of what I am for
ever present to my thoughts!”
“I like not to hear thee make these bitter allusions
to an accident of this nature, Sigismund.
Were I to tell thee that I do not feel this circumstance
with nearly, if not quite, as much poignancy
as thyself,” added the ingenuous girl, with a
noble frankness, “I should do injustice to my gratitude
and to my esteem for thy character. But
there is more elasticity in the heart of woman
than in that of thy imperious and proud sex. So
far from thinking of thee as thou wouldst fain believe,
I see naught but what is natural and justifiable
in thy reserve. Remember, thou hast not
tempted my ears by professions and prayers, as
women are commonly entreated, but that the interest
I feel in thee has been modestly and fairly
won. I can neither say nor hear more at present,
for this unexpected announcement has in some degree
unsettled my mind. Leave me to reflect on
what I ought to do, and rest assured that thou
canst not have a kinder or more partial advocate
of what truly belongs to thy honor and happiness
than my own heart.”
As the daughter of Melchior de Willading concluded,
she extended her hand with affection to
the young man, who pressed it against his breast
with manly tenderness, when he slowly and reluctantly
withdrew.
| CHAPTER XI. The headsman, or, The Abbaye des Vignerons | |