Chapter 29




Thy voice to us is wind among still woods.

Shelley.


Notwithstanding the gravity of the facts which were accumulating against
him, Maso had maintained throughout the foregoing scene much of that
steady self-possession and discernment which were the fruits of adventure
in scenes of danger, long exposure, and multiplied hazards. To these
causes of coolness, might be added the iron-like nerves inherited from
nature. The latter were not easily disturbed, however critical the state
to which he was reduced. Still he had changed color, and his manner had
that thoughtful and unsettled air which denote the consciousness of being
in circumstances that require uncommon wariness and judgment. But his
final opinion appeared to be formed when he made the appeal mentioned in
the close of the last chapter, and he now only waited for the two or three
officials who were present to retire, before he pursued his purpose. When
the door was closed, leaving none but his examiners, Sigismund Balthazar,
and the group of females in the side-chapel, he turned, with singular
respect of manner, and addressed himself exclusively to the Signor
Grimaldi, as if the judgment which was to decide his fate depended solely
on his will.

"Signore," he said, "there has been much secret allusion between us, and
I suppose that it is unnecessary for me to say, that you are known to me.'

"I have already recognized thee for a country man," coldly returned the
Genoese; "it is vain however, to imagine the circumstance can avail a
murderer. If any consideration could induce me to forget the claims of
justice, the recollection of thy good service on the Leman would prove thy
best friend. As it is, I fear thou hast naught to expect from me."

Maso was silent. He looked the other steadily in the face, as if he would
study his character, though he guardedly prevented his manner from losing
its appearance of profound respect.

"Signore, the chances of life were greatly with you at the birth. You were
born the heir of a powerful house, in which gold is more plenty than woes
in a poor man's cabin, and you have not been made to learn by experience
how hard it is to keep down the longings for those pleasures which the
base metal will purchase, when we see others rolling in its luxuries."

"This plea will not avail thee, unfortunate man; else were there an end of
human institutions. The difference of which thou speakest is a simple
consequence of the rights of property; and even the barbarian admits the
sacred duty of respecting that which is another's."

"A word from one like you, illustrious Signore, would open for me the road
to Piedmont," continued Maso, unmoved: "once across the frontiers, it
shall be my care never to molest the rocks of Valais again. I ask only
what I have been the means of saving, eccellenza,--life."

The Signor Grimaldi shook his head, though it was very evident that he
declined the required intercession with much reluctance. He and old
Melchior de Willading exchanged glances; and all who noted this silent
intercourse understood it to say, that each considered duty to God a
higher obligation than gratitude for a service rendered to themselves.

"Ask gold, or what thou wilt else, but do not ask me to aid in defeating
justice. Gladly would I have given for the asking, twenty times the value
of those miserable baubles for whose possession, Maso, thou hast rashly
taken life; but I cannot become a sharer of thy crime, by refusing
atonement to his friends. It is too late: I cannot befriend thee now, if I
would."

"Thou nearest the answer of this noble gentleman," interposed the
ch�telain; "it is wise and seemly, and thou greatly overratest his
influence or that of any present, if thou fanciest the laws can be set
aside at pleasure. Wert thou a noble thyself, or the son of a prince,
judgment would have its way in the Valais!"

Maso smiled wildly; and yet the expression of his glittering eye was so
ironical as to cause uneasiness in his judge. The Signor Grimaldi, too,
observed the audacious confidence of his air with distrust, for his spirit
had taken secret alarm on a subject that was rarely long absent from his
thoughts.

"If thou meanest more than has been said," exclaimed the latter, "for the
sake of the blessed Maria be explicit!"

"Signor Melchior," continued Maso, turning to the baron, "I did you and
your daughter fair service on the lake!"

"That thou didst, Maso, we are both willing to admit, and were it in
Berne,--but the laws are made equally for all, the great and the humble
they who have friends, and they who have none,"

"I have heard of this act on the lake," put in Peterchen; "and unless fame
lieth--which. Heaven knows, fame is apt enough to do, except in giving
their just dues to those who are in high trusts,--thou didst conduct
thyself in that affair, Maso, like a loyal and well-taught mariner: but
the honorable ch�telain has well remarked, that holy justice must have way
before all other things. Justice is represented as blind, in order that it
may be seen she is no respecter of persons: and wert thou an Avoyer, the
decree must come. Reflect maturely, therefore, on all the facts, and thou
wilt come, in time, to see the impossibility of thine own innocence.
First, thou left the path, being ahead of Jacques Colis, to enter it at a
moment suited to thy purposes: then thou took'st his life for gold--"

"But this is believing that to be true, Signor Bailiff, which is only yet
supposed," interrupted Il Maledetto; "I left the path to give Nettuno his
charge apart from curious eyes; and, as for the gold of which you speak,
would the owner of a necklace of that price be apt to barter his soul
against a booty like this which comes of Jacques Colis!"

Maso spoke with a contempt which did not serve his cause; for it left the
impression among the auditors, that he weighed the morality and immorality
of his acts simply by their result.

"It is time to bring this to an end," said the Signor Grimaldi, who had
been thoughtful and melancholy while the others spoke: "thou hast
something to address particularly to me, Maso; but if thy claim is no
better than that of our common country, I grieve to say, it cannot be
admitted."

"Signore, the voice of a Doge of Genoa is not often raised in vain, when
he would use it in behalf of another!"

At this sudden announcement of the traveller's rank, the monks and the
ch�telain started in surprise, and a low murmur of wonder was heard in
the chapel. The smile of Peterchen, and the composure of the Baron de
Willading, however, showed that they, at least, learned nothing new. The
bailiff whispered the prior significantly, and from that moment his
deportment towards the Genoese took still more of the character of formal
and official respect. On the other hand, the Signor Grimaldi remained
composed, like one accustomed to receive deference, though his manner lost
the slight degree of restraint that had been imposed by the observance of
the temporary character he had assumed.

"The voice of a Doge of Genoa should not be used in intercession, unless
in behalf of the innocent," he replied, keeping his severe eye fastened on
the countenance of the accused.

Again Il Maledetto seemed laboring with some secret that struggled on his
tongue.

"Speak," continued the Prince of Genoa; for it was, in truth, that high
functionary, who had journeyed incognito, in the hope of meeting his
ancient friend at the sports of V�vey, "Speak, Maso, if thou hast aught
serious to urge in favor of thyself; time presses, and the sight of one to
whom I owe so much in this great jeopardy, without the power to aid him,
grows painful."

"Signor Doge, though deaf to pity, you cannot be deaf to nature."

The countenance of the Doge became livid; his lips trembled even to the
appearance of convulsions.

"Deal no longer in mystery, man of blood!" he said with energy. "What is
thy meaning?"

"I entreat your eccellenza to be calm. Necessity forces me to speak; for,
as you see, I stand between this revelation and the block--I am Bartolo
Contini!"

The groan that escaped the compressed lips of, the Doge, the manner in
which he sank into a seat, and the hue of death that settled over his aged
countenance, until it was more ghastly even than that of the unhappy
victim of violence, drew all present, in wonder and alarm, around his
chair. Signing for those who pressed upon him to give way, the Prince sat
gazing at Maso, with eyes that appeared ready to burst from their sockets.

"Thou Bartolomeo!" he uttered huskily, as if horror had frozen his voice.

"I am Bartolo, Signore, and no other. He who goes through many scenes hath
occasion for many names. Even your Highness travels at times under a
cloud."

The Doge continued to stare on the speaker with the fixedness of regard
that one might be supposed to fasten on a creature of unearthly existence.

"Melchior," he said slowly, turning his eyes from one to the other of the
forms that filled them, for Sigismund had advanced to the side of Maso, in
kind concern for the old man's condition,--"Melchior, we are but feeble
and miserable creatures in the hand of one who looks upon the proudest and
happiest of us, as we look upon the worm that crawls the earth! What are
hope, and honor, and our fondest love, in the great train of events that
time heaves from its womb, bringing forth to our confusion? Are we proud?
fortune revenges itself for our want of humility by its scorn. Are we
happy? it is but the calm that precedes the storm. Are we great? it is but
to lead us into abuses that will justify our fall. Are we honored stains
tarnish our good names, in spite of all our care!"

"He who puts his trust in the Son of Maria need never despair!" whispered
the worthy clavier touched nearly to tears by the sudden distress of one
whom he had learned to respect. "Let the fortunes of the world pass away,
or change as they will, his chastening love outliveth time!"

The Signor Grimaldi, for, though the elected of Genoa, such was in truth
the family name of the Doge, turned his vacant gaze for an instant on the
Augustine, but it soon reverted to the forms and faces of Maso and
Sigismund, who still stood before him, filling his thoughts even more than
his sight.

"Yes, there is a power--" he resumed, "a great and beneficent Being to
equalize our fortunes here, and when we pass into another state of being,
loaded with the wrongs of this, we shall have justice! Tell me, Melchior,
thou who knew my youth, who read my heart when it was open as day, what
was there in it to deserve this punishment? Here is Balthazar, come of a
race of executioners--a man condemned of opinion--that prejudice besets
with a hedge of hatred--that men point at with their fingers, and whom the
dogs are ready to bay--this Balthazar is the father of that gallant youth,
whose form is so perfect, whose spirit is so noble, and whose life so
pure; while I, the last of a line that is lost in the obscurity of time,
the wealthiest of my land, and the chosen of my peers, am accursed with an
outcast, a common brigand, a murderer, for the sole prop of my decaying
house--with this Il Maledetto--this man accursed--for a son!"

A movement of astonishment escaped the listeners, even the Baron de
Willading not suspecting the real cause of his friend's distress. Maso
alone was unmoved; for while the aged father betrayed the keenness of his
anguish, the son discovered none of that sympathy of which even a life
like his might be supposed to have left some remains in the heart of a
child. He was cold, collected, observant, and master of his smallest
action.

"I will not believe this," exclaimed the Doge, whose very soul revolted at
this unfeeling apathy, even more than at the disgrace of being the father
of such a child; "thou art not he thou pretendest to be; this foul lie is
uttered that my natural feelings may interpose between thee and the block!
Prove thy truth, or I abandon thee to thy fate."

"Signore, I would have saved this unhappy exhibition, but you would not.
That I am Bartolo this signet, your own gift sent to be my protection in a
strait like this, will show. It is, moreover, easy for me to prove what I
say, by a hundred witnesses who are living in Genoa."

The Signor Grimaldi stretched forth a hand that trembled like an aspen to
receive the ring, a jewel of little price, but a signet that he had, in
truth, sent to be an instrument of recognition between him and his child,
in the event of any sudden calamity befalling the latter. He groaned as he
gazed at its well-remembered emblems, for its identity was only too plain.

"Maso--Bartolo--Gaetano--for such, miserable boy, is thy real
appellation--thou canst not know how bitter is the pang that an unworthy
child brings to the parent, else would thy life have been different. Oh!
Gaetano! Gaetano! what a foundation art thou for a father's hopes! What a
subject for a father's love! I saw thee last a smiling innocent cherub, in
thy nurse's arms, and I find thee with a blighted sod, the pure fountain
of thy mind corrupted, a form sealed with the stamp of vice, and with
hands dyed in blood; prematurely old in body, and with a spirit that hath
already the hellish taint of the damned!

"Signore, you find me as the chances of a wild life have willed. The world
and I have been at loggerheads this many a year, and in trifling with its
laws, I take my revenge of its abuse--" warmly returned Il Maledetto, for
his spirit began to be aroused. "Thou bear'st hard upon me,
Doge--father--or what thou wilt--and I should be little worthy of my
lineage, did I not meet thy charges as they are made. Compare thine own
career with mine, and let it be proclaimed by sound of trumpet if thou
wilt, which hath most reason to be proud, and which to exult. Thou wert
reared in the hopes and honors of our name; thou passed thy youth in the
pursuit of arms according to thy fancy, and when tired of change, and
willing to narrow thy pleasures, thou looked about thee for a maiden to
become the mother of thy successor; thou turned a wishing eye on one
young, fair, and noble, but whose affections, as her faith, were solemnly,
irretrievably plighted to another."

The Doge shuddered and veiled his eye; but he eagerly interrupted Maso.

"Her kinsman was unworthy of her love," he cried; "he was an outcast, and
little better than thyself, unhappy boy, except in the chances of
condition."

"It matters not, Signore; God had not made you the arbiter of her fate. In
tempting her family by your greater riches, you crushed two hearts, and
destroyed the hopes of your fellow-creatures. In her was sacrificed an
angel, mild and pure as this fair creature who is now listening so
breathlessly to my words; in him a fierce untamed spirit, that had only
the greater need of management, since it was as likely to go wrong as
right. Before your son was born, this unhappy rival, poor in hopes as in
wealth, had become desperate; and the mother of your child sank a victim
to her ceaseless regrets, at her own want of faith as much as for his
follies."

"Thy mother was deluded, Gaetano; she never knew the real qualities of
her cousin, or a soul like hers would have lothed the wretch."

"Signore, it matters not," continued Il Maledetto, with a ruthless
perseverance of intention, and a coolness of manner that would seem to
merit the description which had just been given his spirit, that of
possessing a hellish taint; "she loved him with a woman's heart; and with
a woman's ingenuity and confidence, she ascribed his fall to despair for
her loss."

"Oh, Melchior! Melchior! this is fearfully true!" groaned the Doge.

"It is so true, Signore, that it should be written on my mother's tomb. We
are children of a fiery climate; the passions burn in our Italy like the
hot sun that glows there. When despair drove the disappointed lover to
acts that rendered him an outlaw, the passage to revenge was short. Your
child was stolen, hid from your view, and cast upon the world under
circumstances that left little doubt of his living in bitterness, and
dying under the contempt, if not the curses, of his fellows. All this,
Signor Grimaldi, is the fruit of your own errors. Had you respected the
affections of an innocent girl, the sad consequences to yourself and me
might have been avoided."

"Is this man's history to be believed, Gaetano?" demanded the baron, who
had more than once betrayed a wish to check the rude tongue of the
speaker.

"I do not--I cannot deny it; I never saw my own conduct in this criminal
light before, and yet now it all seems frightfully true!"

Il Maledetto laughed. Those around him thought his untimely merriment
resembled the mockery of a devil.

"This is the manner in which men continue to sin, while they lay claim to
the merit of innocence!" he added. "Let the great of the earth give but
half the care to prevent, that they show to punish, offences against
themselves, and what is now called justice will no longer be a
stalking-horse to enable a few to live at the cost of the rest. As for me,
I am proof of what noble blood and illustrious ancestry can do for
themselves! Stolen when a child, Nature has had fair play in my
temperament, which I own is more disposed to wild adventure and manly
risks than to the pleasures of marble halls. Noble father of mine, were
this spirit dressed up in the guise of a senator, or a doge, it might fare
badly with Genoa!"

"Unfortunate man," exclaimed the indignant prior, "is this language for a
child to use to his father? Dost thou forget that the blood of Jacques
Colis is on thy soul?"

"Holy Augustine, the candor with which my general frailties are allowed,
should gain me credit when I speak of particular accusations. By the hopes
and piety of the reverend canon of Aoste, thy patron saint and founder! I
am guiltless of this crime. Question Nettuno as you will, or turn the
affair in every way that usage warrants, and let appearances take what
shape they may, I swear to you my innocence. If ye think that fear of
punishment tempts me to utter a lie, under these holy appeals, (he crossed
himself with reverence,) ye do injustice both to my courage and to my love
of the saints. The only son of the reigning Doge of Genoa hath little to
fear from the headsman's blow!"

Again Maso laughed. It was the confidence of one who knew the world and
who was too audacious even to consult appearances unless it suited his
humor, breaking out in very wantonness. A man who had led his life, was
not to learn at this late day, that the want of eyes in Justice oftener
means blindness to the faults of the privileged, than the impartiality
that is assumed by the pretending emblem. The ch�telain, the prior, the
bailiff, the clavier, and the Baron de Willading, looked at each other
like men bewildered. The mental agony of the Doge formed a contrast so
frightful with the heartless and cruel insensibility of the son, that the
sight chilled their blood. The sentiment was only the more common, from
the silent but general conviction, that the unfeeling criminal must be
permitted to escape. There was, indeed, no precedent for leading the child
of a prince to the block, unless it were for an offence which touched the
preservation of the father's interests. Much was said in maxims and
apophthegms of the purity and necessity of rigid impartiality in
administering the affairs of life, but neither had attained his years and
experience without obtaining glimpses of practical things, that taught
them to foresee the impunity of Maso. Too much violence would be done to a
factitous and tottering edifice, were it known that a prince's son was no
better than one of the vilest, and the lingering feelings of paternity
were certain at last to cast a shield before the offender.

The embarrassment and doubt attending such a state of things was happily,
but quite unexpectedly, relieved by the interference of Balthazar. The
headsman, until this moment, had been a silent and attentive listener to
all that passed; but now he pressed himself into the circle, and looking,
in his quiet manner, from one to the other, he spoke with the assurance
that the certainty of having important intelligence to impart, is apt to
give even to the meekest, in the presence of those whom they habitually
respect.

"This broken tale of Maso," he said, "is removing a cloud that has lain,
for near thirty years before my eyes. Is it true, illustrious Doge, for
such it appears is your princely state, that a son of your noble stock
was stolen and kept in from your love, through the vindictive enmity of a
rival?"

"True!--alas, too true! Would it had pleased the blessed Maria, who so
cherished his mother, to call his spirit to Heaven, ere the curse befell
him and me!"

"Your pardon, great Prince, if I press you with questions at a moment so
painful. But it is in your own interest. Suffer that I ask in what year
this calamity befell your family?"

The Signor Grimaldi signed for his friend to assume the office of
answering these extraordinary interrogatories, while he buried his own
venerable face in his cloak, to conceal his anguish from curious eyes.
Melchior de Willading regarded the headsman in surprise, and for an
instant he was disposed to repel questions that seemed importunate; but
the earnest countenance and mild, decent demeanor of Balthazar, overcame
his repugnance to pursue the subject.

"The child was seized in the autumn of the year 1693," he answered, his
previous conferences with his friend having put him in possession of all
the leading facts of the history.

"And his age?"

"Was near a twelvemonth."

"Can you inform me what became of the profligate noble who committed this
for robbery?"

"The fate of the Signore Pantaleone Serrani has never been truly known;
though there is a dark rumor that he died in a brawl in our own
Switzerland. That he is dead, there is no cause to doubt."

"And his person, noble Freiherr--a description of his person is now only
wanting to throw the light of a noon-day sun, on what has so long been
night!"

"I knew the unlucky Signore Pantaleone in early youth. At the time
mentioned his years might have been thirty, his form was seemly and of
middle height, his features bore the Italian outline, with the dark eye,
swarthy skin and glossy hair of the climate. More than this, with the
exception of a finger lost in one of our affairs in Lombardy, I cannot
say."

"This is enough," returned the attentive Balthazar. "Dismiss your grief,
princely Doge, and prepare your heart for a new-found joy. Instead of
being the parent of this reckless freebooter, God at length pities and
returns your real son in Sigismund, a child that might gladden the heart
of any parent, though he were an emperor!"

This extraordinary declaration was made to stunned and confounded
listeners. A cry of alarm bust from the lips of Marguerite, who approached
the group in the centre of the chapel, trembling and anxious as if the
grave were about to rob her of a treasure.

"What is this I hear!" exclaimed the mother, whose sensitiveness was the
first to take alarm. "Are my half-formed suspicions then too true,
Balthazar? Am I, indeed, without a son? I know thou wouldst not trifle
with a mother, or mislead this stricken noble in a thing like this! Speak,
again, that I may know the truth--Sigismund!--"

"Is not our child," answered the headsman, with an impress of truth in his
manner that went far to bring conviction; "our own boy died in the blessed
state of infancy, and, to save thy feelings, this youth was substituted in
his place by me without thy knowledge."

Marguerite moved nearer to the young man. She gazed wistfully at his
flushed, excited features, in which pain at being so unexpectedly torn
from the bosom of a family he had always deemed his own, was fearfully
struggling with a wild and indefinite delight at finding himself suddenly
relieved from a load he had long found so grievous to be borne.
Interpreting the latter expression with jealous affection, she bent her
face to her bosom, and retreated in silence among her companions lo weep.

In the mean time a sudden and tumultuous surprise took possession of the
different listeners, which was modified and exhibited according to their
respective characters, or to the amount of interest that each had in the
truth or falsehood of what had just been announced. The Doge clung to the
hope, improbable as it seemed, with a tenacity proportioned to his recent
anguish, while Sigismund stood like one beside himself. His eye wandered
from the simple and benevolent, but degraded, man, whom he had believed to
be his father, to the venerable and imposing-looking noble who was now so
unexpectedly presented in that sacred character. The sobs of Marguerite
reached his ears, and first recalled him to recollection. They came
blended with the fresh grief of Christine, who felt as if ruthless death
had now robbed her of a brother. There was also the struggling emotion of
one whose interest in him had a still more tender and engrossing claim.

"This is so wonderful!" said the trembling Doge, who dreaded lest the next
syllable that was uttered might destroy the blessed illusion, "so wildly
improbable, that, though my soul yearns to believe it, my reason refuses
credence. It is not enough to utter this sudden intelligence, Balthazar;
it must be proved. Furnish but a moiety of the evidence that is necessary
to establish a legal fact, and I will render thee the richest of thy class
in Christendom! And thou, Sigismund, come close to my heart, noble boy,"
he added, with outstretched arms, "that I may bless thee, while there is
hope--that I may feel one beat of a father's pulses--one instant of a
father's joy!"

Sigismund knelt at the venerable Prince's feet, and receiving his head on
his shoulder, their tears mingled. But even at that previous moment both
felt a sense of insecurity, as if the exquisite pleasure of so pure a
happiness were too intense to last. Maso looked upon this scene with cold
displeasure. His averted face denoting a stronger feeling than
disappointment, though the power of natural sympathy was so strong as to
draw evidences of its force from the eyes of all the others present.

"Bless thee, bless thee, my child, my dearly beloved son!" murmured the
Doge, lending himself to the improbable tale of Balthazar for a delicious
instant, and kissing the cheeks of Sigismund as one would embrace a
smiling infant; "may the God of heaven and earth, his only Son, and the
holy Virgin undefiled, unite to bless thee, here and hereafter, be thou
whom thou mayest! I owe thee one precious instant of happiness, such as I
have never tasted before. To find a child would not be enough to give it
birth; but to believe thee to be that son touches on the joys of
paradise!"

Sigismund fervently kissed the hand that had rested affectionately on his
head during this diction; then, feeling the necessity of having some
guarantee for the existence of emotions so sweet, he arose and made a warm
and strong appeal to him who had so long passed for his father to be more
explicit, and to justify his new-born hopes by some evidence better than;
his simple asseveration; for solemnly as the latter had been made, and
profound as he knew to be the reverence for truth which the despised
headsman not only entertained himself but inculcated in all in whom he had
any interest, the revelation he had just made seemed too improbable to
resist the doubts of one who knew his happiness to be the fruit or the
forfeiture of its veracity.



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