 | CHAPTER XVI. The headsman, or, The Abbaye des Vignerons |  |
16. CHAPTER XVI.
“Speak, oh, speak!
And take me from the rack.”
Young.
It will be remembered that three days were
passed in the convent in that interval which occurred
between the arrival of the travellers and
those of the châtelain and the bailiff. The determination
of admitting the claims of Sigismund, so
frankly announced by Adelheid in the preceding
chapter, was taken during this time. Separated
from the world, and amid that magnificent solitude
where the passions and the vulgar interests of life
sank into corresponding insignificance as the majesty
of God became hourly more visible, the baron
had been gradually won upon to consent. Love
for his child, aided by the fine moral and personal
qualities of the young man himself, which here
stood out in strong relief, like one of the stern
piles of those Alps that now appeared to his eyes
so much superior, in their eternal beds, to all the
vine-clad hills and teeming valleys of the lower
world, had been the immediate and efficient agents
in producing this decision. It is not pretended
that the Bernese made an easy conquest over his
prejudices, which was in truth no other than a
conquest over himself, he being, morally considered,
little other than a collection of the narrow
opinions and exclusive doctrines which it was then
On the contrary, the struggle had been severe;
nor is it probable that the gentle blandishments
of Adelheid, the eloquent but silent appeals
to his reason that were constantly made by Sigismund
in his deportment, or the arguments of his
old comrade, the Signor Grimaldi, who, with a
philosophy that is more often made apparent in
our friendships than in our own practice, dilated
copiously on the wisdom of sacrificing a few
worthless and antiquated opinions to the happiness
of an only child, would have prevailed, had the
Baron been in a situation less abstracted from the
ordinary circumstances of his rank and habits,
than that in which he had been so accidentally
thrown. The pious clavier, too, who had obtained
some claims to the confidence of the guests of the
convent by his services, and by the risks he had
run in their company, came to swell the number
of Sigismund's friends. Of humble origin himself,
and attached to the young man not only by his
general merits, but by his conduct on the lake, he
neglected no good occasion to work upon Melchior's
mind, after he himself had become acquainted
with the nature of the young man's hopes. As they
paced the brown and naked rocks together, in the
vicinity of the convent, the Augustine discoursed
on the perishable nature of human hopes, and on
the frailty of human opinions. He dwelt with
pious fervor on the usefulness of recalling the
thoughts from the turmoil of daily and contracted
interests, to a wider view of the truths of existence.
Pointing to the wild scene around them, he likened
the confused masses of the mountains, their sterility,
and their ruthless tempests, to the world with
its want of happy fruits, its disorders, and its violence.
Then directing the attention of his companion
to the azure vault above them, which, seen
a benign canopy of the softest tints and
colors, he made glowing appeals to the eternal and
holy tranquillity of the state of being to which
they were both fast hastening, and which had its
type in the mysterious and imposing calm of that
tranquil and illimitable void. He drew his moral
in favor of a measured enjoyment of our advantages
here, as well as of rendering love and justice
to all who merited our esteem, and to the disadvantage
of those iron prejudices which confine the
best sentiments in the fetters of opinions founded
in the ordinances and provisions of the violent and
selfish.
It was after one of these interesting dialogues
that Melchior de Willading, his heart softened and
his soul touched with the hopes of heaven, listened
with a more indulgent ear to the firm declaration
of Adelheid, that unless she became the wife of
Sigismund, her self-respect, no less than her affections,
must compel her to pass her life unmarried.
We shall not say that the maiden herself philosophized
on premises as sublime as those of the good
monk, for with her the warm impulses of the heart
lay at the bottom of her resolution; but even she
had the respectable support of reason to sustain
her cause. The baron had that innate desire to
perpetuate his own existence in that of his descendants,
which appears to be a property of nature.
Alarmed at a declaration which threatened
annihilation to his line, while at the same time he
was more than usually under the influence of his
better feelings, he promised that if the charge of
murder could be removed from Balthazar, he
would no longer oppose the union. We should be
giving the reader an opinion a little too favorable
of the Herr von Willading, were we to say that
he did not repent having made this promise soon
that resembled the vanes of his own towers, which
changed their direction with every fresh current
of air, but he was by far too honorable to think
seriously of violating a faith that he had once fairly
plighted. He had moments of unpleasant misgivings
as to the wisdom and propriety of his
promise, but they were of that species of regret,
which is known to attend an unavoidable evil. If
he had any expectations of being released from
his pledge, they were bottomed on certain vague
impressions that Balthazar would be found guilty,
though the constant and earnest asseverations
of Sigismund in favor of his father had greatly
succeeded in shaking his faith on this point.
Adelheid had stronger hopes than either; the
fears of the young man himself preventing him
from fully participating in her confidence, while
her father shared her expectations on that tormenting
principle, which causes us to dread the worst.
When, therefore, the jewelry of Jacques Colis was
found in the possession of Maso, and Balthazar
was unanimously acquitted, not only from this circumstance,
which went so conclusively to criminate
another, but from the want of any other evidence
against him than the fact of his being found
in the bone-house instead of the Refuge, an accident
that might well have happened to any other
traveller in the storm, the baron resolutely prepared
himself to redeem his pledge. It is scarcely
necessary to add how much this honorable sentiment
was strengthened by the unexpected declaration
of the headsman concerning the birth of Sigismund.
Notwithstanding the asseveration of
Maso that the whole was an invention conceived to
favor the son of Balthazar, it was supported by
proofs so substantial and palpable, to say nothing
of the natural and veracious manner in which the
in the minds of the witnesses, that it might be true.
Although it remained to be discovered who were
the real parents of Sigismund, few now believed
that he owed his existence to the headsman.
A short summary of the facts may aid the read
er in better understanding, the circumstances on
which so much dénouement depends.
It has been revealed in the course of the narrative
that the Signor Grimaldi had wedded a lady
younger than himself, whose affections were already
in the possession of one that, in moral qualities,
was unworthy of her love, but who in other respects
was perhaps better suited to become her husband,
than the powerful noble to whom her family
had given her hand. The birth of their son was soon
followed by the death of the mother, and the abduction
of the child. Years had passed, when the
Signor Grimaldi was first apprized of the existence
of the latter. He had received this important information
at a moment when the authorities of
Genoa were most active in pursuing those who
had long and desperately trifled with the laws, and
the avowed motive for the revelation was an appeal
to his natural affection in behalf of a son,
who was likely to become the victim of his practices.
The recovery of a child under such circumstances
was a blow severer than his loss, and
it will readily be supposed that the truth of the
pretension of Maso, who then went by the name
of Bartolomeo Contini, was admitted with the
greatest caution. Reference had been made by
the friends of the smuggler to a dying monk, whose
character was above suspicion, and who corroborated,
with his latest breath, the statement of
Maso, by affirming before God and the saints that
he knew him, so far as man could know a fact like
this, to be the son of the Signor Grimaldi. This
such solemnity, and supported by the production
of important papers that had been stolen with the
child, removed the suspicions of the Doge. He
secretly interposed his interest to save the criminal,
though, after a fruitless attempt to effect a reformation
of his habits by means of confidential agents,
he had never consented to see him.
Such then was the nature of the conflicting
statements. While hope and the pure delight of
finding himself the father of a son like Sigismund,
caused the aged prince to cling to the claims of the
young soldier with fond pertinacity, his cooler
and more deliberate judgment had already been
formed in favor of another. In the long private
examination which succeeded the scene in the
chapel, Maso had gradually drawn more into himself,
becoming vague and mysterious, until he succeeded
in exciting a most painful state of doubt
and expectation in all who witnessed his deportment.
Profiting by this advantage, he suddenly
changed his tactics. He promised revelations of
importance, on the condition that he should first
be placed in security within the frontiers of Piedmont.
The prudent châtelain soon saw that the
case was getting to be one in which Justice was
expected to be blind in the more politic signification
of the term. He, therefore, drew off his loquacious
coadjutor, the bailiff, in a way to leave
the settlement of the affair to the feelings and
wishes of the Doge. The latter, by the aid of
Melchior and Sigismund, soon effected an understanding,
in which the conditions of the mariner
were admitted; when the party separated for the
night. Il Maledetto, on whom weighed the entire
load of Jacques Colis' murder, was again committed
to his temporary prison, while Balthazar, Pippo,
and Conrad, were permitted to go at large, as
Day dawned upon the Col long ere the shades
of night had deserted the valley of the Rhone. All
in the convent were in motion before the appearance
of the sun, it being generally understood that
the event which had so much disturbed the order
of its peaceful inmates' lives, was to be brought
finally to a close, and that their duties were about
to return into the customary channels. Orisons
are constantly ascending to heaven from the pass
of St. Bernard, but, on the present occasion, the
stir in and about the chapel, the manner in which
the good canons hurried to and fro through the
long corridors, and the general air of excitement,
proclaimed that the offices of the matins possessed
more than the usual interest of the regular daily
devotion.
The hour was still early when all on the pass
assembled in the place of worship. The body of
Jacques Colis had been removed to a side chapel,
where, covered with a pall, it awaited the mass
for the dead. Two large church candles stood
lighted on the steps of the great altar, and the
spectators, including Pierre and the muleteers, the
servants of the convent, and others of every rank
and age, were drawn up in double files in its front.
Among the silent spectators appeared Balthazar
and his wife, Maso, in truth a prisoner, but with
the air of a liberated man, the pilgrim, and Pippo.
The good prior was present in his robes, with all
of his community. During the moments of suspense
which preceded the rites, he discoursed
civilly with the châtelain and the bailiff, both of
whom returned his courtesies with interest, and in
the manner in which it becomes the dignified and
honored to respect appearances in the presence of
their inferiors. Still the demeanor of most was
of compelled gaiety, into which unwelcome and
extraordinary circumstances of alloy had thrust
themselves unbidden.
On the opening of the door a little procession entered,
headed by the clavier. Melchior de Willading
led his daughter, Sigismund came next, followed by
Marguerite and Christine, and the venerable Doge
brought up the rear. Simple as was this wedding
train, it was imposing from the dignity of the principal
actors, and from the evidences of deep feeling
with which all in it advanced to the altar. Sigismund
was firm and self-possessed. Still his carriage
was lofty and proud, as if he felt that a cloud
still hung over that portion of his history to which
the world attached so much importance, and he
had fallen back on his character and principles for
support. Adelheid had lately been so much the
subject of strong emotions, that she presented herself
before the priest with less trepidation than was
usual for a maiden; but the fixed regard, the colorless
cheek, and an air of profound reverence, announced
the depth and solemn character of the
feelings with which she was prepared to take the
vows.
The marriage rites were celebrated by the good
clavier, who, not content with persuading the
baron to make this sacrifice of his prejudices, had
asked permission to finish the work he had so happily
commenced, by pronouncing the nuptial benediction.
Melchior de Willading listened to the
short ceremony with silent self-approval. He felt
disposed at that instant to believe he had wisely
sacrificed the interests of the world to the right, a
sentiment that was a little quickened by the uncertainty
which still hung over the origin of his new
son, who might yet prove to be all that he could
hope, as well as by the momentary satisfaction he
the hand of his daughter upon one whose merit
was so much better ascertained than his birth. In
this manner do the best deceive themselves, yielding
frequently to motives that would not support
investigation when they believe themselves the
strongest in the right. The good-natured clavier
had observed the wavering and uncertain character
of the baron's decision, and he had been induced
to urge his particular request to be the officiating
priest by a secret apprehension that, descended
again into the scenes of the world, the relenting
father might become, like most other parents of
these nether regions, more disposed to consult the
temporal advancement than the true happiness of
his child.
As one of the parties was a Protestant, no mass
was said, an omission, however, that in no degree
impaired the legal character of the engagement.
Adelheid plighted her unvarying love and fidelity
with maiden modesty, but with the steadiness of a
woman whose affections and principles were superior
to the little weaknesses which, on such occasions,
are most apt to unsettle those who have the
least of either of these great distinctive essentials
of the sex. The vows to cherish and protect
were uttered by Sigismund in deep manly sincerity,
for, at that moment, he felt as if a life of devotion
to her happiness would scarcely requite her single-minded,
feminine, and unvarying truth.
“May God bless thee, dearest,” murmured old
Melchior, as, bending over his kneeling child, he
struggled to keep down a heart which appeared
disposed to mount into his throat, in spite of its
master's inclinations; “bless thee—bless thee, love,
now and for ever. Providence has dealt sternly
with thy brothers and sisters, but in leaving thee,
it has still left me rich in offspring. Here is our
still harder—but we will hope—we will hope.
And thou, Sigismund, now that Balthazar hath disowned
thee, thou must accept such a father as
Heaven sends. All accidents of early life are forgotten,
and Willading, like my old heart, hath gotten
a new owner and a new lord!”
The young man exchanged embraces with the
baron, whose character he knew to be kind in the
main, and for whom he felt the regard which was
natural to his present situation. He then turned,
with a hesitating eye, to the Signor Grimaldi. The
Doge succeeded his friend in paying the compliments
of affection to the bride, and had just released
Adelheid with a warm paternal kiss.
“I pray Maria and her holy Son in thy behalf!”
said the venerable Prince with dignity. “Thou
enterest on new and serious duties, child, but the
spirit and purity of an angel, a meekness that does
not depress, and a character whose force rather
relieves than injures the softness of thy sex, can
temper the ills of this fickle world, and thou may'st
justly hope to see a fair portion of that felicity
which thy young imagination pictures in such golden
colors. And thou,” he added, turning to meet
the embrace of Sigismund, “whoever thou art by
the first disposition of Providence, thou art now
rightfully dear to me. The husband of Melchior
de Willading's daughter would ever have a claim
upon his most ancient and dearest friend, but we
are united by a tie that has the interest of a singular
and solemn mystery. My reason tells me that
I am punished for much early and wanton pride
and wilfulness, in being the parent of a child that
few men in any condition of life could wish to
claim, while my heart would fain flatter me with
being the father of a son of whom an emperor
might be proud! Thou art, and thou art not, of
the testimony of the dying monk, I should proclaim
thee to be the latter without hesitation; but be
thou what thou may'st by birth, thou art entirely
and without alloy of my love. Be tender of this
fragile flower that Providence hath put under thy
protection, Sigismund; cherish it as thou valuest
thine own soul; the generous and confiding love
of a virtuous woman is always a support, frequently
a triumphant stay, to the tottering principles
of man. Oh! had it pleased God earlier to
have given me Angiolina, how different might
have been our lives! This dark uncertainty would
not now hang over the most precious of human
affections, and my closing hour would be blessed.
Heaven and its saints preserve ye both, my children,
and preserve ye long in your present innocence
and affection!”
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
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. 'T is 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 turn 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
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 châtelain.
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
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 châtelain 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
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 hesitatest,” 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 châtelain, 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
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 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 fair
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
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, towards 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 birthright.
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.
| CHAPTER XVI. The headsman, or, The Abbaye des Vignerons | |