The Headsman

Headsman, The

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Title: The Headsman The Abbaye des Vignerons
Author: James Fenimore Cooper
Release Date: February 4, 2004 [EBook #10938]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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HEADSMAN ***

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The Headsman:
or, The Abbaye des Vignerons.
A Tale
By J. Fenimore Cooper.

"How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds Makes deeds ill done."
Complete in One Volume.
1860.

Introduction.

Early in October 1832, a travelling-carriage stopped on the summit of
that long descent where the road pitches from the elevated plain of
Moudon in Switzerland to the level of the lake of Geneva, immediately
above the little city of Vévey. The postilion had dismounted to chain a
wheel, and the halt enabled those he conducted to catch a glimpse of
the lovely scenery of that remarkable view.
The travellers were an American family, which had long been
wandering about Europe, and which was now destined it knew not
whither, having just traversed a thousand miles of Germany in its
devious course. Four years before, the same family had halted on the
same spot, nearly on the same day of the month of October, and for
precisely the same object. It was then journeying to Italy, and as its
members hung over the view of the Leman, with its accessories of
Chillon, Châtelard, Blonay, Meillerie, the peaks of Savoy, and the wild
ranges of the Alps, they had felt regret that the fairy scene was so soon
to pass away. The case was now different, and yielding to the charm of
a nature so noble and yet so soft, within a few hours, the carriage was
in remise, a house was taken, the baggage unpacked, and the household
gods of the travellers were erected, for the twentieth time, in a strange
land.
Our American (for the family had its head) was familiar with the ocean,
and the sight of water awoke old and pleasant recollections. He was
hardly established in Vévey as a housekeeper, before he sought a boat.
Chance brought him to a certain Jean Descloux (we give the spelling at
hazard,) with whom he soon struck up a bargain, and they launched

forth in company upon the lake.
This casual meeting was the commencement of an agreeable and
friendly intercourse. Jean Descloux, besides being a very good boatman,
was a respectable philosopher in his way; possessing a tolerable stock
of general information. His knowledge of America, in particular, might
be deemed a little remarkable. He knew it was a continent, which lay
west of his own quarter of the world; that it had a place in it called New
Vévey; that all the whites who had gone there were not yet black, and
that there were plausible hopes it might one day be civilized. Finding
Jean so enlightened on a subject under which most of the eastern
savans break down, the American thought it well enough to prick him
closely on other matters. The worthy boatman turned out to be a man of
singularly just discrimination. He was a reasonably-good judge of the
weather; had divers marvels to relate concerning the doings of the lake;
thought the city very wrong for not making a port in the great square;
always maintained that the wine of St. Saphorin was very savory
drinking for those who could get no better; laughed at the idea of their
being sufficient cordage in the world to reach the bottom of the Genfer
See; was of opinion that the trout was a better fish than the fêrà; spoke
with singular moderation of his ancient masters, the bourgeoïsie of
Berne, which, however, he always affirmed kept singularly bad roads
In Vaud, while those around its own city were the best in Europe, and
otherwise showed himself to be a discreet and observant man. In short,
honest Jean Descloux was a fair sample of that homebred, upright
common-sense which seems to form the instinct of the mass, and which
it is greatly the fashion to deride in those circles in which mystification
passes for profound thinking, bold assumption for evidence, a simper
for wit, particular personal advantages for liberty, and in which it is
deemed a mortal offence against good manners to hint that Adam and
Eve were the common parents of mankind.
"Monsieur has chosen a good time to visit Vévey," observed Jean
Descloux, one evening, that they were drifting in front of the