_CLOUDS GATHERING._
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We were now orphans, and of that kind most to be pitied, who have fallen
into the hands of a cold and selfish step-uncle. He had a father’s power
over us, without a father’s affection to regulate and sanctify it. There
was no one to supervise his conduct toward us; no appeal from his baseness
or cruelty, unless his acts were so flagrant and unconcealed as to call
down the vengeance of the laws.
This uncle whom we so much dreaded and had so much reason to dread, wore
at first a smooth and pleasing mask. He came every day to see us, and
endeavored by as much civility and kindness as he could counterfeit, to
soften our feelings and satisfy us with our condition. He professed the
deepest sympathy for our poor father’s calamity. He regretted the severity
of the Jewish and Roman laws on the subject of leprosy, but excused them
as a necessary protection to society. He assured us that our father had a
comfortable lodge on the border of the wilderness, and that servants were
despatched every other day with fresh supplies of food and wine and water.
This assurance brought tears to our eyes and comfort to our hearts.
When the storm of our grief had abated a little, we requested to see our
aunt; for we yearned for the presence and sympathy of woman. Magistus
conducted us over to his residence which adjoined our own, but fronted
upon another street. A high brick wall separated his garden from ours. He
had a door cut in this wall so as to facilitate the passage from one house
to another. His mansion was completely concealed from the public eye by a
thick grove of trees which surrounded it. In the most retired chamber of
this quiet and really beautiful place, we found Ulema, my father’s invalid
sister.
She was a middle-aged woman of extreme thinness and pallor. Her face was
waxen-colored and ghastly. There was a wild terrified expression about her
black eyes, which was absolutely painful. She had evidently been a great
sufferer in mind and body. She received us with a faint, sickly smile, and
then her features assumed an expression of profound pity. We supposed this
was on account of the loss of our father. We did not know the reasons
which the poor woman had for pitying any one who came within the shadow of
Magistus.
After the interchange of a few commonplaces, our uncle cut short the visit
on the plea of Ulema’s feeble and nervous condition. This visit was
repeated every Sabbath after the morning sacrifice. Magistus always
accompanied us, and drew us away as quickly as possible. My aunt had
always the same expressions of terror and pity. Thus our repeated
interviews added nothing to our knowledge of her character. In vain we
petitioned Magistus to let us live with our aunt, or to let us visit her
oftener, or to let us stay longer.
Our own home was sadly changed. The furniture, the pictures, the statues,
the fountain, the flowers, were all the same, but there was an air of
silence and melancholy about the whole place, as if the inanimate objects
had felt and shared the misfortunes of the orphan children. There was a
different sphere around us, a different light upon us. The organizing and
unitizing spirit was gone;—the good and wise father, who made all happy
and cheerful about him, and held his little household together in the
sweet bonds of perfect order and peace.
It was a cruel act of Magistus to substitute servants and creatures of his
own for those who had been with us from our infancy. We were soon
surrounded by strange faces, so that our father’s house began to appear to
us, what it really was, a prison. The domestics of an establishment
acquire in time a coloring from the kind of life within it, as insects are
colored by the leaves and bark of the trees they inhabit. Ours were
respectful, obedient and cheerful; these were cunning, insolent and
dishonest.
The chief butler or head servant was, however, a good character, who plays
a remarkable part in my story. He was an African about thirty years of
age, very black and homely. He was a eunuch, and dumb. These
disadvantages, which at first excited a feeling of repulsion, were atoned
for by a singular kindness, deference and sympathy, which were displayed
in his features and manners. The other servants held him in great awe; for
he had been brought from Egypt about three years before by a magician, and
was supposed to be gifted with supernatural power.
It was this advantage in command, as well as a certain kind of talent,
industry and reliability, which induced Magistus to give him the supreme
charge of both households. He had been with us but a few days, before he
had quite won our hearts by his friendly attentions and evident sympathy
for our distress. I, who had been made suspicious by my father’s opinion
of our guardian, detected in the face of Ethopus (for that was his name)
the same expression of pity which shone in the features of our sick aunt.
All this, however, he concealed from Magistus with the greatest care; for
he was always cold and impassive toward us in the presence of his master.
Unfortunately Ethopus was dumb. His communications at this time might have
been of incalculable service to us. I endeavored to learn something of the
habits and character of my uncle from the other servants, but on that
subject they were as dumb as Ethopus; for whenever I approached it, they
manifested signs of fear, and invariably put the finger on the lip.
I became dissatisfied with this secresy. I resolved to teach Ethopus to
read and write, so that he might tell me his own story, and initiate me
into the mysteries and dangers of my position. He comprehended my idea at
once, and came to me secretly at hours when he knew Magistus was absent.
He had made some little progress,—though the difficulties of the first
steps were very great,—when one evening Magistus walked slyly in and
surprised us at our studies. We had been betrayed by one of the servants,
who all acted as spies on each other.
Magistus was in a towering passion. He beat Ethopus severely,
notwithstanding my protestations that I alone was to blame—and drove him
from the room.
Turning fiercely upon me, he exclaimed:
“Do you not know the crime, the danger of teaching that man to write?”
“Oh, uncle!” said I, “what harm is there in bestowing the light of
knowledge upon a poor dumb slave?”
“He was made dumb to keep him from betraying secrets.”
“Horrible!” said I.
“Not my secrets,” he added, cautiously, “but his former master’s. If Simon
Magus thought he could write, he would come all the way from Egypt to cut
his heart out of his body.”
After that event, the sphere of Ethopus’ duty was changed, so that we
rarely saw him.
Several weeks passed away, and we wondered why Caiaphas, from whom our
father expected so much, did not come to see us. He was to aid and
befriend us, and, as I hoped, to deliver us from the control of Magistus.
He had evidently promised all that to our dear father. The priestly
authorities, if properly applied to, surely would not permit the children
of a good and devout man to continue under the influence of a thief and
magician.
Caiaphas at last came. His visit was short: his manner constrained but
polite. He sympathized briefly with our affliction; explained and defended
the Mosaic laws against leprosy; eulogized our father in eloquent terms;
and congratulated us on having such a worthy uncle, who would train us so
carefully in the faith, and who would make our home so happy.
And this was the result of the secret interviews with my father, and of
his solemn warnings against Magistus as a thief and a magician! I was
puzzled and disappointed. I could not help saying:
“Did you know, O Caiaphas! that my father entertained a very different
opinion of this good uncle?”
“Remember, my son,” said he, somewhat abashed, “that your father was very
sick, and his mind greatly impaired. There was no foundation whatever for
his unhappy suspicions. Obey your uncle like good children, and you will
find him all I have represented him to be.” He then retired.
I was too young and ignorant of the ways and wiles of the world, to
suspect that this priest had been all along in collusion with Magistus,
and was to share with him in the plunder of the orphans of his friend.
The words of my father rang in my ear and continually haunted my mind: “He
is a thief and robber, and addicted to magic.”