THE RUINS OF CARTHAGE.
Reflections on Ancient Carthage.--Hannibal and his Career.--An
Arab Domicile.--Picturesque appearance of the Ruins.
I went three times to the "Ruins," and therefore should have been
lucky. I was, however, the reverse, both as to seeing anything of the
ruins, and also the particular object which brought me there. I think,
myself, proverbs are very deceitful, and should, like dreams, be read
by contrary; some are utterly unintelligible; as, for instance--will
any one tell me what this one signifies?--"Sweet words butter no
parsnips." I thought parsnips (and, being fond of vegetables, I should
like to know) were generally seasoned with pepper or vinegar. I am,
perhaps, too stupid to comprehend it, and, like stupid people, abuse
what I don't understand. Therefore, don't let any one expect a long
description of how this part is Phoenician, and is supposed to be
where the Carthaginian parliament was held; or their dandies and
"fast" of both sexes met to polka of a night, or drink Punic punch; or
a "_cabinet de lecture_," or club, where the _Times_ or the _Globe_
gave the latest telegram from Italy; as how Hannibal obtained a
glorious victory over the Roman troops at Thrasymene, or that the
commissariat was bad; then, perhaps, old grumblers decried the
dissipation at Cannae, and the expense of the war; and ancient
merchants on 'Change complained of the rising importance of the Roman
navy, whose ships had just captured the large Phoenician brigantine
_Argo_, from Sidon, laden with a valuable freight, otto of roses, and
bound for Carthage--_apropos_ of which I will remark, there is a
military Rome and a mercantile Carthage in modern times. Take care we
be not the Carthage; let us remember that it was from a stranded Punic
vessel the Romans learnt the maritime art, in which, at last, they
excelled their enemies. Hannibal appears to me always the greatest man
of any age, ancient or modern--Napoleon not excepted--and perhaps the
most unfortunate. His character comes to us, as his exploits, from
foreign and hostile sources; for I believe there exist no Phoenician
records; so that there remains a great deal of discount to take off in
the way of disparagement, depreciation, &c. &c. It is as if the future
Australian, standing on the ruins of a city mightier than Carthage,
could obtain no account of Napoleon, but through partial and
depreciatory fragments from the pages of Sir Walter Scott's life of
that extraordinary meteor. Napoleon, it is true, crossed the Alps, but
Hannibal traversed the Alps and Pyrenees too, and I fancy the last are
the more impassable of the two. It is true I have not copied Albert
Smith, or our other heroic youths, but I have climbed the Malodetta,
which well becomes its appellation. Then, Napoleon had a friendly
population at any rate behind him, to bring supplies, &c. Hannibal was
everywhere surrounded by hostile tribes, besides having had the
disadvantage of a march through enemies' countries of several hundred,
if not thousand miles. I hope the living in Spain, for his sake, did
not then consist of _olla podrida_, with a variation of garlic and
acid wine.
Perhaps there existed in these days some machine, or some marvellous
powder, by which real mountains might be removed (as spiritual ones by
faith) at pleasure, and replaced in their original position; but as
history makes no mention thereof, it is but fair to conclude not. No,
the only machine used, the only mine, was the invincible and iron will
of the Carthaginian hero. He, too, if I mistake not, lived under
parliamentary _regime_, in the shape of a senate, a great hamper on
military manoeuvres, where all should be done quickly, secretly, and
unanimously. Napoleon was his own master, with a devoted people. I
wonder if parliamentary debates, in Punic days, were as long and
insipid as in modern; that is, I have not been to them, but judge by
what one reads in that modern tyrant, the _Times_. Oh, mighty _Times_!
how we abuse you, and yet how should we relish our breakfast without
you? who ever comes up to all we look for when great occasions call
for your wonderful pen, stirring us to the quick; or whether, in an
idle mood, we seek to while away the passing hour by a description of
the last new folly, or the latest odour of the Thames, or anything
else instructive and amusing. By the way, if the senate of Carthage
took quarter as long sending supplies to their general as the Commons
discussing the way to purify the Thames, I fancy he would not have
crossed the Pyrenees.
I said I went three times to Carthage; the first time, an English
friend was leaving that day by a sailing ship, and I had promised to
lunch with him at Goulette, and then see him on board, the first of
which I did in a small house dignified by the name of _locanda_, or
_Hotel Francais_, where some Maltese captains were breakfasting, who
had a strong odour of onions and garlic, and at another table a
Savoyard was discussing the question of annexation with a Provencal,
in what I may term _moitie Francais moitie Italien_. They gave us soup
made of, I don't know what, but the pepper was very strong, or rather,
I may say, would have been, if it were not for the strong taste of the
water, and _vice versa_; after that, some dried fish, called sardines,
which they said had just been caught. For second course, we had a sort
of _gigot de mouton_, which, in form, resembled the temple of Neptune
at the "ruins," and you might almost have sworn they had cut it into
that shape on purpose; and quails, very excellent; and we finished
with cheese, which might have been manufactured from goat's milk, or
cow's milk, or camel's milk, or all three, or any other milk, but was
dignified by the appellation of _Chesterrre_, and was decidedly not
Stilton, and eke delicious oranges. In this dinner we meet, as in
life, with much good to counteract the evil, as the delicious quails
made up for rancid flesh of sheep or horse; so, when next Lady Julia
Plantagenet jilts me, I will remember Jessie Jones; or, again, as
these fragrant oranges, redolent of the East, caused me to forget the
nauseous _fromage_, so shall the friendship and good opinion of Brown
console me for the putty eye and freezing regard of the fashionable
Fitznoodle, when next we meet, not at Philippi, but in the park! After
lunch, and adieux, I mounted my horse for the ruins, as my friend's
vessel did not start as expected that day, owing to the calm.
On passing the gate of Goulette, several Arab convicts, in chains,
shouted at me for something; what it was, I ignore; perhaps they asked
for backsheesh, or tobacco, or powder, fine or coarse; or, may be,
they called me a dog of a Giaour, and cursed my relations and their
limbs. This Goulette appears to be the chief place for the Arab
malefactors, and they are mainly employed in improving the high road
between Goulette and Tunis, and also in repairing the fortifications.
The afternoon was beautiful, though hot. As it wanted some time to
dinner at Tunis, I made a _detour_ on my return to the ruins, and it
requires a fine air to make you enjoy fine scenery. There was
scarcely a ripple on the blue Mediterranean. Beautiful trees of every
description, olive and orange trees, oleanders, and others, grew to
the very base of the mountain, and sent up a delicious perfume. I
visited the chapel of St. Louis, from which one enjoys a most
delicious prospect. It is built over some god's temple--whose, I
forget, or even whether a Roman or Punic one; but this is dedicated to
the true God and Christian worship, in remembrance of that venerable
French king, who is said to have perished here, while on his way to
Palestine, to fight the Moslem. Peace to his ashes! However, I
soon left the hill to re-descend, for I was very thirsty; all of a
sudden, behind an olive bush, I saw a head, black as ink, pop out;
I hallooed to it first in English, then in Italian. No effect. I saw
a female figure disappear behind a cottage, and out rushed a fine
tall Arab, with menacing gesture, and more menacing language. I was
in his garden. "A glass of water, please," said I, in Italian. Still
no effect. I thought he was going to be savage, when, from behind
the house popped, or rather rolled out, another little naked,
curly-headed, black ball--a triennial by his looks--the Arab's only
boy, no doubt. He was so irresistibly comic in appearance, that I
burst into a fit of laughter. The man's face changed in a moment. I
suppose he thought I was admiring the child. He immediately
understood what I required, which he brought in such a large cup,
that I thought it was intended for a pail. I nearly emptied it,
however. He then volunteered bread and olives, which, however, I
declined, to spoil my dinner. We then made mutual signs of greeting,
and parted. Had I been able to talk, I would have stopped longer.
There was a sudden friendship sprung up between me and that poor
unlettered infant of the desert.