The Amulet | Page 6

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?"
"Mary so named it, not I. It is an amulet, and if it has any power, it
derives it from the gray stone beneath the cross. This stone is a
draconite, taken, at the risk of life, from the head of a dragon in the
country of the negroes."
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.