Carthage (Extinct city) -- History -- Fiction; Historical fiction
“Carry it off,” he said, “what do I care? take me away with it!
I abandon the army! I renounce everything! Beyond Gades, twenty days’
journey into the sea, you come to an island covered with gold dust,
verdure, and birds. On the mountains large flowers filled with smoking
perfumes rock like eternal censers; in the citron trees, which are
higher than cedars, milk-coloured serpents cause the fruit to fall upon
the turf with the diamonds in their jaws; the air is so mild that it
keeps you from dying. Oh! I shall find it, you will see. We shall live
in crystal grottoes cut out at the foot of the hills. No one dwells in
it yet, or I shall become the king of the country.”
He brushed the dust off her cothurni; he wanted her to put a quarter of
a pomegranate between her lips; he heaped up garments behind her head to
make a cushion for her. He sought for means to serve her, and to humble
himself, and he even spread the zaïmph over her feet as if it were a
mere rug.
“Have you still,” he said, “those little gazelle’s horns on
which your necklaces hang? You will give them to me! I love them!” For
he spoke as if the war were finished, and joyful laughs broke from him.
The Mercenaries, Hamilcar, every obstacle had now disappeared. The moon
was gliding between two clouds. They could see it through an opening in
the tent. “Ah, what nights have I spent gazing at her! she seemed to
me like a veil that hid your face; you would look at me through her;
the memory of you was mingled with her beams; then I could no longer
distinguish you!” And with his head between her breasts he wept
copiously.
“And this,” she thought, “is the formidable man who makes Carthage
tremble!”
He fell asleep. Then disengaging herself from his arm she put one foot
to the ground, and she perceived that her chainlet was broken.
The maidens of the great families were accustomed to respect these
shackles as something that was almost religious, and Salammbô,
blushing, rolled the two pieces of the golden chain around her ankles.
Carthage, Megara, her house, her room, and the country that she had
passed through, whirled in tumultuous yet distinct images through her
memory. But an abyss had yawned and thrown them far back to an infinite
distance from her.
The storm was departing; drops of water splashing rarely, one by one,
made the tent-roof shake.
Matho slept like a drunken man, stretched on his side, and with one arm
over the edge of the couch. His band of pearls was raised somewhat, and
uncovered his brow; his teeth were parted in a smile; they shone through
his black beard, and there was a silent and almost outrageous gaiety in
his half-closed eyelids.
Salammbô looked at him motionless, her head bent and her hands crossed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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