Ha, cousin Silence, that thou hadst seen
That, that this knight and I have seen!
_King Henry IV._
The calculating patron of the Winkelried had patiently watched the
progress of the foregoing scene with great inward satisfaction, but now
that the strangers seemed to be assured of support powerful as that of
Melchior de Willading, he was disposed to turn it to account without
farther delay. The old men were still standing with their hands grasping
each other, after another warm and still closer embrace, and with tears
rolling down the furrowed face of each, when Baptiste advanced to put in
his raven-like remonstrance.
"Noble gentlemen," he said, "if the felicitations of one humble as I can
add to the pleasure of this happy meeting, I beg you to accept them; but
the wind has no heart for friendships nor any thought for the gains or
losses of us watermen. I feel it my duty, as patron of the bark, to recall
to your honors that many poor travellers, far from their homes and pining
families, are waiting our leisure, not to speak of foot-sore pilgrims and
other worthy adventurers, who are impatient in their hearts, though
respect for their superiors keeps them tongue-tied, while we are losing
the best of the breeze."
"By San Francesco! the varlet is right;" said the Genoese, hurriedly
erasing the marks of his recent weakness from his cheeks. "We are
forgetful of all these worthy people while joy at our meeting is so
strong, and it is time that we thought of others. Canst thou aid me in
dispensing with the city's signatures?"
The Baron de Willading paused; for well-disposed at first to assist any
gentlemen who found themselves in an unpleasant embarrassment, it will be
readily imagined that the case lost none of its interest, when he found
that his oldest and most tried friend was the party in want of his
influence. Still it was much easier to admit the force of this new and
unexpected appeal than to devise the means of success. The officer was, to
use a phrase which most men seem to think supplies a substitute for reason
and principle, too openly committed to render it probable he would easily
yield. It was necessary, however, to make the trial, and the baron,
therefore, addressed the keeper of the water-gate more urgently than he
had yet done in behalf of the strangers.
"It is beyond my functions; there is not one of our Syndics whom I would
more gladly oblige than yourself, noble baron," answered the officer; "but
the duty of the watchman is to adhere strictly to the commands of those
who have placed him at his post."
"Gaetano, we are not the men to complain of this! We have stood together
too long in the same trench, and have too often slept soundly, in
situations where failure in this doctrine might have cost us our lives, to
quarrel with the honest Genevese for his watchfulness. To be frank, 'twere
little use to tamper with the fidelity of a Swiss or with that of his
ally."
"With the Swiss that is well paid to be vigilant!" answered the Genoese,
laughing in a way to show that he had only revived one of those standing
but biting jests, that they who love each other best are perhaps most
accustomed to practice.
The Baron de Willading took the facetiousness of his friend in good part,
returning the mirth of the other in a manner to show that the allusion
recalled days when their hours had idly passed in the indulgence of
spontaneous outbreakings of animal spirits.
"Were this thy Italy, Gaetano, a sequin would not only supply the place of
a dozen signatures, but, by the name of thy favorite, San Francesco! it
would give the honest gate-keeper that gift of second-sight on which the
Scottish seers are said to pride themselves."
"Well, the two sides of the Alps will keep their characters, even though
we quarrel about their virtues--but we shall never see again the days that
we have known! Neither the games of Vévey, nor the use of old jokes, will
make us the youths we have been, dear de Willading!"
"Signore, a million of pardons," interrupted Baptiste, "but this western
wind is more inconstant even than the spirits of the young."
"The rogue is again right, and we forget yonder cargo of honest
travellers, who are wishing us both in Abraham's bosom, for keeping the
impatient bark in idleness at the quay. Good Marcelli, hast thou aught to
suggest in this strait?"
"Signore, you forget that we have another document that may be found
sufficient"--the person questioned, who appeared to fill a middle station
between that of a servant and that of a companion, rather hinted than
observed:
"Thou sayest true--and yet I would gladly avoid producing it--but anything
is better than the loss of thy company, Melchior."
"Name it not! We shall not separate, though the Winkelried rot where she
lies. 'Twere easier to separate our faithful cantons than two such
friends."
"Nay, noble baron, you forget the wearied pilgrims and the many anxious
travellers in the bark."
"If twenty crowns will purchase thy consent, honest Baptiste, we will have
no further discussion."
"It is scarce in human will to withstand you, noble Sir!--Well, the
pilgrims have weary feet, and rest will only fit them the better for the
passage of the mountains; and as for the others, why let them quit the
bark if they dislike the conditions. I am not a man to force my commerce
on any."
"Nay, nay, I will have none of this. Keep thy gold, Melchior, and let the
honest Baptiste keep his passengers, to say nothing of his conscience."
"I beseech your excellency," interrupted Baptiste, "not to distress
yourself in tenderness for me. I am ready to do far more disagreeable
things to oblige so noble a gentleman."
"I will none of it! Signor officer, wilt thou do me the favor to cast a
glance at this?"
As the Genoese concluded, he placed in the hands of the watchman at the
gate, a paper different from that which he had first shown. The officer
perused the new instrument with deep attention, and, when half through its
contents, his eyes left the page to become rivetted in respectful
attention on the face of the expectant Italian. He then read the passport
to the end. Raising his cap ceremoniously, the keeper of the gate left the
passage free, bowing with deep deference to the strangers.
"Had I sooner known this," he said, "there would have been no delay. I
hope your excellency will consider my ignorance--?"
"Name it not, friend. Thou hast done well; in proof of which I beg thy
acceptance of a small token of esteem."
The Genoese dropped a sequin into the hand of the officer, passing him, at
the same time, on his way to the waterside. As the reluctance of the other
to receive gold came rather from a love of duty than from any particular
aversion to the metal itself, this second offering met with a more
favorable reception than the first. The Baron de Willading was not without
surprise at the sudden success of his friend, though he was far too
prudent and well-bred to let his wonder be seen.
Every obstacle to the departure of the Winkelried was now removed, and
Baptiste and his crew were soon actively engaged in loosening the sails
and in casting off the fasts. The movement of the bark was at first slow
and heavy, for the wind was intercepted by the buildings of the town; but,
as she receded from the shore, the canvass began to flap and belly, and
ere long it filled outward with a report like that of a musket; after
which the motion of the travellers began to bear some relation to their
nearly exhausted patience.
Soon after the party which had been so long detained at the water-gate
were embarked, Adelheid first learned the reason of the delay. She had
long known, from the mouth of her father, the name and early history of
the Signor Grimaldi, a Genoese of illustrious family, who had been the
sworn friend and the comrade of Melchior de Willading, when the latter
pursued his career in arms in the wars of Italy. These circumstances
having passed long before her own birth, and even before the marriage of
her parents, and she being the youngest and the only survivor of a
numerous family of children, they were, as respected herself, events that
already began to assume the hue of history. She received the old man
frankly and even with affection, though in his yielding but still fine
form, she had quite as much difficulty as her father in recognizing the
young, gay, gallant, brilliant, and handsome Gaetano Grimaldi that her
imagination had conceived from the verbal descriptions she had so often
heard, and from her fancy was still wont to draw as he was painted in the
affectionate descriptions of her father. When he suddenly and
affectionately offered a kiss, the color flushed her face, for no man but
he to whom she owed her being had ever before taken that liberty; but,
after an instant of virgin embarrassment, she laughed, and blushingly
presented her cheek to receive the salute.
"The last tidings I had of thee, Melchior," said the Italian, "was the
letter sent by the Swiss Ambassador, who took our city in his way as he
traveled south, and which was written on the occasion of the birth of this
very girl."
"Not of this, dear friend, but of an elder sister, who is, long since, a
cherub in heaven. Thou seest the ninth precious gift that God bestowed,
and thou seest all that is now left of his bounty."
The countenance of the Signor Grimaldi lost its joyousness, and a deep
pause in the discourse succeeded. They lived in an age when communications
between friends that were separated by distance, and by the frontiers of
different states, were rare and uncertain. The fresh and novel affections
of marriage had first broken an intercourse that was continued, under such
disadvantages as marked the period, long after their duties called them
different ways; and time, with its changes and the embarrassments of wars,
had finally destroyed nearly every link in the chain of their
correspondence. Each had, therefore, much of a near and interesting
character to communicate to the other, and each dreaded to speak, lest he
might cause some wound, that was not perfectly healed, to bleed anew. The
volume of matter conveyed in the few words uttered by the Baron de
Willading, showed both in how many ways they might inflict pain without
intention, and how necessary it was to be guarded in their discourse
during the first days of their renewed intercourse.
"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 Vévey 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 Vévey 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 Vévey,
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 _côte_, 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. Vévey, 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
Vévey, 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.