CARTHAGE
The realm of the Queen of the Seas is now desolate—desolate, but
untouched by sadness. Tragedy and doom are hidden beneath the brightness
of summer flowers and the promise of an abundant harvest. The ruins that
remain are not fine enough in themselves to call forth memories of a
glorious past. The greatness is gone. Nothing is now left to speak of
bygone ages with an insistent voice; nothing strong enough to break down
the dulness and create an interest in ancient history. Those who expect
to have their historic sense awakened and quickened by the sight, turn
empty and disappointed away, for all enjoyment rises from the dreams and
imagination born of some knowledge or wide reading, and not from what
Carthage can now show; for the Phœnician city was so utterly destroyed
by the Romans under Scipio in the year 146 B.C. that the plough was
driven over the site. Subsequently city after city rose from the same
ground to be destroyed almost as entirely. Columns and capitals from the
Roman, Vandal, and Byzantine cities may be seen in Tunis, Kairouan, and
Sicily, and even so far away as Italy and Spain. Here there are few
left.
Traces of the original city are still harder to find, and must be sought
far below the earth’s surface under successive layers of ruins and soil.
Three mosaic pavements of different periods have often been discovered
one below the other, whilst the foundations of Punic temples and
inscriptions in that language thus buried still show signs of fire. The
story of Carthage is also shrouded in mystery; even the date of its
foundation is uncertain. All that is known is that in the dawn of
history, when the Israelites took possession of Palestine, the
Canaanites retreated to Tyre and Sidon, and there built up a mighty
state. From these two cities daring mariners set forth in frail coasting
vessels to found settlements in Asia Minor, Greece, Africa, and Spain,
extending their voyages of discovery in later times, gathering riches
and treasures from the distant ends of the then known world.
One of the earliest of these colonies was the city of Utica, and
probably when Dido arrived in Africa (if she ever did), after her flight
from the cruelty and treachery of the Tyrian king, there were already
other cities on the plain. Her taste and judgment must have been equal
to her beauty and artfulness when she chose this spot for her city of
refuge, and beguiled the inhabitants into granting her the land that the
traditional oxhide would cover; for the situation is as lovely as any on
the north coast of Africa, the harbour good, and the country rich. The
colony was known at first as Kirjath-Hadeschath, or New Town, to
distinguish it from the older city of Utica. The Greek name was
Karchedon, and the Romans called it Carthago.
[Illustration: THE ANCIENT PORTS OF CARTHAGE]
Strangely enough we depend on the enemies of Carthage for accounts of
her history, as, with few exceptions, her own records were destroyed. No
great poems are left, no annals, nothing remains but a few inscriptions,
some fragments, and the three treaties with Rome. The Roman narratives
are tinged with envy and hatred, yet even so the fame of Carthage stands
out clearly, and the deeds of her sons, both as sailors and soldiers,
surpass those of other days and other peoples. What admirals of any time
would so gallantly have dared such a voyage in small vessels as did
Hanno, who almost reached the equator from the north coast of Africa, or
Himilco, who, in a four months’ voyage, “keeping to his left the great
shoreless ocean on which no ship had ever ventured, where the breeze
blows not, but eternal fogs rest upon its lifeless waters,” discovered
the Scilly Isles, Ireland, and the wide isle of Albion? These admirals
have left records of their doings which still exist. Generals more
famous still, vied with each other in their country’s service, fighting
bravely on in face of neglect and want of support, knowing that success
met with scant praise, and that failure meant death if they returned to
the capital. Such names as Hamilcar Barca and the still greater Hannibal
recall to memory the tales of the genius of those who upheld her power.
Yet for all this Carthage was no warlike city, but was given over to the
arts of peace, to the pursuit and enjoyment of wealth. It was a city of
merchant princes, an oligarchy like that of Venice in later times, and
the Romans were astounded at the luxury and beauty of the buildings and
the far-spreading suburbs.
Agriculture was apparently a favourite pursuit, as a treatise on the
subject, in twenty-eight books, was written by Mago, who was called by
the Romans the father of husbandry. This book they saved from the
general destruction of Carthaginian literature and translated into their
own language. Varro, whose own work on ancient agriculture is the most
valuable we possess, quotes Mago as the highest authority.
As the city was looted and the treasures carried to Rome it is idle to
expect to find anything very noteworthy to show the Carthaginian skill
in art. But the White Fathers have in their museum a large collection of
bronzes and pottery, and a few jewels of all periods, some of them of
peculiar interest because of the strong resemblance between the Punic
designs and those of Egypt. Many of the gods are the same, and sacred
eyes and scarabs are plentiful. Curious bulbous vessels, used as
feeding-bottles for babies, have faces roughly painted on them, the
spout taking the place of a mouth. The bronzes have much in common with
those of Pompeii, and some fine tombs with full-sized figures might be
Greek. The garden of the Monastery is also full of fine fragments and
inscriptions, and stands on the brow of the hill that was once the
Byrsa, and is now known as the hill of St. Louis. It faces the Gulf of
Tunis, charming in outline, glorious in light, and full of colour.
[Illustration: THE OLD PUNIC CISTERNS, CARTHAGE]
The twin peaks of Bou Korneïne, the Gemini Scopuli of Virgil, soft as a
dream in the early morning, are the distinctive beauty of the curve of
the bay to the right. On the other side rise the heights of Sidi Bou
Saïd, or Cap Carthage. The Mediterranean and the lagoon of the Bahira,
“the little sea,” or lake of Tunis, are of a wondrous blue, the water
shimmers in the sunshine, the town of La Goulette gleams likewise, and
so do the houses scattered along the coast. The slopes of the hill and
the whole of the plain towards the sea are covered, as it were, with
cloth of scarlet and gold and green, poppies and marigolds and waving
corn, in masses such as can rarely be found elsewhere. The ancient ports
of Carthage, now so reduced in size, still retain something of their
original form. The military harbour is circular, with an island in the
centre where the admiral once dwelt. These tiny lakes, calm as glass,
and almost more definitely blue than the Mediterranean itself, hardly
suggest themselves as the busy harbours of the Queen of the Seas, but
look rather, as a French author says, like the lakes of an English
garden.
Here and there shapeless masses of masonry can be seen scattered over
the plain, either hardly visible under the living veil of green, or
showing like scars, but there is nothing that is in any way an addition
to the picture. The view on all sides is beautiful, which is more than
can be said by the most charitable of the buildings which crown the
hill. Neither the Cathedral of Cardinal Lavigerie, the Chapel of St.
Louis, nor the Monastery are worthy of their position in style or
treatment. On a bare hillside it might be possible to conjure up fine
temples and stirring scenes, to imagine the terrors of the last days of
the siege, and the heroic death of the wife of Hasdrubal. Now even St.
Louis is too picturesque a figure for the prevailing commonplace, and it
would be almost a relief to think that he died at Sousse, as some people
suppose.
One remarkable work, and one only, has survived all the changes and
chances in the life of Carthage, and still endures to show that the vast
size of the original city was in no wise exaggerated. Not only have the
aqueduct and cisterns outlasted all the other buildings, but they have
been restored, and once more fulfil their purpose, bringing fresh
spring-water to a thirsty city—no longer indeed to Carthage, but to the
equally ancient and still flourishing Tunis.
Modern Tunis does not require nearly as much water as the greater
Carthage, so that only the smaller group of cisterns, lying near the sea
and the ruined baths, is now in use. These cisterns are eighteen in
number, and can only be called small by comparison, as they are said to
be 135 mètres long, and hold nearly 30,000 cubic mètres of water.
[Illustration: THE CARTHAGE AQUEDUCT]
The larger group is quite ruinous, and is broken down in the midst,
forming an open space on to which the cisterns face, built as they are
in parallel rows. Here the Bedawin dwell who have turned the Punic
cisterns into the Arab village of La Malga. These underground homes are
supposed to be far superior to tents or huts, as they are cool in
summer, and warm and dry in winter. They look like vaulted halls, as the
lower half has become filled with soil, and they are closed at the
ruinous ends by rough wooden walls and doors. At any rate if not quite
ideal dwellings, they are picturesque and at least unusual. Though there
are many theories on the subject, the design and much of the actual work
is considered to be Phœnician, though considerably restored and in part
rebuilt by the Romans. Some authorities find traces of Punic work in the
aqueduct also, others suppose that the Carthaginians used the cisterns
merely to store rain-water, and think that the Romans, when they defied
the curse and rebuilt the city, found the water-supply insufficient, and
therefore made an aqueduct in the reign of Hadrian, A.D. 117-138. It
underwent many disasters, and was partially destroyed and rebuilt over
and over again. First, the Vandals, under Gilimer, did their worst to
it, and Belisarius restored the damage; then the Byzantines had their
turn, and it was put in order by their Arab conquerors, only to be again
injured by the Spaniards. Finally, some part of it began useful life
once more under a French engineer in the reign of Sidi Saduk, the late
Bey.
One spring still rises in the Nymphea, or temple of the waters, amongst
rocks and trees and flowers at Zaghouan, Mons. Zeugitanus, and the other
is brought from Djebel Djouggar, Mons. Zuccharus. The great aqueduct
stretches out like a chain connecting the mountains and the plain—a
chain of massive links, sadly broken and often interrupted in its long
course of over sixty Roman miles. The channel is carried down the
mountain-side, sometimes over and sometimes under the ground, and on the
plains it is often raised on immense piers. Near Carthage it has been
broken up and entirely destroyed, and the water has then to find its way
through ordinary modern pipes.
There is a look of grandeur and beauty about the ruined arches, as they
are seen rising from the sunny, flowery fields, that is usually wasted
on an unappreciative world, as few drive far enough out from Tunis to
enjoy the sight.
At Carthage the masses of flowers give a certain charm to ruins of no
intrinsic beauty. Brilliant marigolds crowd every nook and cranny in the
Punic tombs, shedding the glory of their golden life over the dreary
maze of catacombs, where formerly the dead rested, but which are now
bare and empty; though in another district one curious tomb, formed of
three solid blocks of stones, in form like the beginning of a house of
cards, is built with a few others in the side of a shadeless, barren
cliff. Flowers fringe and cover the Basilica, surround the newly
excavated Roman villa, contrasting daintily with the broken columns and
mosaic pavements, and touch with their brightness the elliptical
outlines of the Roman amphitheatre, where many Christian martyrs
suffered for the Faith. Of these St. Nemphanion was the first (A.D.
198), though the best known and most loved are Saint Perpetua, and Saint
Felicita, to whom the little chapel in the centre is dedicated.
The flowers harmonise with thoughts of the young and beautiful widow who
gave up child and wealth, and who herself wrote of her joy and suffering
in prison. She tells us of her vision of a golden ladder, beset with
swords and lances, and guarded by a dragon, whom she quelled in the name
of Christ, and so mounted to a heavenly garden, where a white-haired
shepherd, surrounded by his flock, gave her a welcome and a piece of
cheese, whilst thousands of forms in white garments said “Amen.” The
vision foretold her martyrdom, which took place between A.D. 203 and
206. According to a custom peculiar to Carthage—a relic of old Phœnician
days when human sacrifices were offered to Baal-Moloch, and men
worshipped the horned Astarte—the men were expected to wear scarlet
robes, like the priests of Saturn, and the women yellow, after the
fashion of the priestesses of Ceres—a reason perhaps for the wealth of
scarlet and yellow blossoms that now flourish so abundantly. The
Christians refused, saying that they suffered in order to avoid such
rites, and the justice of the plea was allowed.
A cross marks the spot on a little hill between La Malga and the Byrsa
where St. Cyprian was beheaded in A.D. 258. An interesting fact, to
which Archbishop Benson calls attention in his Life of Cyprian, is that
long before any Bishop of Rome appears with the title of Papa, or Pope,
in any sense, it was used as a formal mode of address to Cyprian by the
clergy of Rome. And it is clear from the history of his times that there
was then no idea of Papal supremacy, but that, on the contrary, the
Bishop of Carthage once at least overruled the decision of the Bishop of
Rome.
Strange as it seems now, with Mohammedanism all around, Christian
Carthage became in its turn a great power, with a long line of bishops,
whilst North Africa not only counted some six hundred Episcopal sees,
but also produced such famous men as Tertullian, Cyprian, Lactantius,
and Augustine. Nothing is now left anywhere except the ruins of three or
four basilicas, some lamps with Christian emblems, and a few
inscriptions.
[Illustration: THE SITE OF CARTHAGE FROM SIDI BOU SAÏD]
To see all the ruins at Carthage is no light matter. Distances are so
great, and there is such a dearth of conspicuous landmarks to guide the
search. The nine miles’ drive from Tunis is mostly considered very
monotonous, as the road itself is straight and dull, though the beauty
of the mountains and the lake, the flush of scarlet from the flamingoes
in its marshy edges, the marvels of the flower-clad meadows, the dark
tents of the nomads, and the picturesque workers in the fields, are
surely enough to make even a longer distance seem short. The first
impression is altogether finer if it is gained by driving through the
country to the gay villas of La Marsa, and so up the hill to Sidi Bou
Saïd, than by taking the railway and then walking from point to point.
The Arab town of Sidi Bou Saïd is so holy a place that no unbelievers
were formerly allowed to live there, hardly even to walk its streets,
and yet the saint after whom it is called is no other than St. Louis of
France, the Crusader who died of pestilence before the walls of Tunis.
The Mohammedans, however, believe that he adopted their religion, died
and was buried in this village, showing how even his enemies admired his
saintliness, and also that the God whom both worshipped was the same God
as Mohammed always taught. The small town is piled up on the highest
point of the hill in true Oriental fashion, and from the lighthouse on
the summit the view is superb, with the Mediterranean almost surrounding
the cape. The whole site of the ancient city is visible, from the rocky
headlands in front to the distant town of La Goulette on the promontory
that separates the open sea from the lake; a wide sweep of plain, the
many low hills, the Byrsa marked by the whiteness of the new Cathedral,
the whole circle of mountains, the summer villages gleaming at their
feet, Tunis, the villas and gardens of La Marsa, the site of Utica, now
more desolate than Carthage itself, the beautiful line of cliffs towards
Bizerta—all combine to give some idea of the possibilities and beauties
of ancient Carthage.