Read Ebook: The Amulet by Conscience Hendrik

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Ebook has 1616 lines and 62424 words, and 33 pages

The young nobleman thus introduced was remarkable for his fine form, and the graceful elegance of his manners and carriage. His complexion was of that light and clear brown which adds so much to the manly beauty of some Southern nations. The dark beard and hair, his spirited black eyes, gave a singular charm to his countenance, while his calm and sweet smile indicated goodness of heart.

Although upon his entrance he strove to appear cheerful, Mary's eye detected a concealed sadness.

The dress of Geronimo was simple in comparison with the rich attire of the other Italian nobles, his compatriots. He wore a felt hat ornamented with a long plume, a Spanish cloak, a cloth doublet lined with fur, violet satin breeches, and gray boots. His modest attire was relieved only by the sword which hung at his side; for the hilt glittered with precious stones, and the armorial bearings engraved upon it proved him to be of noble birth.

"Che la pace sia in quelle casa!" he said, as he entered the hall.

He bowed profoundly to Mr. Van de Werve, and saluted him most respectfully; but the traces of tears which he perceived on Mary's face so startled him that he interrupted his ceremonious greetings, and fixed his eyes inquiringly upon her. She had been weeping, and yet she smiled joyously.

"Mary is naturally very susceptible, Signor Geronimo," said Mr. Van de Werve. "I was speaking to her of her beloved mother, and she wept. You appear, and she smiles as though she knew no sorrow."

The young girl did not await the conclusion of this explanation; before her father had finished speaking, she led her lover to the window, pointed to the weathercock, and said: "Look, Geronimo, the wind is from the west."

"I noticed it last night," replied the young man, with an involuntary sigh.

"Rejoice then, for to-day your uncle may be in sight of the city."

"I do not think so; however, it is possible," said the young man, sadly.

"How coldly you speak, Geronimo!" exclaimed the young girl, in surprise; "what cloud obscures your soul?"

"I myself notice something extraordinary in your manner, signor," remarked the father. "You seem dejected; have you received bad news of your uncle?"

Geronimo hesitated for an answer; then, as though endeavoring to drive away unpleasant thoughts, he said, in a faltering voice: "No, no, it is not that. I witnessed just now near the Dominican Convent something which touched me deeply, and I have not yet recovered from the shock. Have you not heard of a Florentine merchant named Massimo Barberi?"

"Is he noble?" asked Mary. "I do not remember him."

"No, a commoner, but a man highly esteemed."

"I know him well," said Mr. Van de Werve. "I met him lately in company with Lopez de Galle, for whom he had attended to some financial affairs. What have you to tell us concerning him?"

"Something terrible, Mr. Van de Werve. I saw the corpse of poor Barberi taken out of a sewer; he had two dagger-wounds in his throat. He was undoubtedly attacked and slain last night."

"It is had to see so many murders committed in Antwerp," said Mr. Van de Werve. "This is the fourth during the past month. The victims each time have been either Spaniards or Italians, and that vengeance or jealousy was the cause is sufficiently proved by the fact that in no case have the bodies been despoiled of their money or jewels. This custom of lying in wait, attacking and killing each other, often without cause, is an outrage both against God and man. And do you not yourself sometimes fear, Signor Geronimo, the assassin's dagger?"

The young man shook his head.

"For instance," continued Mary's father, "this is the eve of May, I need not ask if you intend to offer to Mary the homage of a serenade. It is the custom of your countrymen to pay this attention to young girls, and you would not omit this opportunity were it not for the advice of a man of experience. Geronimo, listen to the words of calm reason: do not rashly expose yourself to the danger of death; abandon your design this time. Many of your compatriots have aspired to Mary's hand; they have been less successful than you, and on this account they may harbor unkind feelings towards you."

The young man received this advice with a smile which indicated its refusal.

"It is difficult, sir, to speak of such things in the presence of the one who is to be the object of our homage. Permit me, however, the liberty to decide upon the manner in which I will acquit myself of my duty to this young lady."

"But permit me, signor, to tell you," said the old man, in an offended tone, "that it does you no honor to reject the advice of a man of experience, in order to carry out an unimportant fancy. Rashness does not indicate courage, but rather an absence of good sense."

"Father," exclaimed Mary, in a supplicating tone, "be not angry with Signor Geronimo; he will incur no danger."

"Foolish confidence!" said the old man. "Why should Geronimo think himself less exposed to danger than others? That Geronimo should be rash is excusable; but, Mary, you deserve a severe reprimand for encouraging your friend in his perilous design."

The young girl bowed her head at this reproof of her father, and murmured as if to excuse herself: "Geronimo has a relic, father."

This revelation embarrassed the young man, and he glanced reproachfully at Mary.

She said, caressingly:

"Don't be displeased, Geronimo; show the relic to my father, and he will then know why you do not fear that any accident will happen to you."

The young man felt that he could not refuse Mary's request. He drew from under his doublet an object suspended on a steel chain, and, approaching Mr. Van de Werve, he placed it in his hand.

It was a flat medal of greenish copper, on which were engraven unknown letters and signs. A cross between two bent sabres, and beneath them a crescent, filled up the centre of the medal. At the foot of the cross was a gray stone, rudely inlaid. The whole was rough and heavy.

Mr. Van de Werve examined this medal attentively for some time; he turned it over and over, as though he sought to comprehend the signification of this singular emblem.

"A relic!" he murmured. "Here are two cimeters, a crescent, and cabalistic characters. It is a Mohammedan talisman, and, perhaps, an emblem shocking to our holy religion!"

"You are certainly mistaken, sir," replied Geronimo.

"Is not the cross placed above the crescent, and would not that signify that the faith of Christ has triumphed over the doctrines of Mahomet?"

"But why do you call it a relic?"

A half contemptuous smile curled the lips of the old man as he contemplated the talisman in silence. At last he said: "I remember, Signor Geronimo, to have read in Pliny curious details of the draconite and its extraordinary powers, but I also remember that the great naturalist forgets to tell us the inherent qualities of the stone. Alas! signor, would you trust in this talisman, and believe that it could protect you against the dagger of the assassin? The people of the South have a strange piety: in their superstition they confound what is holy with things which owe their efficacy, if they possess any, to the conjurations of sorcerers."

The young noble colored slightly, and replied: "You are mistaken, sir, as far as I am concerned. For my justification allow me to tell you that this amulet belonged to a pilgrim; that it rested one entire night of Good Friday upon the tomb of our Lord at Jerusalem; but I will be candid, and say to you that I do not consider it possessed of the power to preserve me from danger. And yet I always wear it with the firm and unshaken conviction that it will protect me in a critical hour from some misfortune."

"Perhaps it belonged to your deceased parents," said Mr. Van de Werve, struck by the singular explanation of the young man.

"No, sir," replied Geronimo; "this amulet is to me a cherished souvenir of a day upon which God gave me the grace to perform a good action. I would willingly tell you how the amulet fell into my hands, and why I believe in its power to protect me, but it is a long story."

"I would, nevertheless, be much pleased if you would satisfy my curiosity," said the old noble.

"If you desire it," replied Geronimo, "I will comply with your wishes.

"You know that five years ago, when I undertook for the first time the voyage from Lucca to Antwerp, I was made prisoner by Algerian pirates, and carried as a slave to Barbary. I was sold to a Moorish lord, who made me work in the fields until my uncle should send the ransom which would restore me to liberty. In the same field in which some light work was appointed me, I saw an old blind woman attached like a mule to a plough, and driven on by blows from a heavy stick. She was a Christian slave, whose eyes had been put out in wanton cruelty. I learned that she was an Italian by birth, a native of a small village in the environs of Porto Fiero, a seaport not far from Genoa. She had no relatives who could pay her ransom, and she had consequently been fastened to the plough like a beast of burden until death should come to deliver her. The frightful fate of this miserable slave so filled me with compassion, that I shed tears of grief and rage when I heard afar off her piercing cries as the rod of the overseer descended upon her. One day my indignation was so roused, when the pagan wretches had knocked her down and were treating her even more cruelly than usual, that I dared to defend her by force. Had not my master expected a large sum for my ransom, a frightful death would have been the punishment of my audacity. After being kept a few days in prison and harshly treated, I was sent back to the fields to work as before. The condition of the blind slave was not in the least changed; she was still inhumanly beaten. Her misfortunes pierced my heart, and I was maddened by my inability to protect from pagan cruelty a woman who was my sister by our common faith and a common misfortune. No longer venturing to have recourse to force, I sought other means to mitigate her sufferings. During the few hours of repose granted to us, or rather to our overseers, I hastened to the blind woman and shared with her the best of my food; I strove to fortify her by the hope that God would liberate her from this terrible slavery; I told her, that should I ever become free, I would procure her liberation, even were it necessary to renounce for years my own pleasures that I might amass sufficient for her ransom. I spoke to her of our country, of the goodness of God, and of the probability of my liberation. The poor blind woman kissed my hands, and called me an angel sent by God to illumine the darkness of her life by the sweet rays of consolation and piety. I was only a few months her fellow-slave. My uncle, learning my captivity through messengers I had employed, sent to Algiers an armed vessel to liberate me. Besides the amount of my ransom, he sent me means to transport some valuable merchandise from Barbary to Italy. When I took leave of the blind woman, I was so deeply touched by her sorrow, that I pondered upon the means of restoring her to liberty. It is true that in order to effect this, I would be obliged to employ a large portion of the money sent me by my uncle for the purchase of merchandise, and I was convinced that my uncle, who was inflexible in exacting fidelity to commercial regulations, would overwhelm me with his anger, but my heart gained the ascendency over my reason, and Christian charity triumphed. Listening only to my compassion, I ransomed the unfortunate woman, and with my own hands I unbound her chains. That was the happiest moment of my life."

Mary and her father were both touched by the recital of the young man.

"Oh, Geronimo," exclaimed Mary, "may God bless you for having been so compassionate to the poor Christian slave!"

"You did well, Geronimo," said Mr. Van de Werve, "and I esteem and love you more for your generosity to the unfortunate blind woman. How happy her unexpected liberation must have made her!"

"When I told her she was free, and that she could accompany me to her native land, she was almost wild with joy; she laughed and wept by turns; she cast herself upon the ground, and raising her hands to heaven, thanked God; she embraced my knees and watered my feet with her tears. Not knowing how to testify her gratitude, she drew this strange amulet from her bosom and presented it to me, conjuring me to wear it always. She told me that it possessed the power of protecting and saving the one who carried it on his person, when all human aid failed or was insufficient. As to the origin of the amulet, she only knew that it had been brought back from Jerusalem by one of her ancestors, who had made a pilgrimage thither in expiation of an involuntary homicide, and from that time it had been, religiously guarded in their family as a precious relic. She had no doubt of its power, and related many strange things to justify her faith. She maintained that she owed to the amulet her unexpected return to Italy."

"Does she still live?" asked Mary.

"When in sight of Italy, I put her on board of a boat bound to Porto Fiero; I gave her a small sum of money, and begged the boatman to attend to her comforts. Poor Teresa Mostajo--that is her name--I doubt not, is living peacefully in her native village, and prays much for me. This is the only reason why I attribute any virtue to the amulet; I believe in the protection of this sign because it has been sanctified by an act of Christian charity, and by the grateful prayers of the poor blind woman tormented by the pagans for the name of Christ."

The old cavalier remained a moment silent, absorbed in thought. Then taking the hand of the young man, he said to him: "I did not know you before, Geronimo. I hope it may be in my power to prove to you how much your generosity ennobles you and elevates you in my esteem; but although your confidence in the amulet rests on so laudable a sentiment, I would not rely too much upon it. You know the proverb says: 'Help yourself, and Heaven will help you.'"

"Do not suppose, Mr. Van de Werve, that on that account I would be guilty of any foolish imprudence. I know that the eye and sword are good sentinels. When I pass through the streets at night, I am always well accompanied, and my hand never leaves the hilt of my sword. Therefore have no anxiety on this point, and permit me to perform my duty to her to whom I owe homage and respect."

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