The Carthage of the Vandals was still a stately, brilliant city, still
the superb "Colonia Julia Carthago" which Augustus had erected
according to the great Caesar's plan in the place of the ancient city
destroyed by Scipio. True, it was no longer--as it had been a century
before--next to Rome and Constantinople the most populous city in the
empire, but it had suffered little in the external appearance and
splendor of its buildings; only the walls, by which it had been
encircled as a defence against Genseric, were partially destroyed in
the assault by the Vandals, and not sufficiently restored,--an
indication of arrogant security or careless indolence.
The ancient citadel, the Ph[oe]nician "Byrsa," now called the Capitol,
still overlooked the blue sea and the harbor, doubly protected by
towers and iron chains. In the squares and the broad streets of the
"upper city," a motley throng surged or lounged upon the steps of
Christian basilicas (which were often built out of pagan temples),
around the Amphitheatre, the colonnades, the baths with their beds of
flowers and groups of palms, kept green and luxuriant by the water
brought from long distances over the stately arches of the aqueduct.
The "lower city," built along the sea, was inhabited by the poorer
people, principally harbor workmen, and was filled with shops and
storehouses containing supplies for ships and sailors. The streets were
narrow, all running from south to north, from the inner city to the
harbor, like the alleys of modern Genoa.
The largest square in the lower city was the forum of St. Cyprian,
named, for the magnificent basilica dedicated to this the most famous
saint in Africa. The church occupied the whole southern side of the
square, from whose northern portion a long flight of marble steps led
to the harbor (even at the present day, amid the solitude and
desolation of the site of noisy, populous Carthage, the huge ruins of
the old sea gate still remain), while a broad street led westward to
the suburb of Aklas and the Numidian Gate, and another in the southeast
rose somewhat steeply to the upper city and the Capitol.
Into this great square one hot June evening a varied crowd was pouring
from the western gate, the Porta Numidia,--Romans and provincials,
citizens of Carthage, tradesmen and grocers, with many freedmen and
slaves, moved by curiosity and delight in idleness, which attracted
them to every brilliant, noisy spectacle. There were Vandals among
them, too; men, women, and children, whose yellow or red hair and fair
skins were in strong contrast to those of the rest of the population,
though the complexions of many were somewhat bronzed by the African
sun. In costume they differed from the Romans very slightly; many not
at all. Among these lower classes numbers were of mixed blood, children
of Vandal fathers who had married Carthaginian women. Here and there in
the concourse appeared a Moor, who had come from the border of the
desert to the capital to sell ivory or ostrich feathers, lion and tiger
skins, or antelope horns. The men and women of noble German blood were
better--that is, more eager, wealthy, and lavish--buyers than the
numerous impoverished Roman senatorial families, whose once boundless
wealth the government had confiscated for real or alleged high treason,
or for persistent adherence to the Catholic faith. Not even a single
Roman of the better class was to be seen in the noisy, shouting crowd;
a priest of the orthodox religion, who on his way to a dying man could
not avoid crossing the square, glided timidly into the nearest side
street, fear, abhorrence, and indignation all written on his pallid
face. For this exulting throng was celebrating a Vandal victory.
In front of the returning troops surged the dense masses of the
Carthaginian populace, shouting, looking back, and often halting with
loud acclamations. Many pressed around the Vandal warriors, begging for
gifts. The latter were all mounted, many on fine, really noble steeds,
descendants of the famous breed brought from Spain and crossed with the
native horses. The westering sun streamed through the wide-open West
Gate along the Numidian Way; the stately squadrons glittered and
flashed in the vivid light which was dazzlingly reflected from the
white sandy soil and the white houses. Richly, almost too brilliantly,
gold and silver glittered on helmets and shields, broad armlets,
sword-hilts, and scabbards, even on the mountings which fastened the
lance-heads to the shafts, and, in inlaid work, on the shafts
themselves. In dress, armor, and ornaments upon rider and steed the
most striking hues were evidently the most popular. Scarlet, the Vandal
color, prevailed; this vivid light-red was used everywhere,--on the
long, fluttering cloaks, the silken kerchiefs on the helmets, which
fell over the neck and shoulders to protect them from the African sun,
on the gayly painted, richly gilded quivers, and even on the saddles
and bridles of the horses. Among the skins which the desert animals
furnished in great variety, the favorites were the spotted antelope,
the dappled leopard, the striped tiger, while from the helmets nodded
and waved the red plumage of the flamingo and the white feathers of the
ostrich. The procession closed with several captured camels, laden with
foemen's weapons, and about a hundred Moorish prisoners, men and women,
who, with hands tied behind their backs, clad only in brown and white
striped mantles, marched, bareheaded and barefooted, beside the
towering beasts, driven forward, like them, by blows from the spears of
their mounted guards.
On the steps of the basilica and the broad top of the wall of the
harbor stairs, the throng of spectators was unusually dense; here
people could comfortably watch the glittering train without danger from
the fiery steeds.
"Who is yonder youth, the fair one?" asked a middle-aged man, with the
dress and bearing of a sailor, pointing over the parapet as he turned
to a gray-haired old citizen.
"Which do you mean, friend Hegelochus? They are almost all fair."
"Indeed? Well, this is the first time I have been among the Vandals! My
ship dropped anchor only a few hours ago. You must show and explain
everything. I mean the one yonder on the white stallion; he is carrying
the narrow red banner with the golden dragon."
"Oh, that is Gibamund, 'the handsomest of the Vandals,' as the women
call him. Do you see how he looks up at the windows of the palace near
the Capitol? Among all the crowd gazing down from there he seeks but
one."
"But"--the speaker suddenly started--"who is the other at his
right,--the one on the dun horse? I almost shrank when I met his eye.
He looks like the youth, only he is much older. Who is _he_?"
"That is his brother Gelimer; God bless his noble head!"
"Aha, so he is the hero of the day? I have often heard his name at home
in Syracuse. So he is the conqueror of the Moors?"
"Yes, he has defeated them again, the torments. Do you hear how the
Carthaginians are cheering him? We citizens, too, must thank him for
having driven the robbers away from our villages and fields back to
their deserts."
"I suppose he is fifty years old? His hair is very gray."
"He is not yet forty!"
"Just look, Eugenes! He has sprung from his horse. What is he doing?"
"Didn't you see? A child, a Roman boy, fell while trying to run in
front of his charger. He lifted him up, and is seeking to find out
whether he was hurt."
"The child wasn't harmed; it is smiling at him and seizing his
glittering necklet. There--he is unfastening the chain and putting it
into the little fellow's hands. He kisses him and gives him back to his
mother. Hark, how the crowd is cheering him! Now he has leaped back
into the saddle. He knows how to win favor."
"There you wrong him. It is his nature. He would have done the same
where no eye beheld him. And he need not win the favor of the people:
he has long possessed it."
"Among the Vandals?"
"Among the Romans, too; that is, the middle and lower classes. The
senators, it is true, are different! Those who still live in Africa
hate all who bear the name of Vandal; they have good reason for it,
too. But Gelimer has a heart to feel for us; he helps wherever he can,
and often opposes his own people; they are almost all violent, prone to
sudden anger, and in their rage savagely cruel. I above all others have
cause to thank him."
"You? Why?"
"You saw Eugenia, my daughter, before we left our house?"
"Certainly. Into what a lovely girl the frail child whom you brought
from Syracuse a few years ago has blossomed!"
"I owe her life, her honor, to Gelimer. Thrasaric, the giant, the most
turbulent of all the nobles, snatched her from my side here in the open
street at noonday, and carried the shrieking girl away in his arms. I
could not follow as swiftly as he ran. Gelimer, attracted by our
screams, rushed up, and, as the savage would not release her, struck
him down with a single blow and gave my terrified child back to me."
"And the ravisher?"
"He rose, laughed, shook himself, and said to Gelimer: 'You did right,
Asding, and your fist is heavy.' And then since--"
"Well? You hesitate."
"Yes, just think of it; since then the Vandal, as he could not gain her
by force, is suing modestly for my daughter's hand. He, the richest
noble of his nation, wishes to become my son-in-law."
"Why, that is no bad outlook."
"Princess Hilda, my girl's patroness--she often sends for the
child to come to her at the Capitol and pays liberally for her
embroideries--Princess Hilda herself speaks in his behalf. But I
hesitate; I will not force her on any account."
"Well, what does she say?"
"Oh, the Barbarian is as handsome as a picture. I almost believe--I
fear--she likes him. But something holds her back. Who can
read a girl's heart? Look, the leaders of the horsemen are
dismounting--Gelimer too--in front of the basilica."
"Strange. He is the hero,--the square echoes with his name,--and he
looks so grave, so sad."
"Yes, there again! But did you see how kindly his eyes shone as he
soothed the frightened child?"
"Certainly I did. And now--"
"Yes, there it is; a black cloud suddenly seems to fall upon him. There
are all sorts of rumors about it among the people. Some say he has a
demon; others that he is often out of his mind. Our priests whisper
that it is pangs of conscience for secret crimes. But I will never
believe that of Gelimer."
"Was he always so?"
"It has grown worse within a few years. Satanas--Saint Cyprian protect
us--is said to have appeared to him in the solitude of the desert.
Since that time he has been even more devout than before. See, his most
intimate friend is greeting him at the basilica."
"Yonder priest? He is an Arian; I know it by the oblong, narrow
tonsure."
"Yes," replied the Carthaginian, wrathfully, "it is Verus, the
archdeacon! Curses on the traitor!" He clinched his fists.
"Traitor! Why?"
"Well--renegade. He descends from an ancient Roman senatorial family
which has given the Church many a bishop. His great-uncle was Bishop
Laetus of Nepte, who died a martyr. But his father, his mother, and
seven brothers and sisters died under a former king amid the most cruel
tortures, rather than abjure their holy Catholic religion. This man,
too,--he was then a youth of twenty,--was tortured until he fell as if
dead. When he recovered consciousness, he abjured his faith and became
an Arian, a priest,--the wretch!--to buy his life. Soon--for Satan has
bestowed great intellectual gifts upon him--he rose from step to step,
became the favorite of the Asdings, of the court, suddenly even the
friend of the noble Gelimer, who had long kept him coldly and
contemptuously at a distance. And the court gave him this basilica, our
highest sanctuary, dedicated to the great Cyprian, which, like almost
all the churches in Carthage, the heretics have wrested from us."
"But look--what is the hero doing? He is kneeling on the upper step of
the church. Now he is taking off his helmet."
"He is scattering the dust of the marble stairs upon his head."
"What is he kissing? The priest's hand?"
"No, the case containing the ashes of the great saint. He is very
devout and very humble. Or shall I say he humiliates himself? He shuts
himself up for days with the monks to do penance by scourging."
"A strange hero of Barbarian blood!"
"The hero blood shows itself in the heat of battle. He is rising. Do
you see how his helmet--now he is putting it on again--is hacked by
fresh blows? One of the two black vulture wings on the crest is cut
through. The strangest thing is,--this warrior is also a bookworm, a
delver into mystic lore; he has attended the lectures of Athenian
philosophers. He is a theologian and--"
"A player on the lyre, too, apparently! See, a Vandal has handed him a
small one."
"That is a harp, as they call it."
"Hark, he is touching the strings! He is singing. I can't understand."
"It is the Vandal tongue."
"He has finished. How his Germans shout! They are striking their spears
on their shields. Now he is descending the steps. What? Without
entering the church, as the others did?"
"Yes, I remember! He vowed, when he shed blood, to shun the saint's
threshold for three days. Now the horsemen are all mounting again."
"But where are the foot soldiers?"
"Yes, that is bad--I mean for the Vandals. They have none, or scarcely
any: they have grown not only so proud, but so effeminate and lazy that
they disdain to serve on foot. Only the very poorest and lowest of the
population will do it. Most of the foot soldiers are Moorish
mercenaries, obtained for each campaign from friendly tribes."
"Ah, yes, I see Moors among the soldiers."
"Those are men from the Papua mountain. They plundered our frontiers
for a long time. Gelimer attacked their camp and captured their chief
Antalla's three daughters, whom he returned unharmed, without ransom.
Then Antalla invited the Asding to his tent to thank him; they
concluded a friendship of hospitality,--the most sacred bond to the
Moors,--and since then they have rendered faithful service even against
other Moors. The parade is over. See, the ranks are breaking. The
leaders are going to the Capitol to convey to King Hilderic the report
of the campaign and the booty. Look, the crowd is dispersing. Let us go
too. Come back to my house; Eugenia is waiting to serve the evening
meal. Come, Hegelochus."
"I am ready, most friendly host. I fear I may burden you a long time.
Business with the corn-dealers is slow."
"Why are you stopping? What are you looking at?"
"I'm coming. Only I must see this Gelimer's face once more. I shall
never forget those features, and all the strange, contradictory things
which you have told me about him."
"That is the way with most people. He is mysterious,
incomprehensible,--'daimonios,' as the Greeks say. Let us go now! Here!
To the left--down the steps."