Kabanata Kabanata 1 · THE FEAST

. THE FEAST

It was at Megara, a suburb of Carthage, in the gardens of Hamilcar. The

soldiers whom he had commanded in Sicily were having a great feast to

celebrate the anniversary of the battle of Eryx, and as the master was

away, and they were numerous, they ate and drank with perfect freedom.

The captains, who wore bronze cothurni, had placed themselves in the

central path, beneath a gold-fringed purple awning, which reached from

the wall of the stables to the first terrace of the palace; the common

soldiers were scattered beneath the trees, where numerous flat-roofed

buildings might be seen, wine-presses, cellars, storehouses, bakeries,

and arsenals, with a court for elephants, dens for wild beasts, and a

prison for slaves.

Fig-trees surrounded the kitchens; a wood of sycamores stretched away to

meet masses of verdure, where the pomegranate shone amid the white tufts

of the cotton-plant; vines, grape-laden, grew up into the branches of

the pines; a field of roses bloomed beneath the plane-trees; here and

there lilies rocked upon the turf; the paths were strewn with black sand

mingled with powdered coral, and in the centre the avenue of cypress

formed, as it were, a double colonnade of green obelisks from one

extremity to the other.

Far in the background stood the palace, built of yellow mottled Numidian

marble, broad courses supporting its four terraced stories. With its

large, straight, ebony staircase, bearing the prow of a vanquished

galley at the corners of every step, its red doors quartered with black

crosses, its brass gratings protecting it from scorpions below, and its

trellises of gilded rods closing the apertures above, it seemed to the

soldiers in its haughty opulence as solemn and impenetrable as the face

of Hamilcar.

The Council had appointed his house for the holding of this feast; the

convalescents lying in the temple of Eschmoun had set out at daybreak

and dragged themselves thither on their crutches. Every minute others

were arriving. They poured in ceaselessly by every path like torrents

rushing into a lake; through the trees the slaves of the kitchens might

be seen running scared and half-naked; the gazelles fled bleating on the

lawns; the sun was setting, and the perfume of citron trees rendered the

exhalation from the perspiring crowd heavier still.

Men of all nations were there, Ligurians, Lusitanians, Balearians,

Negroes, and fugitives from Rome. Beside the heavy Dorian dialect were

audible the resonant Celtic syllables rattling like chariots of war,

while Ionian terminations conflicted with consonants of the desert

as harsh as the jackal’s cry. The Greek might be recognised by his

slender figure, the Egyptian by his elevated shoulders, the Cantabrian

by his broad calves. There were Carians proudly nodding their helmet

plumes, Cappadocian archers displaying large flowers painted on their

bodies with the juice of herbs, and a few Lydians in women’s robes,

dining in slippers and earrings. Others were ostentatiously daubed with

vermilion, and resembled coral statues.

They stretched themselves on the cushions, they ate squatting round

large trays, or lying face downwards they drew out the pieces of meat

and sated themselves, leaning on their elbows in the peaceful posture

of lions tearing their prey. The last comers stood leaning against the

trees watching the low tables half hidden beneath the scarlet coverings,

and awaiting their turn.

Hamilcar’s kitchens being insufficient, the Council had sent them

slaves, ware, and beds, and in the middle of the garden, as on a

battle-field when they burn the dead, large bright fires might be seen,

at which oxen were roasting. Anise-sprinkled loaves alternated with

great cheeses heavier than discuses, crateras filled with wine,

and cantharuses filled with water, together with baskets of gold

filigree-work containing flowers. Every eye was dilated with the joy of

being able at last to gorge at pleasure, and songs were beginning here

and there.

First they were served with birds and green sauce in plates of red clay

relieved by drawings in black, then with every kind of shell-fish that

is gathered on the Punic coasts, wheaten porridge, beans and barley, and

snails dressed with cumin on dishes of yellow amber.

Afterwards the tables were covered with meats, antelopes with their

horns, peacocks with their feathers, whole sheep cooked in sweet wine,

haunches of she-camels and buffaloes, hedgehogs with garum, fried

grasshoppers, and preserved dormice. Large pieces of fat floated in the

midst of saffron in bowls of Tamrapanni wood. Everything was running

over with wine, truffles, and asafotida. Pyramids of fruit were

crumbling upon honeycombs, and they had not forgotten a few of those

plump little dogs with pink silky hair and fattened on olive lees,—a

Carthaginian dish held in abhorrence among other nations. Surprise at

the novel fare excited the greed of the stomach. The Gauls with

their long hair drawn up on the crown of the head, snatched at the

water-melons and lemons, and crunched them up with the rind. The

Negroes, who had never seen a lobster, tore their faces with its red

prickles. But the shaven Greeks, whiter than marble, threw the leavings

of their plates behind them, while the herdsmen from Brutium, in their

wolf-skin garments, devoured in silence with their faces in their

portions.

Night fell. The velarium, spread over the cypress avenue, was drawn

back, and torches were brought.

The apes, sacred to the moon, were terrified on the cedar tops by the

wavering lights of the petroleum as it burned in the porphyry vases.

They uttered screams which afforded mirth to the soldiers.

Oblong flames trembled in cuirasses of brass. Every kind of

scintillation flashed from the gem-incrusted dishes. The crateras with

their borders of convex mirrors multiplied and enlarged the images of

things; the soldiers thronged around, looking at their reflections with

amazement, and grimacing to make themselves laugh. They tossed the ivory

stools and golden spatulas to one another across the tables. They gulped

down all the Greek wines in their leathern bottles, the Campanian wine

enclosed in amphoras, the Cantabrian wines brought in casks, with the

wines of the jujube, cinnamomum and lotus. There were pools of these on

the ground that made the foot slip. The smoke of the meats ascended into

the foliage with the vapour of the breath. Simultaneously were heard

the snapping of jaws, the noise of speech, songs, and cups, the crash of

Campanian vases shivering into a thousand pieces, or the limpid sound of

a large silver dish.

In proportion as their intoxication increased they more and more

recalled the injustice of Carthage. The Republic, in fact, exhausted by

the war, had allowed all the returning bands to accumulate in the town.

Gisco, their general, had however been prudent enough to send them back

severally in order to facilitate the liquidation of their pay, and

the Council had believed that they would in the end consent to some

reduction. But at present ill-will was caused by the inability to pay

them. This debt was confused in the minds of the people with the 3200

Euboic talents exacted by Lutatius, and equally with Rome they were

regarded as enemies to Carthage. The Mercenaries understood this, and

their indignation found vent in threats and outbreaks. At last they

demanded permission to assemble to celebrate one of their victories,

and the peace party yielded, at the same time revenging themselves on

Hamilcar who had so strongly upheld the war. It had been terminated

notwithstanding all his efforts, so that, despairing of Carthage, he

had entrusted the government of the Mercenaries to Gisco. To appoint his

palace for their reception was to draw upon him something of the hatred

which was borne to them. Moreover, the expense must be excessive, and he

would incur nearly the whole.

Proud of having brought the Republic to submit, the Mercenaries thought

that they were at last about to return to their homes with the payment

for their blood in the hoods of their cloaks. But as seen through the

mists of intoxication, their fatigues seemed to them prodigious and but

ill-rewarded. They showed one another their wounds, they told of their

combats, their travels and the hunting in their native lands. They

imitated the cries and the leaps of wild beasts. Then came unclean

wagers; they buried their heads in the amphoras and drank on without

interruption, like thirsty dromedaries. A Lusitanian of gigantic stature

ran over the tables, carrying a man in each hand at arm’s length, and

spitting out fire through his nostrils. Some Lacedæmonians, who had not

taken off their cuirasses, were leaping with a heavy step. Some advanced

like women, making obscene gestures; others stripped naked to fight amid

the cups after the fashion of gladiators, and a company of Greeks danced

around a vase whereon nymphs were to be seen, while a Negro tapped with

an ox-bone on a brazen buckler.

Suddenly they heard a plaintive song, a song loud and soft, rising and

falling in the air like the wing-beating of a wounded bird.

It was the voice of the slaves in the ergastulum. Some soldiers rose at

a bound to release them and disappeared.

They returned, driving through the dust amid shouts, twenty men,

distinguished by their greater paleness of face. Small black felt caps

of conical shape covered their shaven heads; they all wore wooden shoes,

and yet made a noise as of old iron like driving chariots.

They reached the avenue of cypress, where they were lost among the crowd

of those questioning them. One of them remained apart, standing. Through

the rents in his tunic his shoulders could be seen striped with long

scars. Drooping his chin, he looked round him with distrust, closing his

eyelids somewhat against the dazzling light of the torches, but when

he saw that none of the armed men were unfriendly to him, a great sigh

escaped from his breast; he stammered, he sneered through the bright

tears that bathed his face. At last he seized a brimming cantharus by

its rings, raised it straight up into the air with his outstretched

arms, from which his chains hung down, and then looking to heaven, and

still holding the cup he said:

“Hail first to thee, Baal-Eschmoun, the deliverer, whom the people of

my country call Æsculapius! and to you, genii of the fountains, light,

and woods! and to you, ye gods hidden beneath the mountains and in the

caverns of the earth! and to you, strong men in shining armour who have

set me free!”

Then he let fall the cup and related his history. He was called

Spendius. The Carthaginians had taken him in the battle of Æginusæ,

and he thanked the Mercenaries once more in Greek, Ligurian and Punic;

he kissed their hands; finally, he congratulated them on the banquet,

while expressing his surprise at not perceiving the cups of the Sacred

Legion. These cups, which bore an emerald vine on each of their

six golden faces, belonged to a corps composed exclusively of young

patricians of the tallest stature. They were a privilege, almost a

sacerdotal distinction, and accordingly nothing among the treasures

of the Republic was more coveted by the Mercenaries. They detested the

Legion on this account, and some of them had been known to risk their

lives for the inconceivable pleasure of drinking out of these cups.

Accordingly they commanded that the cups should be brought. They were

in the keeping of the Syssitia, companies of traders, who had a common

table. The slaves returned. At that hour all the members of the Syssitia

were asleep.

“Let them be awakened!” responded the Mercenaries.

After a second excursion it was explained to them that the cups were

shut up in a temple.

“Let it be opened!” they replied.

And when the slaves confessed with trembling that they were in the

possession of Gisco, the general, they cried out:

“Let him bring them!”

Gisco soon appeared at the far end of the garden with an escort of the

Sacred Legion. His full, black cloak, which was fastened on his head to

a golden mitre starred with precious stones, and which hung all about

him down to his horse’s hoofs, blended in the distance with the colour

of the night. His white beard, the radiancy of his head-dress, and his

triple necklace of broad blue plates beating against his breast, were

alone visible.

When he entered, the soldiers greeted him with loud shouts, all crying:

“The cups! The cups!”

He began by declaring that if reference were had to their courage, they

were worthy of them.

The crowd applauded and howled with joy.

He knew it, he who had commanded them over yonder, and had returned with

the last cohort in the last galley!

“True! True!” said they.

Nevertheless, Gisco continued, the Republic had respected their national

divisions, their customs, and their modes of worship; in Carthage

they were free! As to the cups of the Sacred Legion, they were private

property. Suddenly a Gaul, who was close to Spendius, sprang over the

tables and ran straight up to Gisco, gesticulating and threatening him

with two naked swords.

Without interrupting his speech, the General struck him on the head with

his heavy ivory staff, and the Barbarian fell. The Gauls howled, and

their frenzy, which was spreading to the others, would soon have swept

away the legionaries. Gisco shrugged his shoulders as he saw them

growing pale. He thought that his courage would be useless against these

exasperated brute beasts. It would be better to revenge himself upon

them by some artifice later; accordingly, he signed to his soldiers and

slowly withdrew. Then, turning in the gateway towards the Mercenaries,

he cried to them that they would repent of it.

The feast recommenced. But Gisco might return, and by surrounding the

suburb, which was beside the last ramparts, might crush them against the

walls. Then they felt themselves alone in spite of their crowd, and the

great town sleeping beneath them in the shade suddenly made them afraid,

with its piles of staircases, its lofty black houses, and its vague gods

fiercer even than its people. In the distance a few ships’-lanterns

were gliding across the harbour, and there were lights in the temple of

Khamon. They thought of Hamilcar. Where was he? Why had he forsaken

them when peace was concluded? His differences with the Council were

doubtless but a pretence in order to destroy them. Their unsatisfied

hate recoiled upon him, and they cursed him, exasperating one another

with their own anger. At this juncture they collected together beneath

the plane-trees to see a slave who, with eyeballs fixed, neck contorted,

and lips covered with foam, was rolling on the ground, and beating the

soil with his limbs. Some one cried out that he was poisoned. All then

believed themselves poisoned. They fell upon the slaves, a terrible

clamour was raised, and a vertigo of destruction came like a whirlwind

upon the drunken army. They struck about them at random, they smashed,

they slew; some hurled torches into the foliage; others, leaning over

the lions’ balustrade, massacred the animals with arrows; the most

daring ran to the elephants, desiring to cut down their trunks and eat

ivory.

Some Balearic slingers, however, who had gone round the corner of the

palace, in order to pillage more conveniently, were checked by a lofty

barrier, made of Indian cane. They cut the lock-straps with their

daggers, and then found themselves beneath the front that faced

Carthage, in another garden full of trimmed vegetation. Lines of white

flowers all following one another in regular succession formed long

parabolas like star-rockets on the azure-coloured earth. The gloomy

bushes exhaled warm and honied odours. There were trunks of trees

smeared with cinnabar, which resembled columns covered with blood. In

the centre were twelve pedestals, each supporting a great glass ball,

and these hollow globes were indistinctly filled with reddish lights,

like enormous and still palpitating eyeballs. The soldiers lighted

themselves with torches as they stumbled on the slope of the deeply

laboured soil.

But they perceived a little lake divided into several basins by walls

of blue stones. So limpid was the wave that the flames of the torches

quivered in it at the very bottom, on a bed of white pebbles and golden

dust. It began to bubble, luminous spangles glided past, and great fish

with gems about their mouths, appeared near the surface.

With much laughter the soldiers slipped their fingers into the gills and

brought them to the tables. They were the fish of the Barca family, and

were all descended from those primordial lotes which had hatched the

mystic egg wherein the goddess was concealed. The idea of committing

a sacrilege revived the greediness of the Mercenaries; they speedily

placed fire beneath some brazen vases, and amused themselves by watching

the beautiful fish struggling in the boiling water.

The surge of soldiers pressed on. They were no longer afraid. They

commenced to drink again. Their ragged tunics were wet with the perfumes

that flowed in large drops from their foreheads, and resting both fists

on the tables, which seemed to them to be rocking like ships, they

rolled their great drunken eyes around to devour by sight what they

could not take. Others walked amid the dishes on the purple table

covers, breaking ivory stools, and phials of Tyrian glass to pieces with

their feet. Songs mingled with the death-rattle of the slaves expiring

amid the broken cups. They demanded wine, meat, gold. They cried out for

women. They raved in a hundred languages. Some thought that they were at

the vapour baths on account of the steam which floated around them,

or else, catching sight of the foliage, imagined that they were at

the chase, and rushed upon their companions as upon wild beasts. The

conflagration spread to all the trees, one after another, and the lofty

mosses of verdure, emitting long white spirals, looked like volcanoes

beginning to smoke. The clamour redoubled; the wounded lions roared in

the shade.

In an instant the highest terrace of the palace was illuminated, the

central door opened, and a woman, Hamilcar’s daughter herself, clothed

in black garments, appeared on the threshold. She descended the first

staircase, which ran obliquely along the first story, then the second,

and the third, and stopped on the last terrace at the head of the galley

staircase. Motionless and with head bent, she gazed upon the soldiers.

Behind her, on each side, were two long shadows of pale men, clad in

white, red-fringed robes, which fell straight to their feet. They had no

beard, no hair, no eyebrows. In their hands, which sparkled with rings,

they carried enormous lyres, and with shrill voice they sang a hymn to

the divinity of Carthage. They were the eunuch priests of the temple of

Tanith, who were often summoned by Salammbô to her house.

At last she descended the galley staircase. The priests followed her.

She advanced into the avenue of cypress, and walked slowly through the

tables of the captains, who drew back somewhat as they watched her pass.

Her hair, which was powdered with violet sand, and combined into the

form of a tower, after the fashion of the Chanaanite maidens, added to

her height. Tresses of pearls were fastened to her temples, and fell to

the corners of her mouth, which was as rosy as a half-open pomegranate.

On her breast was a collection of luminous stones, their variegation

imitating the scales of the murena. Her arms were adorned with diamonds,

and issued naked from her sleeveless tunic, which was starred with

red flowers on a perfectly black ground. Between her ankles she wore a

golden chainlet to regulate her steps, and her large dark purple mantle,

cut of an unknown material, trailed behind her, making, as it were, at

each step, a broad wave which followed her.

The priests played nearly stifled chords on their lyres from time to

time, and in the intervals of the music might be heard the tinkling of

the little golden chain, and the regular patter of her papyrus sandals.

No one as yet was acquainted with her. It was only known that she led a

retired life, engaged in pious practices. Some soldiers had seen her in

the night on the summit of her palace kneeling before the stars amid the

eddyings from kindled perfuming-pans. It was the moon that had made her

so pale, and there was something from the gods that enveloped her like a

subtle vapour. Her eyes seemed to gaze far beyond terrestrial space. She

bent her head as she walked, and in her right hand she carried a little

ebony lyre.

They heard her murmur:

“Dead! All dead! No more will you come obedient to my voice as when,

seated on the edge of the lake, I used to throw seeds of the watermelon

into your mouths! The mystery of Tanith ranged in the depths of your

eyes that were more limpid than the globules of rivers.” And she called

them by their names, which were those of the months—“Siv! Sivan!

Tammouz, Eloul, Tischri, Schebar! Ah! have pity on me, goddess!”

The soldiers thronged about her without understanding what she said.

They wondered at her attire, but she turned a long frightened look upon

them all, then sinking her head beneath her shoulders, and waving her

arms, she repeated several times:

“What have you done? what have you done?

“Yet you had bread, and meats and oil, and all the malobathrum of the

granaries for your enjoyment! I had brought oxen from Hecatompylos;

I had sent hunters into the desert!” Her voice swelled; her cheeks

purpled. She added, “Where, pray, are you now? In a conquered town,

or in the palace of a master? And what master? Hamilcar the Suffet, my

father, the servant of the Baals! It was he who withheld from Lutatius

those arms of yours, red now with the blood of his slaves! Know you of

any in your own lands more skilled in the conduct of battles? Look! our

palace steps are encumbered with our victories! Ah! desist not! burn

it! I will carry away with me the genius of my house, my black serpent

slumbering up yonder on lotus leaves! I will whistle and he will follow

me, and if I embark in a galley he will speed in the wake of my ship

over the foam of the waves.”

Her delicate nostrils were quivering. She crushed her nails against the

gems on her bosom. Her eyes drooped, and she resumed:

“Ah! poor Carthage! lamentable city! No longer hast thou for thy

protection the strong men of former days who went beyond the oceans to

build temples on their shores. All the lands laboured about thee, and

the sea-plains, ploughed by thine oars, rocked with thy harvests.”

Then she began to sing the adventures of Melkarth, the god of the

Sidonians, and the father of her family.

She told of the ascent of the mountains of Ersiphonia, the journey to

Tartessus, and the war against Masisabal to avenge the queen of the

serpents:

“He pursued the female monster, whose tail undulated over the dead

leaves like a silver brook, into the forest, and came to a plain where

women with dragon-croups were round a great fire, standing erect on the

points of their tails. The blood-coloured moon was shining within a

pale circle, and their scarlet tongues, cloven like the harpoons of

fishermen, reached curling forth to the very edge of the flame.”

Then Salammbô, without pausing, related how Melkarth, after vanquishing

Masisabal, placed her severed head on the prow of his ship. “At each

throb of the waves it sank beneath the foam, but the sun embalmed it; it

became harder than gold; nevertheless the eyes ceased not to weep, and

the tears fell into the water continually.”

She sang all this in an old Chanaanite idiom, which the Barbarians did

not understand. They asked one another what she could be saying to them

with those frightful gestures which accompanied her speech, and mounted

round about her on the tables, beds, and sycamore boughs, they strove

with open mouths and craned necks to grasp the vague stories hovering

before their imaginations, through the dimness of the theogonies, like

phantoms wrapped in cloud.

Only the beardless priests understood Salammbô; their wrinkled hands,

which hung over the strings of their lyres, quivered, and from time

to time they would draw forth a mournful chord; for, feebler than old

women, they trembled at once with mystic emotion, and with the

fear inspired by men. The Barbarians heeded them not, but listened

continually to the maiden’s song.

None gazed at her like a young Numidian chief, who was placed at the

captains’ tables among soldiers of his own nation. His girdle so

bristled with darts that it formed a swelling in his ample cloak,

which was fastened on his temples with a leather lace. The cloth parted

asunder as it fell upon his shoulders, and enveloped his countenance in

shadow, so that only the fires of his two fixed eyes could be seen. It

was by chance that he was at the feast, his father having domiciled him

with the Barca family, according to the custom by which kings used to

send their children into the households of the great in order to pave

the way for alliances; but Narr’ Havas had lodged there for six months

without having hitherto seen Salammbô, and now, seated on his heels,

with his head brushing the handles of his javelins, he was watching her

with dilated nostrils, like a leopard crouching among the bamboos.

On the other side of the tables was a Libyan of colossal stature, and

with short black curly hair. He had retained only his military jacket,

the brass plates of which were tearing the purple of the couch. A

necklace of silver moons was tangled in his hairy breast. His face was

stained with splashes of blood; he was leaning on his left elbow with a

smile on his large, open mouth.

Salammbô had abandoned the sacred rhythm. With a woman’s subtlety she

was simultaneously employing all the dialects of the Barbarians in order

to appease their anger. To the Greeks she spoke Greek; then she turned

to the Ligurians, the Campanians, the Negroes, and listening to her each

one found again in her voice the sweetness of his native land. She now,

carried away by the memories of Carthage, sang of the ancient battles

against Rome; they applauded. She kindled at the gleaming of the naked

swords, and cried aloud with outstretched arms. Her lyre fell, she was

silent; and, pressing both hands upon her heart, she remained for some

minutes with closed eyelids enjoying the agitation of all these men.

Matho, the Libyan, leaned over towards her. Involuntarily she approached

him, and impelled by grateful pride, poured him a long stream of wine

into a golden cup in order to conciliate the army.

“Drink!” she said.

He took the cup, and was carrying it to his lips when a Gaul, the same

that had been hurt by Gisco, struck him on the shoulder, while in a

jovial manner he gave utterance to pleasantries in his native tongue.

Spendius was not far off, and he volunteered to interpret them.

“Speak!” said Matho.

“The gods protect you; you are going to become rich. When will the

nuptials be?”

“What nuptials?”

“Yours! for with us,” said the Gaul, “when a woman gives drink to

a soldier, it means that she offers him her couch.”

He had not finished when Narr’ Havas, with a bound, drew a javelin

from his girdle, and, leaning his right foot upon the edge of the table,

hurled it against Matho.

The javelin whistled among the cups, and piercing the Lybian’s arm,

pinned it so firmly to the cloth, that the shaft quivered in the air.

Matho quickly plucked it out; but he was weaponless and naked; at last

he lifted the over-laden table with both arms, and flung it against

Narr’ Havas into the very centre of the crowd that rushed between

them. The soldiers and Numidians pressed together so closely that they

were unable to draw their swords. Matho advanced dealing great blows

with his head. When he raised it, Narr’ Havas had disappeared. He

sought for him with his eyes. Salammbô also was gone.

Then directing his looks to the palace he perceived the red door with

the black cross closing far above, and he darted away.

They saw him run between the prows of the galleys, and then reappear

along the three staircases until he reached the red door against which

he dashed his whole body. Panting, he leaned against the wall to keep

himself from falling.

But a man had followed him, and through the darkness, for the lights

of the feast were hidden by the corner of the palace, he recognised

Spendius.

“Begone!” said he.

The slave without replying began to tear his tunic with his teeth;

then kneeling beside Matho he tenderly took his arm, and felt it in the

shadow to discover the wound.

By a ray of the moon which was then gliding between the clouds, Spendius

perceived a gaping wound in the middle of the arm. He rolled the piece

of stuff about it, but the other said irritably, “Leave me! leave

me!”

“Oh no!” replied the slave. “You released me from the ergastulum.

I am yours! you are my master! command me!”

Matho walked round the terrace brushing against the walls. He strained

his ears at every step, glancing down into the silent apartments through

the spaces between the gilded reeds. At last he stopped with a look of

despair.

“Listen!” said the slave to him. “Oh! do not despise me for my

feebleness! I have lived in the palace. I can wind like a viper through

the walls. Come! in the Ancestor’s Chamber there is an ingot of gold

beneath every flagstone; an underground path leads to their tombs.”

“Well! what matters it?” said Matho.

Spendius was silent.

They were on the terrace. A huge mass of shadow stretched before them,

appearing as if it contained vague accumulations, like the gigantic

billows of a black and petrified ocean.

But a luminous bar rose towards the East; far below, on the left, the

canals of Megara were beginning to stripe the verdure of the gardens

with their windings of white. The conical roofs of the heptagonal

temples, the staircases, terraces, and ramparts were being carved by

degrees upon the paleness of the dawn; and a girdle of white foam rocked

around the Carthaginian peninsula, while the emerald sea appeared as if

it were curdled in the freshness of the morning. Then as the rosy sky

grew larger, the lofty houses, bending over the sloping soil, reared

and massed themselves like a herd of black goats coming down from the

mountains. The deserted streets lengthened; the palm-trees that topped

the walls here and there were motionless; the brimming cisterns seemed

like silver bucklers lost in the courts; the beacon on the promontory of

Hermæum was beginning to grow pale. The horses of Eschmoun, on the very

summit of the Acropolis in the cypress wood, feeling that the light was

coming, placed their hoofs on the marble parapet, and neighed towards

the sun.

It appeared, and Spendius raised his arms with a cry.

Everything stirred in a diffusion of red, for the god, as if he were

rending himself, now poured full-rayed upon Carthage the golden rain

of his veins. The beaks of the galleys sparkled, the roof of Khamon

appeared to be all in flames, while far within the temples, whose

doors were opening, glimmerings of light could be seen. Large chariots,

arriving from the country, rolled their wheels over the flagstones

in the streets. Dromedaries, baggage-laden, came down the ramps.

Money-changers raised the pent-houses of their shops at the cross ways,

storks took to flight, white sails fluttered. In the wood of Tanith

might be heard the tabourines of the sacred courtesans, and the furnaces

for baking the clay coffins were beginning to smoke on the Mappalian

point.

Spendius leaned over the terrace; his teeth chattered and he repeated:

“Ah! yes—yes—master! I understand why you scorned the pillage of

the house just now.”

Matho was as if he had just been awaked by the hissing of his voice, and

did not seem to understand. Spendius resumed:

“Ah! what riches! and the men who possess them have not even the steel

to defend them!”

Then, pointing with his right arm outstretched to some of the populace

who were crawling on the sand outside the mole to look for gold dust:

“See!” he said to him, “the Republic is like these wretches:

bending on the brink of the ocean, she buries her greedy arms in every

shore, and the noise of the billows so fills her ear that she cannot

hear behind her the tread of a master’s heel!”

He drew Matho to quite the other end of the terrace, and showed him the

garden, wherein the soldiers’ swords, hanging on the trees, were like

mirrors in the sun.

“But here there are strong men whose hatred is roused! and nothing

binds them to Carthage, neither families, oaths nor gods!”

Matho remained leaning against the wall; Spendius came close, and

continued in a low voice:

“Do you understand me, soldier? We should walk purple-clad like

satraps. We should bathe in perfumes; and I should in turn have slaves!

Are you not weary of sleeping on hard ground, of drinking the vinegar

of the camps, and of continually hearing the trumpet? But you will rest

later, will you not? When they pull off your cuirass to cast your corpse

to the vultures! or perhaps blind, lame, and weak you will go, leaning

on a stick, from door to door to tell of your youth to pickle-sellers

and little children. Remember all the injustice of your chiefs, the

campings in the snow, the marchings in the sun, the tyrannies of

discipline, and the everlasting menace of the cross! And after all this

misery they have given you a necklace of honour, as they hang a girdle

of bells round the breast of an ass to deafen it on its journey, and

prevent it from feeling fatigue. A man like you, braver than Pyrrhus! If

only you had wished it! Ah! how happy will you be in large cool halls,

with the sound of lyres, lying on flowers, with women and buffoons! Do

not tell me that the enterprise is impossible. Have not the Mercenaries

already possessed Rhegium and other fortified places in Italy? Who is to

prevent you? Hamilcar is away; the people execrate the rich; Gisco can

do nothing with the cowards who surround him. Command them! Carthage is

ours; let us fall upon it!”

“No!” said Matho, “the curse of Moloch weighs upon me. I felt it

in her eyes, and just now I saw a black ram retreating in a temple.”

Looking around him he added: “But where is she?”

Then Spendius understood that a great disquiet possessed him, and did

not venture to speak again.

The trees behind them were still smoking; half-burned carcases of apes

dropped from their blackened boughs from time to time into the midst

of the dishes. Drunken soldiers snored open-mouthed by the side of the

corpses, and those who were not asleep lowered their heads dazzled by

the light of day. The trampled soil was hidden beneath splashes of red.

The elephants poised their bleeding trunks between the stakes of their

pens. In the open granaries might be seen sacks of spilled wheat, below

the gate was a thick line of chariots which had been heaped up by the

Barbarians, and the peacocks perched in the cedars were spreading their

tails and beginning to utter their cry.

Matho’s immobility, however, astonished Spendius; he was even paler

than he had recently been, and he was following something on the horizon

with fixed eyeballs, and with both fists resting on the edge of the

terrace. Spendius crouched down, and so at last discovered at what he

was gazing. In the distance a golden speck was turning in the dust on

the road to Utica; it was the nave of a chariot drawn by two mules;

a slave was running at the end of the pole, and holding them by the

bridle. Two women were seated in the chariot. The manes of the animals

were puffed between the ears after the Persian fashion, beneath a

network of blue pearls. Spendius recognised them, and restrained a cry.

A large veil floated behind in the wind.