The Amulet

"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. 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."