Marianne, A Tale of the Temple

by John Frederick Smith

In the "Bibliotheque Ambrosienne," is an ancient Greek manuscript copy of an epistle by St. Thomas, rejected in the compilation of the New Testament as uninspired, but still regarded by the Church as the authentic production of that apostle. Among many passages of extreme beauty, I was struck by the following:

"The worldly-sighted are as the blind in the presence of the Lord." "Neither shall the subtle triumph over the pure in heart." 

The fading rays of the sun had already cast their parting splendor on the proud City of David, gilding the pinnacles of her magnificent Temple, the crested towers of her battlements, and the lofty summit of Mount Olivet, with that rosy hue which alike marks his rising and setting beauty.

A throng of the inhabitants were issuing from the eastern gate, eager to enjoy the delicious coolness of the approaching evening, which is nowhere more appreciated than in the arid climate of the East. The sage elder and the sacred Levite might be seen bending their steps in sober gravity, pausing alternately to return the salutes of reverence bestowed upon them by the passers-by, or to contemplate, with benevolent satisfaction, the various groups of lovely children that, rejoicing in their freedom from the restraint which the intense heat of the day necessarily imposed, frolicked in innocent play by the side of their watchful mothers.

Occasionally a stern Pharisee, the sanctimonious and scornful expression of whose countenance accorded with the exclusive and peculiar doctrines of his sect, hastily passed the cheerful parties in his way toward the Valley of Jehoshaphat, the gloom of which, increased rather than relieved by the hoarse murmurs of the brook of Kedron, harmonised with the unsocial complexion of his feelings.

The golden beams of the fading luminary glanced yet more faintly from the horizon: the many stars, the gems upon the mantle of night, were beginning to sparkle in the heavens, when the curiosity of the Hebrews was excited by the singular appearance of two travellers, who, descending the mountain, where they had been detained by their involuntary admiration of the scene before them, guided their tired steeds toward Jerusalem.

Both were in the grab of Israelites (probably from one of the cities of the Desert), but formed with an unusual richness of material. The elder was clad in a vest of deep saffron-colored cloth, worked at the hem with threads of gold and purple, which descended to his sandaled feet; a belt of the same device, but exceeding it in cunning work, confined it to the waist; his outer garment, of Tyrian dye ornamented with stripes from the skin of the fox, fell in many folds around his person, and fastened in front with clasps of goodly work. The turban, of twisted white and scarlet linen, was adorned with a scroll, on which Hebrews characters were traced, signifying Aran, of the tribe of Benjamin, a chief of Israel. The face of the wearer was of that expressive character which at once impresses the beholder with an opinion of its shrewdness and determination—an intellectual eye, a well-arched brow, added to its spirit and vivacity—sobered, perhaps, by the sable beard which fell gracefully upon his breast; in place of arms, he wore suspended from his side a stylus, and materials for writing.

The features of the younger bore an almost womanish resemblance to the countenance of his brother, for such was the connection between them. In lieu of the ample beard, the first down of manhood curled lightly round his lip, concealing its naturally scornful expression; his head was cast from that mould of beauty in which the intellectual and voluptuous are equally predominant, and alike suited to the character of a Sardanapalus or Epicurus. Unlike the peaceful bearing of his brother, a light cuirass of gilded steel was girded upon his breast, and a sword depended in a sliver scabbard from his thigh; a bow, with a plentiful supply of arrows, fastened to the head of his saddle, but so lightly as to be ready for instant service, completed his military equipment.

In other respects the grab of the brothers was the same, the inscription upon the scroll of the younger being Eli, of the tribe of Benjamin, a captain in Israel.

The two strangers had approached within hail of the gate of the Holy City, when, as if by mutual consent, they reined in their horses; and the younger of the two, addressing a Hebrew, who for some time had been regarding them with a dissatisfied look, demanded if he could guide them to the house of some person of good repute, where they might be entertained for the night within the walls.

"Is thy servant a dog?" replied the Pharisee—for Eli had addressed one of that stern sect—"or a mule without a name, that he must answer the question of every idler, put without reverence? Speed the way," he continued, "or ask of such as feel bound to answer thee."

"Discourteous contemner of hospitality!" exclaimed the youthful horseman, his brow reddening with anger at the churlish reply he had received, "make me answer speedily, or I will smite thee like a helot!"

And, raising his riding-staff of cedar-wood, he would have executed his threat had not his less irascible companion restrained him.

The astonished Pharisee, accustomed to receive from his followers the most respectful devotion, was vehement in his expression of indignation at the threatened outrage, and soon attracted by his cries a number of the citizen around him.

"What new thing is this?" he began, when he found himself supported by his friends. "Are the dwellers of Jerusalem to be questioned and beaten by every idle scorner? Shall an humble-minded Pharisee, who liveth not as other men live, but walketh in the fear of the Lord, be assailed within bowshot of the holy walls?"

"Shame! shame!" exclaimed the easily-excited Israelites, whom his artful speech had worked upon. "It shall not be permitted. Let the evil-doers he delivered unto the judges. To prison with them!"

"Ay, to prison with them!" reiterated the fanatic, his gloomy countenance relaxing into a smile of malicious satisfaction. "They are delivered into our hands!"

Vain were all attempts on the part of the two travellers to obtain a hearing. A dozen eager grasps secured the weapons of the younger, and rendered his exertions unavailing.

Seeing him disarmed, even the more timid rushed upon them, and would have succeeded in tearing them from their horses had not a loud voice commanded them to desist.

In an instant the tumult was hushed, the Jews recognizing in the speaker the awful presence of the High Priest.

"What idle disturbance is this?" he exclaimed, looking sternly around him. "Is it thus the children of Israel receive their strange brethren? Is it not written that the wanderer is the guest of the Most High? And ye assail them as they were thieves and murderers. Give me answer! Why have ye done the evil?"

"They have railed at and beaten a holy Pharisee," replied an opulent citizen, one of the most forward in the outrage.

"False witness! " interrupted Aran, for the first time breaking silence; "no blow had been struck but by thee and thy ungovernable companions. Honored of Judea," he continued, bowing in deep humility, "thy servants are from the Desert, journeying to Jerusalem to worship in the Temple, as is the custom of our people. My brother did but request yon Pharisee to guide us to some house of good resort—for we are strangers—when he replied with most inhospitable scorn, which, with the intemperance of youth, his questioner retorted; these, his friends and followers, surrounded us. Their violence thou hast witnessed. Judge, then, between us."

"Is this so?" said the indignant High Priest, directing his glance toward the abashed hypocrite. "Begone! Know that charity is a garb more sacred than the vestment of outward observance, and that the worst pride is that of the self-righteous. You," he continued, to the rebuked Hebrews, "conduct these strangers to my dwelling. They are guests whom the Lord hath sent me.'

And, without waiting to receive their thanks, the holy man pursued his way.

Their guides now became as officious in their kindness as they had been before offensive in their hostily. Strangers who had quarrelled with a Pharisee, and the favored guests of the High Priest, were widely different persons in the estimation of the Jews, who vied with each other in attentions and excuse for their former outrage.

Arrived at the stately palace where fortune had so unexpectedly provided them with a home, they were first conducted to the bath—that indispensable article of Eastern hospitality—and, after refreshing themselves, left by the obsequious attendants to repose.

"This is beyond my hope!" exclaimed the elder, as soon as they were alone. "Belus prospers our design; the very house of our enemy is open to us. Not for another Babylon would I forego my triumph!"

"And yet," replied Eli, musingly, "the old man was kind to us; but for his aid we might have perished 'neath the violence of the people. It was the dotard's fate."

"But what," continued Aran, bending his brow, "is the meaning of this coldness? Hast thou forgot thine oath to the mighty gods of Babylon, that the fairest maiden of Israel shall be their scorn—even the daughter of this hoary priest?"

"No," replied the younger, firmly; "it is registered with thine. Beauty hath ever been my passion—my destiny. None ever yet escaped my arts. I will make vengeance a pleasure, and add this famed Marianne to the number; then, in our father's hall will we mock at the virtue of'Jerusalem."

"While I," resumed his brother, "profane their detested Temple, the rival of our imperial city, enter its mysterious sanctuary, and erect upon its shrine this symbol of our worship."

As he spoke, the disguised idolater dress from his vest a golden image of his deity, which, for the daring purpose he had avowed, he carried secreted upon his person. Learned beyond the spirit of their time, both the brothers were well calculated to sustain the characters they had assumed—that of travelling Israelites from one of the cities of the Desert.

The evening meal was prepared upon the housetop, as was the custom in the city, in that the inhabitants might enjoy the only hours of coolness which the summer season afforded them. There did the virtuous Simeon and his fair and innocent child, await the arrival of the guests. Accustomed even as the younger had been to the voluptuous beauties of his father's court, he was electrified by the superior loveliness of Marianne, who, half-reclining on a pile of cushions by the side of her venerable parent, gently inclined her head at their approach. Her figure might have been termed fragile but for the exquisite harmony of its proportions, which the folds of her white cymar could not entirely conceal; her faced possessed all the characteristic regularity of the noble and high-born of her race—raven hair, arched brows, and black, lustrous eyes, relieved by a complexion which even the daughters of the North might have envied for its fairness; but it was in her garden, or while attending upon her father, her veil cast freely aside, moving like a spirit more than a being of the earth, that the full splendor of her beauty was revealed.

She seemed a thing of God and light,
Too pure for love or sin to blight;
A seraph, prisoned from her birth
Within that loveliest shrine of earth. 

Before commencing the repast, the High Priest offered up his thanksgiving to the bounteous Creator of all things, a duty in which the strangers joined, the elder having first, unseen by any but his brother, spat upon the ground, as in abhorrence of the rite.

Eli was too wary to startle his intended victim by open and intense admiration; gently and imperceptibly, like the approach of the poisonous adder, he endeavored to beguile her into conversation, carefully choosing themes of beauty and virtue, as more congenial to her retiring nature; while Aran, anxious to assist his brothers detestable design, engaged his unsuspecting host in deep discourse, who, charmed by the wisdom and seeming piety he displayed, congratulated himself on entertaining such an honorable guest.

Time passed rapidly, and the High Priest was surprised to find, on the first pause that 'ensued, that the shades of evening had already deepened into night. Meanwhile, the gifted but impious Eli had made good use of his opportunity with the unsuspicious Marianne.

"Time hath passed swiftly," observed her father; "the hour of rest to man has come; but first, child, thy lute. I would not to my couch without my accustomed hymn."

The maiden obeyed, but felt in doing so, she knew not why, a tremor and hesitation, which subsided, however, as the sacred song burst in harmony from her lips:

I have read the Lord's might in the fair evening star,
In the pure worlds of light he hath scattered afar;
Not more wondrous their orbs, as the proof of His
Than the insect whose home is the bright-tinted flower.
I have heard His stern voice in the deep thunder's sound,
In the rear of the tempest his wrath scattered round;
Yet his dread will is spoken, as plain as in these,
When borne on the delicate voice of the breeze.
Oh, there is not a thing that hath being or life,
From the emmet's small form to the ocean's wild strife,
The dew on the stem, or the life-giving shower,
But are pledges alike of His wisdom and power. 

After receiving the benediction of their host, they parted for the night—Eli to indulge in intoxicating dreams of pleasure, and Marianne, for the first time in her life, to an unquiet couch.

Who can read the human heart? Man? He is the slave of its devices. Woman? She is the victim of its weakness. It is a mystery even to the angels who stand before the throne of the Eternal. His wisdom who framed can alone unravel it.

Marianne's innocent and unsuspicious nature, guileless itself, suspected not guile in others; her heart was easily captivated by the gifted form and eloquent tone of the idolator, who, beneath the veil of seeming virtue, concealed the consummate art of the refined betrayer.

His first attempt was to prevail on her to conceal from her venerable parent the knowledge of their passion, pleading in excuse for such a breach of duty that the rank and pride of the High Priest would reject so poor a suitor.

The young mind, trembling over the secret of its earliest love, is easily convinced by the tongue most dear to it. After an internal struggle with her sense of duty, the maiden promised.

By the most tender assiduity, by the most unremitting attention, he succeeded in possessing her affections so entirely that her being became wrapt up in his. Had Eli escaped heart-whole? No; the passion glowed in his own bosom with intense ardor; more than honor was now pledged for the success of his impious schemes—his happiness, his life. Both, he felt, depended on the smile of Marianne. His thoughts, his dreams I were of her.

"How much longer is this irresolution to last?" impatiently demanded Aran, whom a residence of several weeks in Jerusaleum had renderied impatient. "Ere this I might have performed my vow had I not waited for thee, loiterer. You boast that this paragon loves you—hath, at your bidding, concealed it from her father. Yet," he added, scornfully, "I see no proof of your success."

"You know not the purity I have to cope with," replied the lover.

"She is a woman," answered his companion, with a sneer; "one of a sex with whom, till now, Eli hath held his arts invincible."

"And they shall prove so," answered the youth, stung by the sarcastic manner of his brother. "This night both our designs shall be accomplished. If I have power to move her, this night shall she meet me in the Temple."

"I will station our concealed followers near," added Aran. "Our triumph once secured, farewell Jerusalem!"

With this understanding, they parted. To dwell upon the arts, the tears, the entreaties, by which Eli prevailed upon the confiding girl to grant him the required meeting, were to delay the interest of my readers—sufficient that his eloquence was successful, and Marianne was pledged to meet her lover at midnight.

"What have I done?" she exclaimed, when alone, and her feelings, which had been artfully excited, became more subdued—"promised to quit my father's roof to hold a meeting with my suitor? Alas! it is not thus that Israel's daughter should be wooed; there must be wrong in this, and sin," she added, as her naturally fine sense pictured the appointment in its proper light. A blush fell upon the maiden's cheek at the mere thought. "God of Abraham," she continued, sinking on her knees, "I am motherless—be Thou my guide; I am weak—be Thou my help, my counsellor!"

As she spoke, her father entered the chamber. He had just returned from the midday service in the Temple, the holy ephod shone resplendent upon his breast, and upon his brow the mitre blazed with the ineffable name of God.

His arrival at that moment seemed an answer to her prayer.

She dared not resist the omen, but casting herself at his feet, declared, with tears and blushes, her love for the young stranger, and the tumult the concealment had created in her soul.

Anger was the first emotion of the High Priest on hearing the strange—and to him unexpected—confession; a feeling which soon yielded to the natural benevolence of his heart, the tears of his daughter, and anxiety for her happiness.

"Rise, my child!" he exclaimed. "If thou lovest the youth, and he proves worthy of thee, my blessing shall not be wanting to thy union. Meet him in the Temple, since thy word is given—its holiness will be a safeguard against all idle thoughts—and there reveal unto Eli the secret of his happiness.

With a light heart and beaming countenance the now happy girl sank upon the breast of her parent.

It was midnight. An awful gloom obscured the heavens; not a ray of light, save from the ever-burning golden lamps, illuminated the vast court of the Levites. Two figures might be seen by their mild beams pacing the marble pavement. They were the idolators.

"The hour I have dreamed of is at hand!" exclaimed the elder, proudly drawing the golden image at the same time from his vest. "Belus, soon shalt thou be avenged!"

"Peace!" said his brother, eagerly, as he beheld a veiled figure approaching through the cloister. "She comes—my prize—the richest gem of Israel! Away to the fulfilment of your oath!"

Aran, without replying, hastened to the accomplishment of his impious design, while Eli advanced to meet his intended victim.

"Marianne," said the accomplished dissembler, taking her by the hand, "this is a lonely hour, but suited to our parting."

"Parting!" reiterated the maiden, with a look of surprise.

"I cannot live," he continued, "so near to heaven, and yet continue hopeless. This fever of my heart will end me. I fly, ere reason follows my wreck of happiness."

"And is that the only grief?" demanded his happy mistress, with a smile.

"Can it be?" exclaimed Eli, reproachfully, "that you mock my misery? Then, indeed, life hath lost its hope."

"Not so," replied the blushing girl; '"it never blossomed fairer, Eli, dear. Eli, restrain thy happiness; listen calmly while I tell thee that my father knows of our love—and sanctions it!" she added, eagerly, alarmed at the aghast expression of his countenance. "Did I not tell thee we had wronged his generous nature by unwise concealment!"

This was a blow little calculated upon by the concealed idolater. For a few moments he was speechless from surprise and disappointment. He had now no pretext for urging their flight, on which his hopes depended.

After a struggle with the bitterness of his feelings, he seized the hand of the confiding virgin. "Mariane, dost thou love me? Answer me, for I am frantic! Canst thou, for my sake, cast aside the prejudices of thy nation—of thy faith?" he added, in a deep, low tone, fearful lest the marble columns should echo his impiety. "Hear me! Shrink not—stir not! I am no Israelite."

Had a thunderbolt fallen at the foot of his astonished listener, she could not have been transfixed with greater horror.

Shrinking from his side, she fell upon her knees, veiling her brow to hide the intenseness of her agony.

"Listen, fairest of earth!" he continued. "It is no wandering outcast of the desert who hath devoted to thee his love, but the son of regal Babylon, the second of his race. His powerful brother, who even now is wandering in the Temple, loves him. His father hath many realms. A crown awaits thy royal brow."

Encouraged by her motionless silence, he ventured to take her hand. She shuddered, and withdrew it as from the embrace of a serpant.

Rising gracefully, and unveiling her tearless countenance, in which, however, strong traces of mental agitation and outraged feeling were visible, the maiden calmly replied:

"Idolator, I have heart thee; and if I punish not they insolence to the daughter of the High Priest of Israel, it is that contempt is stronger than anger. Farewell!"

"Marianne!" he uttered, frantically, "thou hast never loved me!"

"Would I never had!" she replied, mournfully; "I then had escaped this shame and sin. But thy venom is harmless—thou hast thyself, in revealing thy true character, performed the cure."

"Cold and insensible!" he muttered, "but I will not be baffled. One dear revenge is in my power!"

Approaching her, he would have clasped her in his arms; but she, perceiving his design, retreated to an adjacent column.

"Advance one step," she exclaimed, flushed with virtuous indignation, "and I yield thee to thy fate! One blow"—pointing to a silver gong suspended within her reach—"and a thousand Levites fill the court! One word from these lips consigns thee to the doom of sacrilege! Begone! and know Marianne of Judea scorns and pardons thee."

With a heart overwhelmed with gall and disappointment, Eli rushed from her presence.

For some time the excited girl remained in humble prayer that Being who had given her strength to struggle with the weakness of her passion, and resist the seducer's art.

"Eternal Father!" she exclaimed, as a sudden thought rushed upon her brain, "heathen are in the Temple, and thy holy sanctuary unguarded. Must I, then, give him to the death? Be it," she added, choking with tears and agitation, "my atonement!"

With desperate resolution, she struck the gong. The summons brought a crowd of priests and her father to her presence.

A few words revealed the real character of the strangers.

"To the sanctuary!" said the High Priest, trembling with indignation. "Lord, let not this evil be accomplished!"

Rashly the terrified Levites rushed to the gates which led to its awful precinct. They were fastened.

"To the galleries!" they exclaimed; "there we may behold them."

In pursuit of his impious purpose, Aran had reached the portal which led to the Holy of Holies, and, to prevent surprise, fastened after him the ponderous doors. His foot was upon the steps, at whose termination hung that mysterious veil which no human hand save the High Priest's might raise, and then but on the feast of atonement for the sins of the people, where the thronging Hebrews appeared in the galleries above.

"Behold, ye priests of Israel," exclaimed the idolator, in scorn, waving at the same time the golden image over his head, "the emblem of great Belus! That will I place within your sanctuary—to him will I re-dedicate your Temple."

He reached the topmost step as he spoke. The High Priest and Levites bowed their heads in shame to avoid witnessing the fearful profanation. But scarcely had his daring hand touched the embroidered hem of the sacred veil, when the thunder pealed within the sanctuary, and a ray of light more intense than the concentrated brilliancy of a thousand suns darted through the scarce perceptible opening, struck the worshipper of Belus to the ground, and burst asunder the strong-barred gates. Well was it for the Hebrews that they had veiled their sight—no mortal eyes could have endured the splendor of that blaze. The now sightless orbs of the idolator were melted in their sockets. He was instantly secured by the awe-stricken priests. At the same time, Eli, who had been found lurking in the Temple, was led by a party of Levites before the High Priest.

"Harm them not!" he exclaimed; "unscathed by mortal hands let them depart, the scoff of Israel, a warning to the heathen. The Eternal hath pronounced their punishment, and man's wrath may not efface the record of the living God."

Unharmed and in silence, the baffled and the blind together left the temple.

Warragul Guardian and Buln Buln and Narracan Shire Advocate, Thursday 4 November 1880, supplement page 2