Idolatry: Chapter 2

Chapter 2

OUT OF EGYPT.

But the small hours of the morning are slipping away; we must construe
our hieroglyphics without further palaver. The sleeper lies upon his
side, his left hand resting near his face upon the pillow. Were he to
move it ever so little during our examination, the history of years
might be thrown into confusion. Nevertheless, we shall hope to touch
upon all the more important points, and in some cases to go into
details.

Concentrating our attention upon the central facet, its clear ray
strikes the imagination, and forthwith transports us to a distant age
and climate. The air is full of lazy warmth. A full-fed river,
glassing the hot blue sky, slides in long curves through a low-lying,
illimitable plain. The rich earth, green with mighty crops, everywhere
exhales upward the quivering heat of her breath. An indolent,
dark-skinned race, turbaned and scantly clothed, move through the
meadows, splash in the river, and rest beneath the palm-trees, which
meet in graceful clusters here and there, as if striving to get
beneath one another's shadow. Dirty villages swarm and babble on the
river's brink.

Were there leisure to listen, the diamond could readily relate the
whole history of this famous valley. For the stone was fashioned to
its present shape while the thought that formed the Pyramids was yet
unborn, and while the limestone and granite whereof they are built lay
in their silent beds, dreaming, perchance, of airy days before the
deluge, long ere the heated vapors stiffened into stone. Some great
patriarch of early days, founder of a race called by his name, picked
up this diamond in the southern desert, and gave it its present form;
perhaps, also, breathed into it the marvellous historical gift which
it retains to this day. Who was that primal man? how sounded his
voice? were his eyes terrible, or mild? Seems, as we speak, we glimpse
his majestic figure, and the grandeur of his face and cloudy beard.

He passed away, but the enchanted stone remained, and has sparkled
along the splendid march of successive dynasties, and has reflected
men and cities which to us are nameless, or but a half-deciphered
name. It has seen the mystic ceremonies of Egyptian priests, and
counts their boasted wisdom as a twice-told tale. It has watched the
unceasing toil of innumerable slaves, piling up through many ardent
years the idle tombs of kings. It has beheld vast winding lengths of
processions darken and glitter across the plain, slowly devoured by
the shining city, or issuing from her gates like a monstrous birth.

But whither wander we? Standing in this hotel of modern Boston, we
must confine our inquiries to a far later epoch than the Pharaohs'.
Step aside, and let the old history sweep past, like the turbid and
eddying current of the mysterious Nile; forbearing to launch our skiff
earlier than at the beginning of the present century.

The middle of June, eighteen hundred and sixteen: the river is just
beginning to rise, and the thirsty land spreads wide her lap to
receive him. Some miles to the north slumbers Cairo in white heat, its
outline jagged with minarets and bulbous domes. Southward, the shaded
Pyramids print their everlasting outlines against the tremulous
distance; old as they are, it seems as though a puff of the Khamsin
might dissolve them away. Near at hand is a noisy, naked crowd of men
and boys, plunging and swimming in the water, or sitting and standing
along the bank. They are watching and discussing the slow approach up
stream of a large boat with a broad lateen-sail, and a strange flag
fluttering from the mast-head. Rumor says that this boat contains a
company of strangers from beyond the sea; men who do not wear turbans,
whose dress is close-fitting, and covers them from head to
foot,--even the legs. They come to learn wisdom and civilization from
the Pyramids, and among the ruins of Memphis.

A hundred yards below this shouting, curious crowd, stands, waist-deep
in the Nile, a slender-limbed boy, about ten years old. He belongs to
a superior caste, and holds himself above the common rabble. Being
perfectly naked, a careless eye might, however, rank him with the
rest, were it not for the talisman which he wears suspended to a fine
gold chain round his neck; a curiously designed diamond ring, the
inheritance of a long line of priestly ancestors. The boy's face is
certainly full of intelligence, and the features are finely moulded
for so young a lad.

He also is watching the upward progress of the lateen-sail; has heard,
moreover, the report concerning those on board. He wonders where is
the country from which they come. Is it the land the storks fly to, of
which mother (before the plague carried both her and father to a
stranger land still) used to tell such wonderful stories? Does the
world really extend far beyond the valley? Is the world all valley and
river, with now and then some hills, like those away up beyond
Memphis? Are there other cities beside Cairo, and that one which he
has heard of but never seen,--Alexandria? Wonders why the strangers
dress in tight-fitting clothes, with leg-coverings, and without
turbans! Would like to find out about all these things,--about all
things knowable beside these, if any there be. Would like to go back
with the strangers to their country, when they return, and so become
the wisest and most powerful of his race; wiser even than those
fabulously learned priestly instructors of his, who are so strict with
him. Perhaps he might find all his forefathers there, and his kind
mother, who used to tell him stories.

Bah! how the sun blisters down on head and shoulders: will take a dive
and a swim,--a short swim only, not far from shore; for was not the
priest telling of a boy caught by a great crocodile, only, a few days
ago, and never seen since? But there is no crocodile near to-day; and,
besides, will not his precious talisman keep him from all harm?

The subtile Nile catches him softly in his cool arms, dandles him,
kisses Him, flatters him, wooes him imperceptibly onwards. Now he is
far from shore, and the multitudinous feet of the current are hurrying
him away. The slow-moving boat is much nearer than it was a minute
ago,--seems to be rasping towards him, in spite of the laziness of the
impelling breeze. The boy, as yet unconscious of his peril, now
glances shorewards, and sees the banks wheel past. The crowd of
bathers is already far beyond hearing yet, frightened and tired, he
wastes his remaining strength in fruitless shouts. Now the deceitful
eddies, once so soft and friendly, whirl him down in ruthless
exultation. He will never reach the shore, good swimmer though he be!

Hark! what plunged from the bank,--what black thing moves towards him
across the water? The crocodile! coming with tears in his eyes, and a
long grin of serried teeth. Coming!--the ugly scaly head is always
nearer and nearer. The boy screams; but who should hear him? He feels
whether the talisman be yet round his neck. He screams again, calling,
in half-delirium, upon his dead mother. Meanwhile the scaly snout is
close upon him.

A many-voiced shout, close at hand; a splashing of poles in the water;
a rippling of eddies against a boat's bows! As the boy drifts by, a
blue-eyed, yellow-bearded viking swings himself from the halyard,
catches him, pulls him aboard with a jerk and a shout, safe! The long
grin snaps emptily together behind him. The boy lies on the deck, a
vision of people with leg-coverings and other oddities of costume
swimming in his eyes; one of them supports his head on his knee, and
bends over him a round, good-natured, spectacled face. Above, a
beautiful flag, striped and starred with white, blue, and red, flaps
indolently against the mast.--

Precisely at this point the sleeper stirs his hand slightly, but
enough to throw the record of several succeeding years into
uncertainty and confusion. Here and there, however, we catch imperfect
glimpses of the Egyptian lad, steadily growing up to be a tall young
man. He is dressed in European clothes, and lives and moves amid
civilized surroundings: Egypt, with her pyramids, palms, and river, we
see no more. The priest's son seems now to be immersed in studies; he
shows a genius for music and painting, and is diligently storing his
mind with other than Egyptian lore. With him, or never far away, we
meet a man considerably older than the student,--good-natured,
whimsical, round of head and face and insignificant of feature.
Towards him does the student observe the profoundest deference, bowing
before him, and addressing him as "Master Hiero," or "Master Glyphic."
Master Hiero, for his part, calls the Egyptian "Manetho"; from which
we might infer his descent from the celebrated historian of that name,
but will not insist upon this genealogy. As for the studies, from
certain signs we fancy them tending towards theology; the descendant
of Egyptian priests is to become a Christian clergyman! Nevertheless,
he still wears his talismanic ring. Does he believe it saved him from
the crocodile? Does his Christian enlightenment not set him free from
such superstition?

So much we piece together from detached glimpses; but now, as the
magic ray steadies once more, things become again distinct. Judging
from the style and appointments of Master Hiero Glyphic's house, he is
a wealthy man, and eccentric as well. It is full of strange
incongruities and discords; beauties in abundance, but ill harmonized.
One half the house is built like an Egyptian temple, and is enriched
with many spoils from the valley of the Nile; and here a secret
chamber is set apart for Manetho; its very existence is known to no
one save himself and Master Hiero. He spends much of his time here,
meditating and working amidst his books and papers, playing on his
violin, or leaning idly back in his chair, watching the sunlight,
through the horizontal aperture high above, his head, creep stealthily
across the opposite wall.

But these saintly and scholarly reveries are disturbed anon. Master
Hiero, though a bachelor, has a half-sister, a pale, handsome,
indolent young woman, with dark hair and eyes, and a rather haughty
manner. Helen appears, and thenceforth the household lives and
breathes according to her languid bidding. Manetho comes out of his
retirement, and dances reverential attendance upon her. He is
twenty-five years old, now; tall, slender, and far from ill-looking,
with his dark, narrow eyes, wide brows, and tapering face. His manners
are gentle, subdued, insinuating, and altogether he seems to please
Helen; she condescends to him,--more than condescends, perhaps.
Meantime, alas! there is a secret opposition in progress, embodied in
the shapely person of that bright-eyed gypsy of a girl whom her
mistress Helen calls Salome. There is no question as to Salome's
complete subjection to the attractions of the young embryo clergyman;
she pursues him with eyes and heart, and seeing him by Helen's side,
she is miserably but dumbly jealous.

How is this matter to end? Manetho's devotion to Helen seems
unwavering; yet sometimes it is hard not to suspect a secret
understanding between him and Salome. He has ceased to wear his ring,
and once we caught a diamond-sparkle from beneath the thick folds of
lace which cover Helen's bosom; but, on the other hand, we fear his
arm has been round the gypsy's graceful waist, and that she has learnt
the secret of the private chamber. Is demure Manetho a flirt, or do
his affections and his ambition run counter to each other? Helen would
bring him the riches of this world,--but what should a clergyman care
for such vanities?--while Salome, to our thinking, is far the
prettier, livelier, and more attractive woman of the two. Brother
Hiero, whimsical and preoccupied, sees nothing of what is going on. He
is an antiquary,--an Egyptologist, and thereto his soul is wedded. He
has no eyes nor ears for the loves of other people for one another.--

Provoking! The uneasy sleeper has moved again, and disorganized,
beyond remedy, the events of a whole year. Judging from such fragments
as reach us, it must have been a momentous epoch in our history. From
the beginning, a handsome, stalwart, blue-eyed man, with a great beard
like a sheaf of straw, shoulders upon the scene, and thenceforth
becomes inextricably mixed up with dark-eyed Helen. We recognize in
him an old acquaintance; he was on the lateen-sailed boat that went up
the Nile; it was he who swung himself from the vessel's side, and
pulled Manetho out of the jaws of death,--a fact, by the way, of which
Manetho remained ignorant until his dying day. With this new arrival,
Helen's supremacy in the household ends. Thor--so they call
him--involuntarily commands her, and so her subjects. Against him, the
Reverend Manetho has not the ghost of a chance. To his credit is it
that he conceals whatever emotions of disappointment or jealousy he
might be supposed to feel, and is no less winning towards Thor than
towards the rest of the world. But is it possible that the talisman
still hides in Helen's bosom? Does the conflict which it symbolizes
beset her heart?

The enchanted mirror is still again, and a curious scene is reflected
from it. A large and lofty room, windowless, lit by flaring lamps hung
at intervals round the walls; the panels contain carvings in
bas-relief of Egyptian emblems and devices; columns surround the
central space, their capitals carved with the lotos-flower, their
bases planted amidst papyrus leaves. A border of hieroglyphic
inscription encircles the walls, just beneath the ceiling. In each
corner of the room rests a red granite sarcophagus, and between each
pair of pillars stands a mummy in its wooden case. At that end
farthest from the low-browed doorway--which is guarded by two great
figures of Isis and Osiris, sitting impassive, with hands on knees--is
raised an altar of black marble, on which burns some incense. The
perfumed smoke, wavering upwards, mingles with that of the lamps
beneath the high ceiling. The prevailing color is ruddy Indian-red,
relieved by deep blue and black, while brighter tints show here and
there. Blocks of polished stone pave the floor, and dimly reflect the
lights.

In front of the altar stands a ministerial figure,--none other than
Manetho, who must have taken orders,--and joins together, in holy
matrimony, the yellow-bearded Thor and the dark-haired Helen. Master
Hiero, his round, snub-nosed face red with fussy emotion, gives the
bride away; while Salome, dressed in white and looking very pretty and
lady-like, does service as bridesmaid,--such is her mistress's whim.
She seems in even better spirits than the pale bride, and her black
eyes scarcely wander from the minister's rapt countenance.

But a few hours later, when bride and groom are gone, Salome,--who,
on some plausible pretext of, her own, has been allowed to remain with
brother Hiero until her mistress returns from the wedding-tour,---
Salome appears in the secret chamber, where the Reverend Manetho sits
with his head between his hands. We will not look too closely at this
interview. There are words fierce and tender, tears and pleadings,
feverish caresses, incoherent promises, distrustful bargains; and it
is late before they part. Salome passes out through the great
tomb-like hall, where all the lamps save one are burnt out; and the
young minister remains to pursue his holy meditations alone.

We are too discreet to meddle with the honeymoon; but, passing over
some eight months, behold the husband and wife returned, to plume
their wings ere taking the final flight. Another strange scene
attracts us here.

The dusk of a summer evening. Helen, with a more languid step and air
than before marriage, saunters along a path through the trees, some
distance from the house. She is clad in loose-flowing drapery, and has
thrown a white shawl over her head and shoulders. Reaching a bench of
rustic woodwork, she drops weariedly down upon it.

Manetho comes out all at once, and stands before her; he seems to have
darkened together from the shadow of the surrounding trees. Perhaps a
little startled at his so abrupt appearance, she opens her eyes with a
wondering haughtiness; but, at the same time, the light pressure of
the enchanted ring against her bosom feels like a dull sting, and her
heart beats uncomfortably. He begins to speak in his usual tone of
softest deference; he sits down by her, and now she is paler, glances
anxiously up the path for her delaying husband, and the hand that
lifts her handkerchief to her lips trembles a little. Is it at his
words? or at their tone? or at what she sees lurking behind his dusky
eyes, curdling beneath his thin, dark skin, quivering down to the tips
of his long, slender fingers?

All in a moment he bursts forth, without warning, without restraint,
the fire of the Egyptian sun boiling in his blood and blazing in his
passion. He seizes her soft white wrist,--then her waist; he presses
against his, her bosom,--what a throbbing!--her cheek to his,--how
aghast! He pours hot words in torrents into her ears,--all that his
fretting heart has hoarded up and brooded over these months and years!
all,--sparing her not a thought, not a passionate word. She tries to
repel him, to escape, to scream for help; but he looks down her eyes
with his own, holds her fast, and she gasps for breath. So the serpent
coils about the dove, and stamps his image upon her bewildered brain.

Verily, the Reverend Manetho has much forgotten himself. The issue
might have been disastrous, had not Helen, in the crisis of the
affair, lost consciousness, and fallen a dead weight in his arms. He
laid her gently on the bench, fumbled for a moment in the bosom of her
dress, and drew out the diamond ring. Just then is heard the solid
step of Thor, striding and whistling along the path. Manetho snaps the
golden chain, and vanishes with his talisman; and he is the first to
appear, full of sympathy and concern, when the distracted husband
shouts for help.

Next morning, two little struggling human beings are blinking and
crying in a darkened room, and there is no mother to give them milk,
and cherish them in her bosom. There sits the father, almost as still
and cold as what was his wife. She did not speak to him, nor seem to
know him, to the last. He will never know the truth; Manetho comes and
goes, and reads the burial-service, unsuspected and unpunished. But
Salome follows him away from the grave, and some words pass between
them. The man is no longer what he was. He turns suddenly upon her and
strikes out with savage force; the diamond on his finger bites into
the flesh of the gypsy's breast; she will carry the scar of that
brutal blow as long as she lives. So he drove his only lover away, and
looked upon her bright, handsome face no more.

Here Doctor Glyphic--or whoever this sleeping man may be--turns
heavily upon his face, drawing his hand, with the blood-stained ring,
out of sight. We are glad to leave him to his bad dreams; the air
oppresses us. Come, 't is time we were off. The eastern horizon bows
before the sun, the air colors delicate pink, and the very tombstones
in the graveyard blush for sympathy. The sparrows have been awake for
a half-hour past, and, up aloft, the clouds, which wander ceaselessly
over the face of the earth, alighting only on lonely mountain-tops,
are tinted into rainbow-quarries by the glorious spectacle.

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