We must return to Amine, who is seated on the mossy bank where she and
Philip conversed when they were interrupted by Schriften, the pilot.
She is in deep thought, with her eyes cast down, as if trying to recall
the past. "Alas! for my mother's power," exclaimed she; "but it is
gone--gone for ever! This torment and suspense I cannot bear--those
foolish priests too!" And Amine rose from the bank and walked towards
her cottage.
Father Mathias had not returned to Lisbon. At first he had not found an
opportunity, and afterwards, his debt of gratitude towards Philip
induced him to remain by Amine, who appeared each day to hold more in
aversion the tenets of the Christian faith. Many and many were the
consultations with Father Seysen, many were the exhortations of both the
good old men to Amine, who, at times, would listen without reply, and at
others, argue boldly against them. It appeared to them, that she
rejected their religion with an obstinacy as unpardonable as it was
incomprehensible. But, to her, the case was more simple: she refused to
believe, she said, that which she could not understand. She went so far
as to acknowledge the beauty of the principles, the purity of the
doctrine; but when the good priests would enter into the articles of
their faith, Amine would either shake her head, or attempt to turn the
conversation. This only increased the anxiety of the good Father
Mathias to convert and save the soul of one so young and beautiful; and
he now no longer thought of returning to Lisbon, but devoted his whole
time to the instruction of Amine, who, wearied by his incessant
importunities, almost loathed his presence.
Upon reflection, it will not appear surprising that Amine rejected a
creed so dissonant to her wishes and intentions. The human mind is of
that proud nature, that it requires all its humility to be called into
action before it will bow, even to the Deity.
Amine knew that her mother had possessed superior knowledge, and an
intimacy with unearthly intelligences. She had seen her practise her
art with success, although so young at the time, that she could not now
recall to mind the mystic preparations by which her mother had succeeded
in her wishes; and it was now that her thoughts were wholly bent upon
recovering what she had forgotten, that Father Mathias was exhorting her
to a creed which positively forbade even the attempt. The peculiar and
awful mission of her husband strengthened her opinion in the lawfulness
of calling in the aid of supernatural agencies; and the arguments
brought forward by these worthy, but not over-talented, professors of
the Christian creed, had but little effect upon a mind so strong, and so
decided, as that of Amine--a mind which, bent as it was upon one object,
rejected with scorn tenets, in roof of which, they could offer no
visible manifestation, and which would have bound her blindly to believe
what appeared to her contrary to common sense. That her mother's art
could bring evidence of _its_ truth she had already shown, and satisfied
herself in the effect of the dream which she had proved upon Philip;--
but what proof could they bring forward?--Records--_which they would not
permit her to read_!
"Oh! that I had my mother's art," repeated Amine once more as she
entered the cottage; "then would I know where I was at this moment. Oh!
for the black mirror, in which I used to peer at her command, and tell
her what passed in array before me. How well do I remember that time--
the time of my father's absence, when I looked into the liquid on the
palm of my hand, and told her of the Bedouin camp--of the skirmish--the
horse without a rider--and the turban on the sand!" And again Amine
fell into deep thought. "Yes," cried she, after a time, "thou canst
assist me, mother! Give me in a dream thy knowledge; thy daughter begs
it as a boon. Let me think again. The word--what was the word? what
was the name of the spirit--Turshoon? Yes, methinks it was Turshoon.
Mother! mother! help your daughter."
"Dost thou call upon the Blessed Virgin, my child?" said Father Mathias,
who had entered the room as she pronounced the last words. "If so, thou
dost well, for she may appear to thee in thy dreams, and strengthen thee
in the true faith."
"I called upon my own mother, who is in the land of spirits, good
father," replied Amine.
"Yes; but as an infidel, not, I fear, in the land of the blessed
spirits, my child."
"She hardly will be punished for following the creed of her fathers,
living where she did, where no other creed was known?" replied Amine
indignantly. "If the good on earth are blessed in the next world--if
she had, as you assert she had, a soul to be saved--an immortal spirit--
He who made that spirit will not destroy it because she worshipped as
her fathers did. Her life was good: why should she be punished for
ignorance of that creed which she never had an opportunity of
rejecting?"
"Who shall dispute the will of Heaven, my child? Be thankful that you
are permitted to be instructed, and to be received into the bosom of the
holy church."
"I am thankful for many things, father; but I am weary, and must wish
you a good night."
Amine retired to her room--but not to sleep. Once more did she attempt
the ceremonies used by her mother, changing them each time, as doubtful
of her success. Again the censer was lighted--the charms essayed; again
the room was filled with smoke as she threw in the various herbs which
she had knowledge of, for all the papers thrown aside at her father's
death had been carefully collected, and on many were directions found as
to the use of those herbs. "The word! the word! I have the first--the
second word! Help me, mother!" cried Amine, as she sat by the side of
the bed, in the room, which was now so full of smoke that nothing could
be distinguished. "It is of no use," thought she, at last, letting her
hands fall at her side; "I have forgotten the art. Mother! mother! help
me in my dreams this night."
The smoke gradually cleared away, and, when Amine lifted up her eyes,
she perceived a figure standing before her. At first she thought she
had been successful in her charm; but, as the figure became more
distinct, she perceived that it was Father Mathias, who was looking at
her with a severe frown and contracted brow, his arms folded before him.
"Unholy child! what dost thou?"
Amine had roused the suspicions of the priests, not only by her
conversation, but by several attempts which she had before made to
recover her lost art; and on one occasion, in which she had defended it,
both Father Mathias and Father Seysen had poured out the bitterest
anathemas upon her, or any one who had resort to such practices. The
smell of the fragrant herbs thrown into the censer, and the smoke, which
afterwards had escaped through the door and ascended the stairs, had
awakened the suspicious of Father Mathias, and he had crept up silently,
and entered the room without her perceiving it. Amine at once perceived
her danger. Had she been single, she would have dared the priest; but,
for Philip's sake, she determined to mislead him.
"I do no wrong, father," replied she calmly, "but it appears to me not
seemly that you should enter the chamber of a young woman during her
husband's absence. I might have been in my bed. It is a strange
intrusion."
"Thou canst not mean this, woman! My age--my profession--are a
sufficient warranty," replied Father Mathias, somewhat confused at this
unexpected attack.
"Not always, father, if what I have been told of monks and priests be
true," replied Amine. "I ask again, why comest thou here into an
unprotected woman's chamber?"
"Because I felt convinced that she was practising unholy arts."
"Unholy arts!--what mean you? Is the leech's skill unholy? Is it
unholy to administer relief to those who suffer?--to charm the fever and
the ague, which rack the limbs of those who live in this unwholesome
climate?"
"All charms are most unholy."
"When I said charms, father, I meant not what you mean; I simply would
have said a remedy. If a knowledge of certain powerful herbs, which,
properly combined, will form a specific to ease the suffering wretch--an
art well known unto my mother, and which I now would fain recall--if
that knowledge, or a wish to regain that knowledge, be unholy, then are
you correct."
"I heard thee call upon thy mother for her help."
"I did, for she well knew the ingredients; but I, I fear, have not the
knowledge that she had. Is that sinful, good father?"
"'Tis, then, a remedy that you would find?" replied the priest; "I
thought that thou didst practise that which is most unlawful."
"Can the burning of a few weeds be then unlawful? What did you expect
to find? Look you, father, at these ashes--they may, with oil, be
rubbed into the pores and give relief--but can they do more? What do
you expect from them--a ghost?--a spirit?--like the prophet raised for
the King of Israel?" And Amine laughed aloud.
"I am perplexed, but not convinced," replied the priest.
"I, too, am perplexed and not convinced," responded Amine, scornfully.
"I cannot satisfy myself that a man of your discretion could really
suppose that there was mischief in burning weeds; nor am I convinced
that such was the occasion of your visit at this hour of the night to a
lone woman's chamber. There may be natural charms more powerful than
those you call supernatural. I pray you, father, leave this chamber.
It is not seemly. Should you again presume, you leave the house. I
thought better of you. In future, I will not be left at any time
alone."
This attack of Amine's upon the reputation of the old priest was too
severe. Father Mathias immediately quitted the room, saying, as he went
out, "May God forgive you for your false suspicions and great injustice!
I came here for the cause I have stated, and no more."
"Yes!" soliloquised Amine, as the door closed, "I know you did; but I
must rid myself of your unwelcome company. I will have no spy upon my
actions--no meddler to thwart me in my will. In your zeal you have
committed yourself, and I will take the advantage you have given me. Is
not the privacy of a woman's chamber to be held sacred by you sacred
men! In return for assistance in distress--for food and shelter--you
would become a spy. How grateful, and how worthy of the creed which you
profess!" Amine opened her door as soon as she had removed the censer,
and summoned one of the women of the house to stay that night in her
room, stating that the priest had entered her chamber, and she did not
like the intrusion.
"Holy father! is it possible?" replied the woman. Amine made no reply,
but went to bed; but Father Mathias heard all that passed as he paced
the room below. The next day he called upon Father Seysen, and
communicated to him what had occurred and the false suspicions of Amine.
"You have acted hastily," replied Father Seysen, "to visit a woman's
chamber at such an hour of the night."
"I had my suspicions, good Father Seysen."
"And she will have hers. She is young and beautiful."
"Now, by the blessed Virgin--"
"I absolve you, good Mathias," replied Father Seysen, "but still, if
known, it would occasion much scandal to our church."
And known it soon was; for the woman who had been summoned by Amine did
not fail to mention the circumstance and Father Mathias found himself
everywhere so coldly received, and, besides, so ill at ease with
himself, that he very soon afterwards quitted the country, and returned
to Lisbon, angry with himself for his imprudence, but still more angry
with Amine for her unjust suspicions.