CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
Six weeks had flown away, and Amine, restored to health, wandered overthe country, hanging on the arm of her adored Philip, or nestled by hisside in their comfortable home. Father Mathias still remained theirguest; the masses for the repose of the soul of Vanderdecken had beenpaid for, and more money had been confided to the care of Father Seysento relieve the sufferings of the afflicted poor. It may be easilysupposed that one of the chief topics of conversation between Philip andAmine, was the decision of the two priests, relative to the conduct ofPhilip. He had been absolved from his oath, but, at the same time thathe submitted to his clerical advisers, he was by no means satisfied.His love for Amine, her wishes for his remaining at home, certainlyadded weight to the fiat of Father Seysen; but, although he inconsequence obeyed it more willingly, his doubts of the propriety of hisconduct remained the same. The arguments of Amine, who, now that shewas supported by the opinion of the priests, had become opposed toPhilip's departure; even her caresses, with which those arguments weremingled were effective but for the moment. No sooner was Philip left tohimself no sooner was the question, for a time, dismissed, than he feltan inward accusation that he was neglecting a sacred duty. Amineperceived how often the cloud was upon his brow; she knew too well thecause, and constantly did she recommence her arguments and caresses,until Philip forgot that there was aught but Amine in the world.
One morning, as they were seated upon a green bank, picking the flowersthat blossomed round them, and tossing them away in pure listlessness,Amine took the opportunity, that she had often waited for, to enter upona subject hitherto unmentioned.
"Philip," said she, "do you believe in dreams? think you that we mayhave supernatural communications by such means?"
"Of course we may," replied Philip; "we have proof abundant of it in theholy writings."
"Why, then, do you not satisfy your scruples by a dream?"
"My dearest Amine, dreams come unbidden; we cannot command or preventthem."
"We can command them, Philip: say that you would dream upon the subjectnearest to your heart, and you _shall_."
"I shall?"
"Yes! I have that power, Philip, although I have not spoken of it. Ihad it from my mother, with much more that of late I have never thoughtof. You know, Philip, I never say that which is not. I tell you, that,if you choose, you shall dream upon it."
"And to what good, Amine? If you have power to make me dream, thatpower must be from somewhere."
"It is, of course: there are agencies you little think of, which, in mycountry, are still called into use. I have a charm, Philip, which neverfails."
"A charm, Amine! do you, then, deal in sorcery? for such powers cannotbe from Heaven."
"I cannot tell. I only know the power is given."
"It must be from the devil, Amine."
"And why so, Philip? May I not use the argument of your own priests,who say, `that the power of the devil is only permitted to be used byDivine intelligence, and that it cannot used without that permission?'Allow it then to be sorcery, or what you please, unless by Heavenpermitted, it would fail. But I cannot see why we should suppose thatit is from an evil source. We ask for a warning in a dream to guide ourconduct in doubtful circumstances. Surely the evil one would ratherlead us wrong than right!"
"Amine, we may be warned in a dream, as the patriarchs were of old; butto use mystic or unholy charms to procure a vision, is making a compactwith the devil."
"Which compact the evil could not fulfil if not permitted by a higherpower. Philip, your reasoning is false. We are told that, by certainmeans, duly observed, we may procure the dreams we wish. Our observanceof these means is certainly the least we can attend to, to prove oursincerity. Forgive me, Philip, but are not observances as necessary inyour religion--which I have embraced? Are we not told that the omissionof the mere ceremony of water to the infant will turn all future chanceof happiness to misery eternal."
Philip answered not for some time. "I am afraid, Amine," said he, atlast, in a low tone; "I--"
"I fear nothing, Philip, when my intentions are good," replied Amine."I follow certain means to obtain an end. What is that end? It is tofind out (if possible) what may be the will of Heaven in this perplexingcase. If it should be through the agency of the devil, what then? Hebecomes my servant, and not my master; he is permitted by Heaven to actagainst himself;" and Amine's eyes darted fire, as she thus boldlyexpressed herself.
"Did your mother often exercise her art?" inquired Philip, after apause.
"Not to my knowledge; but it was said that she was most expert. Shedied young (as you know), or I should have known much more. Think you,Philip, that this world is solely peopled by such dross as we are?--things of clay--perishable and corruptible? Lords over beasts--andourselves but little better. Have you not, from your own sacredwritings, repeated acknowledgments and proofs of higher intelligencesmixing up with mankind and acting here below? Why should what was then,not be now! and what more harm is there to apply for their aid now, thana few thousand years ago? Why should you suppose that they werepermitted on the earth then--and not permitted now? What has become ofthem? Have they perished? have they been ordered back--to where--toheaven? If to heaven--the world and mankind have been left to the mercyof the devil and his agents. Do you suppose that we, poor mortals, havebeen thus abandoned? I tell you plainly, I think not. We no longerhave the communications with those intelligences that we once had,because, as we become more enlightened, we become more proud, and seekthem not: but that they still exist--a host of good against a host ofevil, invisibly opposing each other--is my conviction. But, tell me,Philip, do you in your conscience believe that all that has beenrevealed to you is a mere dream of the imagination?"
"I do not believe so, Amine: you know well I wish I could."
"Then is my reasoning proved; for if such communications can be made toyou, why cannot others? You cannot tell by what agency; your priestssay it is that of the evil one; you think it is from on high. By thesame rule who is to decide from whence the dream shall come?"
"'Tis true, Amine, but are you certain of your power?"
"Certain of this; but if it pleases superior intelligence to communicatewith you, _that_ communication may be relied upon. Either you will notdream, but pass away the hours in deep sleep, or what you dream will beconnected with the question at issue."
"Then, Amine, I have made my mind up--I will dream: for at present mymind is racked by contending and perplexing doubts. I would knowwhether I am right or wrong. This night your art shall be employed."
"Not this night, nor yet to-morrow night, Philip. Think you one momentthat, in proposing this, I serve you against my own wishes? I feel asif the dream will decide against me, and that you will be commanded toreturn to your duty; for I tell you honestly, I think not with thepriests; but I am your wife, Philip, and it is my duty that you shouldnot be deceived. Having the means, as I suppose, to decide yourconduct, I offer them. Promise me that, if I do this, you will grant mea favour which I shall ask as my reward."
"It is promised, Amine, without its being known," replied Philip, risingfrom the turf; "and now let us go home."
We observed that Philip, previous to his sailing in the Batavia, hadinvested a large proportion of his funds in Dutch East India stock: theinterest of the money was more than sufficient for the wants of Amine,and, on his return, he found that the funds left in her charge hadaccumulated. After paying to Father Seysen the sums for the masses, andfor the relief of the poor, there was a considerable residue, and Philiphad employed this in the purchase of more shares in the India Stock.
The subject of their conversation was not renewed. Philip was ratheraverse to Amine practising those mystical arts, which, if known to thepriests, would have obtained for her in all probability the anathema ofthe Church. He could not but admire the boldness and power of Amine'sreasonings, but still he was averse to reduce them into practice. Thethird day had passe
d away, and no more had been said upon the subject.Philip retired to bed, and was soon fast asleep; but Amine slept not.So soon as she was convinced that Philip would not be awakened, sheslipped from the bed and dressed herself. She left the room, and in aquarter of an hour returned, bringing in her hand a small brazier oflighted charcoal, and two small pieces of parchment, rolled up and fixedby a knot to the centre of a narrow fillet. They exactly resembled thephilacteries that were once worn by the Jewish nation, and weresimilarly applied. One of them she gently bound upon the forehead ofher husband, and the other upon his left arm. She threw perfumes intothe brazier, and as the form of her husband was becoming indistinct,from the smoke which filled the room, she muttered a few sentences,waved over him a small sprig of some shrub which she held in her whitehand, and then closing the curtains and removing the brazier, she satdown by the side of the bed.
"If there be harm," thought Amine, "at least the deed is not his--'tismine; they cannot say that he has practised arts that are unlawful andforbidden by his priests. On my head be it!" And there was acontemptuous curl on Amine's beautiful arched lip, which did not saymuch for her devotion to her new creed.
Morning dawned, and Philip still slumbered. "'Tis enough," said Amine,who had been watching the rising of the sun, as she beheld his upperlimb a pear above the horizon. Again she waved her arm over Philip,holding the sprig in her hand, and cried, "Philip, awake!"
Philip started up, opened his eyes, and shut them again to avoid theglare of the broad daylight, rested upon his elbow, and appeared to becollecting his thoughts.
"Where am I?" exclaimed he. "In my own bed? Yes!" He passed his handacross his forehead, and felt the scroll.
"What is this," continued he, pulling it off and examining it. "AndAmine, where is she? Good Heavens, what a dream! Another?" cried he,perceiving the scroll tied to his arm. "I see it now. Amine, this isyour doing." And Philip threw himself down, and buried his face in thepillow.
Amine, in the mean time, had slipped into bed, and had taken her placeby Philip's side. "Sleep, Philip, dear: sleep!" said she, putting herarms round him; "we will talk when we wake again."
"Are you there, Amine?" replied Philip, confused. "I thought I wasalone; I have dreamed." And Philip again was fast asleep before hecould complete his sentence. Amine, too, tired with watching,slumbered, and was happy.
Father Mathias had to wait a long while for his breakfast that morning;it was not till two hours later than usual that Philip and Amine madetheir appearance.
"Welcome my children," said he; "you are late."
"We are, Father," replied Amine; "for Philip slept, and I watched tillbreak of day."
"He hath not been ill, I trust," replied the priest.
"No not ill; but I could not sleep," replied Amine.
"Then didst thou do well to pass the night--as I doubt not thou hastdone, my child, in holy watchings."
Philip shuddered; he knew that the watching, had its cause been known,would have been, in the priest's opinion, anything but holy. Aminequickly replied--
"I have, indeed, communed with higher powers, as far as my poorintellect hath been able."
"The blessing of our holy Church upon thee, my child!" said the old man,putting his hand upon her head; "and on thee, too, Philip."
Philip, confused, sat down to the table; Amine was collected as ever.She spoke little, it is true, and appeared to commune with her ownthoughts.
As soon as the repast was finished, the old priest took up his breviary,and Amine beckoning to Philip, they went out together. They walked insilence until they arrived at the green spot where Amine had firstproposed to him that she should use her mystic power. She sat sown, anPhilip, fully aware of her purpose, took his seat by her in silence.
"Philip," said Amine, taking his hand, and looking earnestly in hisface, "last night you dreamed."
"I did indeed, Amine," replied Philip, gravely.
"Tell me your dream, for it will be for me to expound it."
"I fear it needs but little exposition, Amine. All I would know is,from what intelligence the dream has been received?"
"Tell me your dream," replied Amine, calmly.
"I thought," replied Philip, mournfully, "that I was sailing as captainof a vessel round the Cape; the sea was calm and the breeze light; I wasabaft; the sun went down, and the stars were more than usuallybrilliant; the weather was warm, and I lay down on my cloak, with myface to the heavens, watching the gems twinkling in the sky and theoccasionally falling meteors. I thought that I fell asleep, and awokewith a sensation as if sinking down. I looked around me; the masts; therigging, the hull of the vessel--_all_ had disappeared, and I wasfloating by myself upon a large, beautifully-shaped shell on the widewaste of waters. I was alarmed, and afraid to move, lest I shouldoverturn my frail bark and perish. At last I perceived the fore-part ofthe shell pressed down, as if a weight were hanging to it; and soonafterwards, a small white hand, which grasped it. I remainedmotionless, and would have called out that my little bark would sink,but I could not. Gradually a figure raised itself from the waters andleaned with both arms over the fore-part of the shell, where I first hadseen but the hand. It was a female, in form beautiful to excess; theskin was white as driven snow; her long loose hair covered her, and theends floated in the water; her arms were rounded and like ivory; shesaid, in a soft sweet voice--
"`Philip Vanderdecken, what do you fear? Have you not a charmed life?'
"`I know not,' replied I, `whether my life be charmed or not; but this Iknow, that it is in danger.'
"`In danger!' replied she; `it might have been in danger when you weretrusting to the frail works of men, which the waves love to rend tofragments--your _good_ ships, as you call them, which but float aboutupon sufferance; but where can be the danger when in a mermaid's shell,which the mountain wave respects, and upon which the cresting surge darenot throw its spray? Philip Vanderdecken, you have come to seek yourfather!'
"`I have,' replied I; `is it not the will of Heaven?'
"`It is your destiny--and destiny rules all above and below. Shall weseek him together? This shell is mine; you know not how to navigate it;shall I assist you?'
"`Will it bear us both?'
"`You will see,' replied she, laughing, as she sank down from thefore-part of the shell, and immediately afterwards appeared at the side,which was not more than three inches above the water. To my alarm, sheraised herself up, and sat upon the edge, but her weight appeared tohave no effect. As soon as she was seated in this way--for her feetstill remained in the water--the shell moved rapidly along, and eachmoment increased its speed, with no other propelling power than that ofher volition.
"`Do you fear now, Philip Vanderdecken?'
"`No!' replied I.
"She passed her hands across her forehead, threw aside the tresses whichhad partly concealed her face, and said--`Then look at me.'
"I looked, Amine, and I beheld you!"
"Me!" observed Amine, with a smile upon her lips.
"Yes, Amine, it was you. I called you by your name, and threw my armsround you. I felt that I could remain with you, and sail about theworld for ever."
"Proceed, Philip," said Amine, calmly.
"I thought we ran thousands and thousands of miles--we passed bybeautiful islands, set like gems on the ocean-bed; at one time boundingagainst the rippling current, at others close to the shore--skimming onthe murmuring wave which rippled on the sand, whilst the cocoa-tree onthe beach waved to the cooling breeze.
"`It is not in smooth seas that your father must be sought,' said she;`we must try elsewhere.'
"By degrees the waves rose, until at last they were raging in theirfury, and the shell was tossed by the tumultuous waters; but still not adrop entered, and we sailed in security over billows which would haveswallowed up the proudest vessel.
"`Do you fear now, Philip?' said you to me.
"`No' replied I; `with you, Amine, I fear nothing.'
"`We are
now off the Cape again,' said she; `and here you may find yourfather. Let us look well round us, for if we meet a ship it must be_his_. None but the Phantom Ship could swim in a gale like this.'
"Away we flew over the mountainous waves--skimming from crest to crestbetween them, our little bark sometimes wholly out of the water; noweast, now west, north, south, in every quarter of the compass, changingour course each minute. We passed over hundreds of miles: at last wesaw a vessel tossed by the furious gale.
"`There,' cried she, pointing with her finger, `there is your father'svessel, Philip.'
"Rapidly did we approach--they saw us from on board, and brought thevessel to the wind. We were alongside--the gangway was clearing away--for though no boat could have boarded, our shell was safe. I looked up.I saw my father, Amine! Yes, saw him, and heard him as he gave hisorders. I pulled the relic from my bosom, and held it out to him. Hesmiled as he stood on the gunnel, holding on by the main shrouds. I wasjust rising to mount on board, for they had handed to me the man-ropes,when there was a loud yell, and a man jumped from the gangway into theshell. You shrieked, slipped from the side and disappeared under thewave, and in a moment the shell, guided by the man who had taken yourplace, flew away from the vessel with the rapidity of thought. I felt adeadly chill pervade my frame. I turned round to look at my newcompanion--it was the pilot Schriften!--the one-eyed wretch who wasdrowned when we were wrecked in Table Bay!
"`No! no! not yet!' cried he.
"In an agony of despair and rage, I hurled him off his seat on theshell, and he floated on the wild waters.
"`Philip Vanderdecken,' said he, as he swam, `we shall meet again!'
"I turned away my head in disgust, when a wave filled my bark, and downit sank. I was struggling under the water sinking still deeper anddeeper, but without pain, when I awoke."
"Now, Amine," said Philip, after a pause, "what think you I of mydream?"
"Does it not point out that I am your friend, Philip, and that the pilotSchriften is your enemy?"
"I grant it; but he is dead."
"Is that so certain?"
"He hardly could have escaped without my knowledge."
"That is true, but the dream would imply otherwise. Philip, it is myopinion that the only way in which this dream is to be expounded is--that you remain on shore for the present. The advice is that of thepriests. In either case you require some further intimation. In yourdream _I_ was your safe guide--be guided now by me again."
"Be it so, Amine. If your strange art be in opposition to our holyfaith, you expound the dream in conformity with the advice of itsministers."
"I do. And now, Philip, let us dismiss the subject from our thoughts.Should the time come, your Amine will not persuade you from your duty;but recollect, you have promised to grant _one_ favour when I ask it."
"I have: say, then, Amine what may be your wish?"
"O! nothing at present. I have no wish on earth but what is gratified.Have I not you, dear Philip?" replied Amine, fondly throwing herself onher husband's shoulder.
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