The Mummy's Foot: Gothic Short Story

By Théophile Gautier

A man enters an antiques shop and buys a mummified foot which supposedly belonged to an Egyptian princess, Hermonthis. He intends to use the foot as a paperweight. In the night, he sees a vision of the princess, who explains her foot has been stolen, and he agrees to return her foot in exchange for a small statuette. The princess steals him away to Egypt where he meets her father and several other ancient pharoahs. Hermonthis' father, Xixouthros, is appropriately pleased that his daughter's foot is returned to the rest of her. Xixouthros ask what he can do in appreciation. The protagonist asks Hermonthis' hand in marriage, which is refused, as he is only 27 and Hermonthis is over 30 centuries, and deserves someone who is equally durable. The protagonist is abruptly woken from this potential dream by the arrival of a friend. Now awake, he observes that the mummified foot that was on his desk has indeed been replaced by the statuette.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Diamond Book Publishing
• Release date: Nov 21, 2019
• ISBN: 9788835335085

Théophile Gautier

Jules Pierre Théophile Gautier, né à Tarbes le 30 août 1811 et mort à Neuilly-sur-Seine le 23 octobre 1872, est un poète, romancier et critique d'art français.

Book preview

THE MUMMY'S FOOT

I had entered, in an idle mood, the shop of one of those curiosity venders who are called marchands de bric-à-brac in that Parisian argot which is so perfectly unintelligible elsewhere in France.

You have doubtless glanced occasionally through the windows of some of these shops, which have become so numerous now that it is fashionable to buy antiquated furniture, and that every petty stockbroker thinks he must have his chambre au moyen âge .

There is one thing there which clings alike to the shop of the dealer in old iron, the ware-room of the tapestry maker, the laboratory of the chemist, and the studio of the painter: in all those gloomy dens where a furtive daylight filters in through the window-shutters the most manifestly ancient thing is dust. The cobwebs are more authentic than the gimp laces, and the old pear-tree furniture on exhibition is actually younger than the mahogany which arrived but yesterday from America.

The warehouse of my bric-à-brac dealer was a veritable Capharnaum. All ages and all nations seemed to have made their rendezvous there. An Etruscan lamp of red clay stood upon a Boule cabinet, with ebony panels, brightly striped by lines of inlaid brass; a duchess of the court of Louis xv. nonchalantly extended her fawn-like feet under