Was ever tale
With such a gallant modesty rehearsed?
Home.
Purposes of convenience, as well as others that were naturally connected
with the religious opinions, not to say the superstitions, of most of the
prisoners, had induced the monks to select the chapel of the convent for
the judgment-hall. This consecrated part of the edifice was of sufficient
size to contain all who were accustomed to assemble within its walls. It
was decorated in the manner that is usual to churches of the Romish
persuasion, having its master-altar, and two of smaller size that were
dedicated to esteemed saints. A large lamp illuminated the place, though
the great altar lay in doubtful light, leaving play for the imagination to
people and adorn that part of the chapel. Within the railing of the choir
there stood a table: it held some object that was concealed from view by a
sweeping pall. Immediately beneath the lamp was placed another, which
served the purposes of the clavier, who acted as a clerk on this occasion.
They who were to fill the offices of judges took their stations near. A
knot of females were clustered within the shadows of one of the
side-altars, hovering around each other in the way that their sensitive
sex is known to interpose between the exhibition of its peculiar
weaknesses and the rude observations of the world. Stifled sobs and
convulsive movements occasionally escaped this little group of acutely
feeling and warm-hearted beings, betraying the strength of the emotions
they would fain conceal. The canons and novices were ranged on one side,
the guides and muleteers formed a back-ground to the whole, while the fine
form of Sigismund stood, stern and motionless as a statue, on the steps of
the altar which was opposite to the females. He watched the minutest
proceeding of the investigation with a steadiness that was the result of
severe practice in self-command, and a jealous determination to suffer no
new wrong to be accumulated on the head of his father.
When the little confusion produced by the entrance of the party from the
refectory had subsided, the Prior made a signal to one of the officers of
justice. The man disappeared, and shortly returned with one of the
prisoners, the investigation being intended to embrace the cases of all
who had been detained by the prudence of the monks. Balthazar (for it was
he) approached the table in his usual meek manner. His limbs were unbound,
and his exterior calm, though the quick unquiet movements of his eye, and
the workings of his pale features, whenever a suppressed sob from among
the females reached his ear, betrayed the inward struggle he had to
maintain, in order to preserve appearances. When he was confronted with
his examiners, Father Michael bowed to the châtelain; for, though the
others were admitted by courtesy to participate in the investigations, the
right to proceed in an affair of this nature within the limits of the
Valais, belonged to this functionary alone.
"Thou art called Balthazar?" abruptly commenced the judge, glancing at his
notes.
The answer was a simple inclination of the body.
"And thou art the headsman of the canton of Berne?"
A similar silent reply was given.
"The office is hereditary in thy family; it has been so for ages?"
Balthazar erected his frame, breathing heavily, like one oppressed at the
heart, but who would bear down his feelings before he answered.
"Herr Châtelain," he said with energy, "by the judgment of God it has been
so."
"Honest Balthazar, thou throwest too much emphasis into thy words,"
interposed the bailiff. "All that belongs to authority is honorable, and
is not to be treated as an evil. Hereditary claims, when venerable by time
and use, have a double estimation with the world, since it brings the
merit of the ancestor to sustain that of the descendant. We have our
rights of the bürgerschaft, and thou thy rights of execution. The time has
been when thy fathers were well content with their privilege."
Balthazar bowed in submission; but he seemed to think any other reply
unnecessary. The fingers of Sigismund writhed on the hilt of his sword,
and a groan, which the young man well knew had been wrested from the bosom
of his mother, came from the women.
"The remark of the worthy and honorable bailiff is just," resumed the
Valaisan; "all that is of the state is for the good of the state, and all
that is for the comfort and security of man is honorable. Be not ashamed,
therefore, of thy office, Balthazar, which, being necessary, is not to be
idly condemned; but answer faithfully and with truth to the questions I am
about to put.--Thou hast a daughter?"
"In that much, at least, have I been blessed!"
The energy with which he spoke caused a sudden movement in the judges.
They looked at each other in surprise, for it was apparent they did not
expect these touches of human feeling in a man who lived, as it were, in
constant warfare with his fellow-creatures.
"Thou hast reason," returned the châtelain, recovering his gravity; "for
she is said to be both dutiful and comely. Thou wert about to marry this
daughter?"
Balthazar acknowledged the truth of this by another inclination.
"Didst thou ever know a Vévaisan of the name of Jacques Colis?"
"Mein Herr, I did. He was to have become my son."
The châtelain was again surprised; for the steadiness of the reply denoted
innocence, and he studied the countenance of the prisoner intently. He
found apparent frankness where he had expected to meet with subterfuge,
and, like all who have great acquaintance with crime, his distrust
increased. The simplicity of one who really had nothing to conceal, unlike
that appearance of firmness, which is assumed to affect innocence, set his
shrewdness at fault, though familiar with most of he expedients of the
guilty.
"This Jacques Colis was to have wived thy daughter?" continued the
châtelain, growing more wary as he thought he detected greater evidence of
art in the accused.
"It was so understood between us."
"Did he love thy child?"
The muscles of Balthazar's mouth played convulsively, the twitching of
the lip seeming to threaten a loss of self-command.
"Mein Herr, I believed it."
"Yet he refused to fulfil the engagement?"
"He did."
Even Marguerite was alarmed at the deep emphasis with which this answer
was given, and, for the first time in her life, she trembled lest the
accumulating load of obloquy had indeed been too strong for her husband's
principles.
"Thou felt anger at his conduct, and at the public manner in which he
disgraced thee and thine?"
"Herr Châtelain, I am human. When Jacques Colis repudiated my daughter, he
bruised a tender plant in the girl, and he caused bitterness in a father's
heart."
"Thou hast received instruction superior to thy condition, Balthazar!"
"We are a race of executioners, but we are not the unnurtured herd that
people fancy. 'Tis the will of Berne that made me what I am, and no desire
nor wants of my own."
"The charge is honorable, as are all that come of the state," repeated the
other, with the formal readiness in which set phrases are uttered; "the
charge is honorable for one of thy birth. God assigns to each his station
on earth, and he has fixed thy duties. When Jacques Colis refused thy
daughter he left his country to escape thy revenge?"
"Were Jacques Colis living, he would not utter so foul a lie!"
"I knew his honest and upright nature!" exclaimed Marguerite with energy!
"God pardon me that I ever doubted it!"
The judges turned inquisitive glances towards indistinct cluster of
females, but the examination did not the less proceed.
"Thou knowest, then, that Jacques Colis is dead?"
"How can I doubt it, mein Herr, when I saw his bleeding body?"
"Balthazar, thou seemest disposed to aid the examination, though with what
views is better known to Him who sees the inmost heart, than to me. I will
come at once, therefore, to the most essential facts. Thou art a native
and a resident of Berne; the headsman of the canton--a creditable office
in itself, though the ignorance and prejudices of man are not apt so to
consider it. Thou wouldst have married thy daughter with a substantial
peasant of Vaud. The intended bridegroom repudiated thy child, in face of
the thousands who came to Vévey to witness the festivities of the Abbaye;
he departed on a journey to avoid thee, or his own feelings, or rumor, or
what thou wilt; he met his death by murder on this mountain; his body was
discovered with the knife in the recent wound, and thou, who shouldst have
been on thy path homeward, wert found passing the night near the murdered
man. Thine own reason will show thee the connexion which we are led to
form between these several events, and thou art now required to explain
that which to us seems so suspicious, but which to thyself may be clear.
Speak freely, but speak truth, as thou reverest God, and in thine own
interest."
Balthazar hesitated and appeared to collect his thoughts. His head was
lowered in a thoughtful attitude, and then, looking his examiner steadily
in the face, he replied. His manner was calm, and the tone in which he
spoke, if not that of one innocent in fact, was that of one who well knew
how to assume the exterior of that character.
"Herr Châtelain," he said, "I have foreseen the suspicions that would be
apt to fasten on me in these unhappy circumstances, but, used to trust in
Providence, I shall speak the truth without fear. Of the intention of
Jacques Colis to depart I knew nothing. He went his way privately, and if
you will do me the justice to reflect a little, it will be seen that I was
the last man to whom he would have been likely to let his intention be
known. I came up the St. Bernard, drawn by a chain that your own heart
will own is difficult to break if you are a father. My daughter was on the
road to Italy with kind and true friends, who were not ashamed to feel for
a headsman's child, and who took her in order to heal the wound that had
been so unfeelingly inflicted."
"This is true!" exclaimed the Baron de Willading; "Balthazar surely says
naught but truth here!"
"This is known and allowed; crime is not always the result of cool
determination, but it comes of terror, of sudden thought, the angry mood,
the dire temptation, and a fair occasion. Though thou left'st Vévey
ignorant of Jacques Colis' departure, didst thou hear nothing of his
movements by the way?"
Balthazar changed color. There was evidently a struggle in his bosom, as
if he shrunk from making an acknowledgment that might militate against his
interests; but, glancing an eye at the guides, he recovered his proper
tone of mind, and answered firmly:
"I did. Pierre Dumont had heard the tale of my child's disgrace, and,
ignorant that I was the injured parent, he told me of the manner in which
the unhappy man had retreated from the mockery of his companions. I knew,
therefore, that we were on the same path."
"And yet thou perseveredst?"
"In what, Herr Châtelain? Was I to desert my daughter, because one who had
already proved false to her stood in my way?"
"Thou hast well answered, Balthazar," interrupted Marguerite. "Thou hast
answered as became thee! We are few, and we are all to each other. Thou
wert not to forget our child because it pleased others to despise her."
The Signor Grimaldi bent towards the Valaisan, and whispered near his ear.
"This hath the air of nature." he observed; "and does it not account for
the appearance of the father on the road taken by the murdered man?"
"We do not question the probability or justness of such a motive, Signore;
but revenge may have suddenly mounted to the height of ferocity in some
wrangle: one accustomed to blood yields easily to his passions and his
habits."
The truth of these suggestions was plausible, and the noble Genoese drew
back in cold disappointment. The châtelain consulted with those about him,
and then desired the wife to come forth in order to be confronted with her
husband. Marguerite obeyed. Her movement was slow, and her whole manner
that of one who yielded to a stern necessity.
"Thou art the headsman's wife?"
"And a headsman's daughter."
"Marguerite is a well-disposed and a sensible woman," put in Peterchen;
"she understands that an office under the state can never bring disgrace
in the eyes of reason, and wishes no part of her history or origin to be
concealed."
The glance that flashed from the eye of Balthazar's wife was withering;
but the dogmatic bailiff was by far too well satisfied with his own
wisdom to be conscious of its effects.
"And a headsman's daughter," continued the examining judge; "why art thou
here?"
"Because I am a wife and a mother. As the latter I came upon the mountain,
and as a wife I have mounted to the convent to be present at this
examination. They will have it that there is blood upon the hands of
Balthazar, and I am here to repel the lie."
"And yet thou hast not been slow to confess thy connexion with a race of
executioners!--They who are accustomed to see their fellows die might have
less warmth in meeting a plain inquiry of justice!"
"Herr Châtelain, thy meaning is understood. We have been weighed upon
heavily by Providence, but, until now, they whom we have been made to
serve have had the policy to treat us with fair words! Thou hast spoken of
blood; that which has been shed by Balthazar, by his, and by mine, lies on
the consciences of those who commanded it to be spilt. The unwilling
instruments of thy justice are innocent before God."
"This is strange language for people of thy employment! Dost thou, too,
Balthazar, speak and think with thy consort in this matter?"
"Nature has given us men sterner feelings, mein Herr. I was born to the
office I hold, taught to believe it right, if not honorable, and I have
struggled hard to do its duties without murmuring. The case is different
with poor Marguerite. She is a mother, and lives in her children; she has
seen one that is near her heart publicly scorned, and she feels like a
mother."
"And thou, who art a father, what has been thy manner of thinking under
this insult?"
Balthazar was meek by nature, and, as he had just said, he had been
trained to the exercise of his functions; but he was capable of profound
affections. The question touched him in a sensitive spot, and he writhed
under his feelings; but, accustomed to command himself before the public
eye, and alive to the pride of manhood, his mighty effort to suppress the
agony that loaded his heart was rewarded with success.
"Sorrow for my unoffending child; sorrow for him who had forgotten his
faith; and sorrow for them who have been at the root of this bitter
wrong," was the answer.
"This man has been accustomed to hear forgiveness preached to the
criminal, and he turns his schooling to good account," whispered the wary
judge to those near him. "We must try his guilt by other means. He may be
readier in reply than steady in his nerves."
Signing to the assistants, the Valaisan now quietly awaited the effect of
a new experiment. The pall was removed, and the body of Jacques Colis
exposed. He was seated as in life, on the table in front of the grand
altar.
"The innocent have no dread of those whose spirits have deserted the
flesh," continued the châtelain, "but God often sorely pricks the
consciences of the guilty, when they are made to see the works of their
own cruel hands. Approach and look upon the dead, Balthazar; thou and thy
wife, that we may judge of the manner in which ye face the murdered and
wronged man."
A more fruitless experiment could not well have been attempted with one of
the headsman's office; for long familiarity with such sights had taken off
that edge of horror which the less accustomed would be apt to feel.
Whether it were owing to this circumstance, or to his innocence, Balthazar
walked to the side of the body unshaken, and stood long regarding the
bloodless features with unmoved tranquillity. His habits were quiet and
meek, and little given to display. The feelings which crowded his mind,
therefore, did not escape him in words, though a gleam of something like
regret crossed his face. Not so with his companion. Marguerite took the
hand of the dead man, and hot tears began to follow each other down her
cheeks, as she gazed at his shrunken and altered lineaments.
"Poor Jacques Colis!" she said in a manner to be heard by all present;
"thou hadst thy faults, like all born of woman; but thou didst not merit
this! Little did the mother that bore thee, and who lived in thy infant
smile--she who fondled thee on her knee, and cherished thee in her bosom,
foresee thy fearful and sudden end! It was happy for her that she never
knew the fruit of all her love, and pains, and care, else bitterly would
she have mourned over what was then her joy, and in sorrow would she have
witnessed thy pleasantest smile. We live in a fearful world, Balthazar; a
world in which the wicked triumph! Thy hand, that would not willingly harm
the meanest creature which has been fashioned by the will of God, is made
to take life, and thy heart--thy excellent heart--is slowly hardening in
the execution of this accursed office! The judgment seat hath fallen to
the lot of the corrupt and designing; mercy hath become the laughing-stock
of the ruthless, and death is inflicted by the hand of him who would live
in peace with his kind. This cometh of thwarting God's intentions with the
selfishness and designs of men! We would be wiser than he who made the
universe, and we betray the weakness of fools! Go to--go to, ye proud and
great of the earth--if we have taken life, it hath been at your bidding;
but we have naught of this on our consciences. The deed hath been the
work of the rapacious and violent--it is no deed of revenge."
"In what manner are we to know that what thou sayest is true?" asked the
châtelain, who had advanced near the altar, in order to watch the effects
of the trial to which he had put Balthazar and his wife.
"I am not surprised at thy question, Herr Châtelain, for nothing comes
quicker to the minds of the honored and happy than the thought of
resenting an evil turn. It is not so with the despised. Revenge would be
an idle remedy for us. Would it raise us in men's esteem? should we forget
our own degraded condition? should we be a whit nearer respect after the
deed was done than we were before?"
"This may be true, but the angered do not reason. Thou art not suspected,
Marguerite, except as having heard the truth from thy husband since the
deed has been committed, but thine own discernment will show that naught
is more probable than that a hot contention about the past may have led
Balthazar, who is accustomed to see blood, into the commission of this
act?"
"Here is thy boasted justice! Thine own laws are brought in support of
thine own oppression. Didst thou know how much pains his father had in
teaching Balthazar to strike, how many long and anxious visits were paid
between his parent and mine in order to bring up the youth in the way of
his dreadful calling, thou wouldst not think him so apt! God unfitted him
for his office, as he has unfitted many of higher and different
pretensions for duties that have been cast upon them in virtue of their
birthrights. Had it been I, châtelain, thy suspicions would have a better
show of reason. I am formed with strong and quick feelings, and reason has
often proved too weak for passion, though the rebuke that has been daily
received throughout a life hath long since tamed all of pride that ever
dwelt in me."
"Thou hast a daughter present?"
Marguerite pointed to the group which held her child.
"The trial is severe," said the judge, who began to feel compunctions that
were rare to one of his habits, "but it is as necessary to your own future
peace, as it is to justice itself, that the truth should be known. I am
compelled to order thy daughter to advance to the body."
Marguerite received this unexpected command with cold womanly reserve. Too
much wounded to complain, but trembling for the conduct of her child, she
went to the cluster of females, pressed Christine to her heart, and led
her silently forward. She presented her to the châtelain, with a dignity
so calm and quiet, that the latter found it oppressive!
"This is Balthazar's child," she said. Then folding her arms, she retired
herself a step, an attentive observer of what passed.
The judge regarded the sweet pallid face of the trembling girl with an
interest he had seldom felt for any who had come before him in the
discharge of his unbending duties. He spoke to her kindly, and even
encouragingly, placing himself intentionally between her and the dead,
momentarily hiding the appalling spectacle from her view, that she might
have time to summon her courage. Marguerite blessed him in her heart for
this small grace, and was better satisfied.
"Thou wert betrothed to Jacques Colis?" demanded the châtelain, using a
gentleness of voice that was singularly in contrast with his former stern
interrogatories.
The utmost that Christine could reply was to bow her head.
"Thy nuptials were to take place at the late meeting of the Abbaye des
Vignerons--it is our unpleasant duty to wound where we could wish to
heal--but thy betrothed refused to redeem his pledge?"
"The heart is weak, and sometimes shrinks from its own good purposes,"
murmured Christine. "He was but human, and he could not withstand the
sneers of all about him."
The châtelain was so entranced by her gentle and sweet manner that he
leaned forward to listen, lest a syllable of what she whispered might
escape his ears.
"Thou acquittest, then, Jacques Colis of any false intention?"
"He was less strong than he believed himself, mein Herr; he was not equal
to sharing our disgrace, which was put rudely and too strongly before
him."
"Thou hadst consented freely to the marriage thyself, and wert well
disposed to become his wife?"
The imploring look and heaving respiration of Christine were lost on the
blunted sensibilities of a criminal judge.
"Was the youth dear to thee?" he repeated, without perceiving the wound he
was inflicting on female reserve.
Christine shuddered. She was not accustomed to have affections which she
considered the most sacred of her short and innocent existence so rudely
probed; but, believing that the safety of her father depended on her
frankness and sincerity, by an effort that was nearly superhuman, she was
enabled to reply. The bright glow that suffused her face, however,
proclaimed the power of that sentiment which becomes instinctive to her
sex, arraying her features in the lustre of maiden shame.
"I was little used to hear words of praise, Herr Châtelain,--and they are
so soothing to the ears of the despised! I felt as a girl acknowledges the
preference of a youth who is not disagreeable to her. I thought he loved
me--and--what would you more, mein Herr?"
"None could hate thee, innocent and abused child!" murmured the Signor
Grimaldi.
"You forget that I am Balthazar's daughter, mein Herr; none of our race
are viewed with favor."
"Thou, at least, must be an exception!"
"Leaving this aside," continued the châtelain, "I would know if thy
parents showed resentment at the misconduct of thy betrothed; whether
aught was said in thy presence, that can throw light on this unhappy
affair?"
The officer of the Valais turned his head aside; for he met the surprised
and displeased glance of the Genoese, whose eye expressed a gentleman's
opinion at hearing a child thus questioned in a matter that so nearly
touched her father's life. But the look and the improper character of the
examination escaped the notice of Christine. She relied with filial
confidence on the innocence of the author of her being, and, so far from
being shocked, she rejoiced with the simplicity and confidence of the
undesigning at being permitted to say anything that might vindicate him in
the eyes of his judges.
"Herr Châtelain," she answered eagerly, the blood that had mounted to her
cheeks from female weakness, deepening to, and warming, her very temples
with a holier sentiment: "Herr Châtelain, we wept together when alone; we
prayed for our enemies as for ourselves, but naught was said to the
prejudice of poor Jacques--no, not a whisper."
"Wept and prayed!" repeated the judge, looking from the child to the
father, in the manner of a man that fancied he did not hear aright.
"I said both, mein Herr; if the former was a weakness, the latter was a
duty."
"This is strange language in the mouth of a Leadsman's child!"
Christine appeared at a loss, for a moment, to comprehend his meaning;
but, passing a hand across her fair brow she continued:
"I think I understand what you would say, mein Herr," she said; "the world
believes us to be without feeling and without hope. We are what we seem in
the eyes of others because the law makes it so, but we are in our hearts
like all around us, Herr Châtelain--with this difference, that, feeling
our abasement among men, we lean more closely and more affectionately on
God. You may condemn us to do your offices and to bear your dislike, but
you cannot rob us of our trust in the justice of heaven. In that, at
least, we are the equals of the proudest baron in the cantons!"
"The examination had better rest here," said the prior, advancing with
glistening eyes to interpose between the maiden and her interrogator.
"Thou knowest, Herr Bourrit, that we have, other prisoners."
The châtelain, who felt his own practised obduracy of feeling strangely
giving way before the innocent and guileless faith of Christine, was not
unwilling himself to change the direction of the inquiries. The family of
Balthazar was directed to retire, and the attendants were commanded to
bring forward Pippo and Conrad.