Idolatry | Page 7

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