CHAPTER VI
THE CITY OF DELIGHT
Behold the huge city which stretches out before you.
Neither ancient Rome nor modern London, nor yet the capital of the Celestial Empire, not even Babylon, far famed of old, not one of the congeries of houses of the known world, is to be compared with this city.
View it even from the top of this high hill, and you cannot take in half of it. Formerly it was bounded by two great rivers, but now these also are covered with houses, and have their course assigned to them out of sight, beneath the town.
A fantastic, extravagant architecture, all glitter and luxuriance, the creation of a wild fancy, forms a striking contrast to the simplicity of the classic and the sublimity of the Gothic style.
The gates of the city consist of strange pyramidal structures formed of gigantic layers of cubes, one above the other, the spaces between each cube being wide enough to admit the passage of two heavily laden waggons abreast. The lowermost layer consists of eleven cubes, the next layer of ten, and so on, regularly diminishing by one up to the eleventh, topmost, solitary cube towering high into the air, and surmounted by the image of the unshapely Megatherium, the tutelary deity of the city. Each of these dazzling cubic stones shows a bas relief representing a human figure with a crown on its head, and a sceptre in its hand, whilst wondrous hieroglyphics below record the six-and-sixty names of the ancient rulers of the city.
The first thing which strikes the stranger as he enters the city is the intoxicating, voluptuous perfume which seems to form part of the atmosphere, the exhalation whereof, like a golden mist, extends all over the place, enveloping the towers and roofs of the loftiest palaces in a romantic chiarooscuro. 'Tis the odour of ambergris and musk, and other perfumes, now unknown, which the owners of these palaces have mingled with the mortar of their walls so that the whole town may be bathed in an eternal sea of fragrance. Every street spreads abroad its own peculiar, pleasant odour.
Viewed from afar, all these palaces seem like so many houses of cards. One row of columns rises above another, and each row is encircled by wondrous gossamer trellis-work, so that they look for all the world like aerial, unsubstantial balconies. The lowest row of columns consists of glittering, polished metal (mostly copper), the next rows of jasper or alabaster, and the uppermost of transparent, prismatically fashioned glass, the facets of which catch the morning and evening rays of the tropical sun, and scatter fantastic rainbows on every side of them.
None of the houses have external windows, as with us, so that it is impossible to peep inside them. The whole façade is covered with wonderful statuary—on whose extraordinary groups the eye would willingly linger, if fresh wonders did not every moment divert its attention at every step.
The streets are spanned by arched bridges, which unite the roofs of the opposite houses, so that the city can not only be traversed lengthways by the streets, but crossways also by the roofs and bridges above—the latter, in fact, being the night, as the former is the day route. No sooner has the sinking of the star of day wrapped the streets in darkness than the bridges become animated and populous. Laughing and singing, the noisy groups crowd the bronze bridges and the gardened house-tops. Every house is now open to all, and reveals its sweet mysteries; every roof is bright with the glare of torches, and the half-naked bands, flitting to and fro, revel tumultuously on high.
If any one were to stand in the street below at such times he would hear nothing but an indescribable, terrifying hubbub, occasioned by the mysterious orgies above his head.
In many places huge cupolas spring up amongst and above the palaces, like gigantic eggs rising out of the ground. Wondrous, indeed, the imagination which could devise such structures. The whole building seems to be of a piece, yet it consists of millions of stones deftly joined together with a single large lateral opening.
In the midst of the city rises a temple of colossal proportions, the eight sides of which are covered with silver plates polished to a blinding brightness. In this gigantic mirror one sees reflected the wondrous image of the far-extending city, and the repercussion of the sunbeams therefrom fills the remotest corners of the city with a dazzling refulgence. On the summit of the temple is a huge idol of massive silver. The head is round, like a man's, and its hands and feet have each five digits; but the long, squirrel-like tail behind seems to deny its human origin. Diamonds as large as eggs supply the place of eyes. This is the giant Triton, the supremest idol of that ancient continent, exalted above all the other monsters whom men adore—a millennial monster whose living original sits within the walls of that temple, and utters a roar when it is hungry, and then the whole city—the whole land—trembles before its wrath. It asks but one meal a year, but then it must have a man and a woman to bury in its maw. After that it is dumb again for another year, and sits in the midst of its temple on a golden throne with its five-fingered hand resting on its knees, and its immovable eyes blankly staring before it, just like its silver effigy on the roof up yonder.
CHAPTER VII
THE TETZKATLEPOKA
In the broad streets a mass of men and women are surging to and fro. What festival is being held to-day in Triton's city?
The windows of the palaces are adorned with living flowers, wonderful zoophytes, which belong partly to the rapacious, locomotive world, and partly to the world that is rooted to the soil; huge green snakes, winding up the slender columns and terminating in marvellously beautiful tulip-like calices; but in the midst of each calix lurks a poisonous sting, and the leaves, as they shrink together, greedily devour the bird of paradise that has ventured into the calix while the tail of the floral beast is rooted in the living earth. The balconies are adorned with deep-sea vegetation, which the perverse ingenuity of man has acclimatized to the tropical air. Between the bright ridges of the coral the interlacing suckers of the tumid polypus grope their way, presenting an eternally shifting maze of shapes and colours, whilst through the thick, branching arms of the transparent mollusc the pulsation of its vital juices is distinctly visible. The flowers of the field no longer charm the senses of men; the blunted, unreceptive soul can only be excited by the wondrous, the extraordinary, in Nature.
The main street, from the gate to the Temple of Triton, is covered by a carpet—a carpet woven entirely out of the locks of young damsels. Ebony-coloured hair forms the groundwork of the pattern, and the figures of wreaths, palaces, sacrifices, and all manner of groups are worked into it with tresses of every shade of colour from the blondest blonde to the deepest chestnut. No reigning prince of this world has ever possessed a more costly carpet. Every year the girls cut off their locks; every year the carpet grows longer and longer, and, although the city itself increases every year, the carpet keeps pace with it, and reaches from gate to gate.
Over this gossamer net-work, more precious than gold, the festal host sweeps like a flowing stream.
More than 20,000 children—boys and girls—lead the way to the gorgeous temple, singing merry songs, and as they sing they dance with quivering limbs—a dance which flushes their cheeks with a feverish glow, and fires their eyes with an ardour which has nothing childish in it. On the morn of the feast of Triton an intoxicating potion was given to these children, which has robbed them of all modesty, and, writhing hideously, they dance and sing in honour of the god.
After them come 20,000 women, their bodies covered with dazzling stuffs and gorgeous plumage; women with painted cheeks, gilded eyelids and eyebrows, and with dishevelled tresses rolling down their shoulders in hundreds of ringlets entwined with gold wire. There is not a spot on their bodies which reveals God's creating hand. Human madness has covered, painted, and gilded everything. Only their sparkling eyes show that they are human; only their languishing glances tell that they are women.
The women are followed by three hundred and sixty-five old men, the priests of the god, with lofty, gold-embroidered, peaked caps, and long trailing mantles, each holding in his hand a staff covered with silver bells. These grave old men with the high caps and the long robes dance with insane gestures round a golden car resting on six wheels. Each wheel bears the image of the sun, and six pillars, surmounted by a golden drapery, form a sort of baldachin over the car.
In the midst of this lofty State chariot lies a human form, a pale ghost, a living corpse, whose eyes are as dull and turbid as slimy sea-water; the skin of whose face is earth-coloured and cleaves to the bones, whilst his whole bearing speaks of utter weariness, semi-idiocy, and disgust of life. His limbs are quite motionless; but, if you look closely, you will see that now and then his lips slightly quiver.
This shape is the Tetzkatlepoka.
The chronicles of the Incas, whom the wise Spaniards, in league with the redskins, destroyed root and branch, had also something to say about the festivities of Tetzkatlepoka. Tetzkatlepoka was the name they gave to a subordinate, annually elected deity, who presided over their ghastly mysteries. The proudest and comeliest man that could be found was annually selected and brought into Triton's city. In the midst of the great market-place, the loveliest maidens of the city surrounded him with unpainted cheeks, freely flowing tresses, and elfin garments spun out of glass-thread, and thus they spoke to the elect of the people—
"This year thou art the god Tetzkatlepoka, the lord of all beauty, the demi-god of bliss, the prince of women. Every flower blooms for thee, every lip kisses thee. Wilt thou be the god Tetzkatlepoka? Wilt thou consume away, expire, and vanish in the midst of joy?"
And if the eyes of the elect god kindled at the sight of these sense-bewitching beauties; if the blood flew seething up into his temples; if he answered "Yes!" then he was anointed with balsamic spices, swathed in robes of pearly silk, and carried to the Temple of Tetzkatlepoka, and there he lived night and day in the sweet delirium of bliss and intoxication. The maidens of the city with their long flowing hair visit him one after the other, and when they quit him their locks are cut off, and from these locks the carpet, which reaches from one end of the town to the other, is made. This intoxication, this delirium of joy, lasts a whole year. And on the last day of the year he, together with the last maiden, whom he himself selects, is offered to the giant Triton. The living idol consumes them both, and then a new Tetzkatlepoka is chosen.
Once in ten times, perhaps, the selected man resists the enchanting spectacle, the most irresistible of all enchantments (or is there anything more bewitching than a woman's charms?), and answers the invitation with a "No!"
Then they tear the golden garments from his body, and say to him: "Naked thou camest into this blissful world, naked shalt thou depart into a world of woe. Behold yonder those snow-covered mountains. There dwell those twin voiceless beings: Wilderness and Nothingness. Go thither, thither where neither man nor beast can thrive for horror and distress. Live there in cold, wretchedness, and solitude, and if any love thee let them follow thee." And with that, amidst the scorn and derision of the daughters of Triton's city, they cast the perverse wretch out of that gate which leads to the snowy mountains, and curse him that he may never return again. Generally, however, some one human being is found to accompany the exile; some one girl, more gentle and modest than the rest, who would fain hide with her luxuriant tresses the charms which her gossamer garments so ill-conceal, who, laying her hands on the shoulders of the vagabond, follows him out of the city of bliss into the cold and mysterious world beyond. But love alone, love pure and true, is capable of such acts of renunciation, and such examples of true love happen here only once in ten years. The derided, mud-bespattered lovers immediately vanish into the misty, cloud-wrapped regions of the icy mountains, and no human eye ever gloats over their misery, for no human eye ever sees them more.
Thus the festival of Triton is celebrated every year, when the roar of the hungering monster is heard miles away, and the idiot victim of his own lusts is placed on the golden triumphal car, and led to his doom amidst music and dancing.
Such is the history of the man who sits there on the golden car.
The procession moves on. After the priests come the maidens of the city, with chapleted brows and fluttering garments, and in their midst, on a silver car, the girl devoted to the idol.
After this half-elfin, half-infernal pageant, come the men of the city.
And what men! Bent and crippled shapes with tottering knees, crooked necks, nerveless arms, quenched eyes, and soulless faces, tottering along like drunkards; a host of miserable, withered skeletons. If a manlier, statelier shape appear here and there among the decrepit mob, it is quite the exception; and the features of all, without exception, handsome or hideous, bear the brand of a curse upon them, a spasmodic twitching of the lips, that unmistakable, unconcealable trait which marks the beast, the demon, and the maniac.
The most incontrovertible token of the degeneracy of a race is when its women are very fair and its men very hideous. There ruin already lurks in the background.
And the rear is brought up by an infernal, sense-bewildering throng of monsters, for which human language has no names. Beasts with human heads, and human shapes with repulsive bestial heads; a fearful blasphemy of the sacred order of divine nature; terrifying, mongrel monsters, half man, half beast; accursed witnesses of the insane degeneracy of human nature; creatures of whom all antiquity records but one example—the Minotaur.
In the Fortunate Islands these abortions form a whole tribe, and those who behold them are no longer shocked or terrified at the sight.
CHAPTER VIII
TRITON
A single large round window in the cupola above admits the light into Triton's temple.
Amidst the statues of grim, phantasmal figures which serve as the pillars of the roof sits the wonder of the primæval world, the creature most resembling man, who existed before man was yet created, the homo diluvii.
Even as he sits he measures four-and-twenty feet in height. His feet are disproportionately small, while his enormously long elbows rest upon his knees. His whole body is covered with a bluish-green scaly skin, like that of a sea-serpent wrinkled with age. The face resembles a man's. Its skin is of a lighter colour than the rest of the body, and is drawn quite tight and smooth round the flat, scarcely projecting nose. His forehead is round and flat. Two eyeballs, seemingly perched upon fleshy stalks, stare out of the vast eye-sockets. They are of a painfully vivid scarlet, but cold as stone and surrounded by glittering gold rims such as we meet with round the eyes of fishes. The mouth is lipless, and only visible when it is open, but then it stretches on both sides as far as the little round ears, which are covered with a thin film. A splendid gold crown, with an upright pointed horn at each corner, adorns his head. Round his loins winds a gold-embroidered cloth, fastened by a girdle set with diamonds, and beneath the cloth extends a long, comb-like backbone, terminating in a squirrel's tail.
Thus, year after year, the monster sits motionless on his golden chair. The only sign of life he gives is a sluggish twitching of his eyelids, and the hunger fit which comes upon him once a year, when he opens his mouth and roars till he is satisfied; immediately afterwards becoming dumb again, and remaining so for another year, with his hands resting on his knees, and his immovable, goggle eyes blankly staring at the stony marvels of his own temple, impervious to every outward influence.
The speech of men, the lowing of beasts, the loud-sounding music are just as inaudible to him as the amatory whispers of snails, or the philosophic discourses of the tiny ants are, perhaps, to us. He only understands the voices of the primæval beasts which stand on the same level of creation as himself.
The torpid monster owes all his power to his voice and his terrific shape. He would be incapable of killing even a child that dared to tell him it had no fear of him, and, nevertheless, the whole city trembles before him; feeds his vassals, the plant-eating mammoths, megatheriums, and iguanodons, with the first-fruits of its fields and the monster himself with the blood of its best men and its loveliest damsels; lays at his feet the gold of its mines, the pearls of its seas and the spices of its heaths, and invokes as lord and god what is nothing but a belated, primæval monster, which has survived the centuries allotted to it by Nature and abdicated its impotent, vegetating existence in favour of another and a later world, whose generations are renewed every half century, the world of short-lived, swiftly changing, greedily enjoying man.
The ghastly feast is at an end. Tetzkatlepoka and his elect are led into Triton's temple. The heavy copper doors close behind the three hundred and sixty-five priests.
What happened within the temple no one ever knew. The roar of the monster lasted for a few minutes, and then all was still again; the doors were re-opened, and the high priest, stepping forth, informed the assembled multitude that, at the potent command of Triton, a gold-edged cloud had descended from heaven, taken up the god Tetzkatlepoka and his chosen bride, and transported them to an eternity as full of deliciousness as the last year of their earthly life had been. Let him who doubted count those who quitted the temple, and he would find there were only three hundred and sixty-five persons, or two less than the number which had entered in.
In the temple itself there was no one but the tranquil stony-eyed monster which had now closed its huge mouth and goblin eyes, like one who has eaten his fill and would fain repose.
CHAPTER IX
THE CHOICE OF A GOD
And now for the election of a new god.
A vast amphitheatre-like space accommodates all the inhabitants of the city. There are four tiers of seats, supported by silvered copper columns, the capital of each column ending in a bird's head, from which an intoxicating liquid flows through a silver pipe into a circumambient basin below. The myriad of glistening jets, which descend in spray from a height of one hundred and twenty feet, give the whole interior space an enchanting appearance. The people, as they make their way into the galleries, hold up their heads and imbibe this intoxicating rain with abandoned good humour, while the hideous half-human, half-bestial monsters wallow in the basin below and take in the heady draught that way. Whoever cannot drink any more holds his head under the downward trickling juice till it soaks him through and through. Not unfrequently, the injurious liquid sets some of these creatures on fire by spontaneous combustion, and, roaring and bellowing, they plunge madly through the mob vomiting forth flames of fire.
A daïs in the centre is occupied by children, who have been brought hither to be taught to follow a good example and to participate in a festival which cannot even be described without a shudder.
On the top of a still higher platform, reached by twelve golden steps, stand the three hundred and sixty-five priests, whilst on the lowest steps sit the musicians with long silver trumpets and glass flutes, whose sweetly tender notes go to one's very heart and intoxicate the soul. At each of the four corners of the platform burns a fragrant censer—huge basins of chased gold—which envelop the whole concourse in a stupefying cloud of fragrant vapour.
At a signal from the high priest the trellis doors of the amphitheatre fly open, and just as formerly at ancient Rome the condemned gladiators were led forth to die in the circus, so now two men are introduced, one of whom the people must choose as a god, in order that they may sacrifice to him for a whole year the most precious of their treasures, the honour of their daughters.
Two pre-eminently worthy candidates had been found. One had been discovered by the priest of the megatherium, the other by the priest of the ichthyosaurus, and the people have now to choose betwixt the twain.
Both men were carried up to the top of the platform wrapped round with thick veils. The inferior priests then withdrew; only the two high priests remained behind with their protégés.
The uproar of the people sinks into a low murmur. With rapt attention every one regards the two veiled figures who stand in the midst of the blue clouds of the four censers.
And now the priest of the ichthyosaurus advances and draws away the veil from the figure of the first man.
A terrible shape, seven feet high at the very least, the face rather that of a wild beast than of a man; the strong, stubbly beard, the connected eyebrows, the flat nose, the broad projecting lips and the huge shapeless muscles, which run along the broad shoulders and the thick arms, indicate enormous brute strength. The whole shape is terrifying. Nevertheless, gorgeous garments make this sinister apparition a splendid one. His mantle is lined with orient pearls and embroidered with gold; the thick bristly hair is held together by a golden helmet, the crest of which sparkles with diamonds and topazes. His left hand holds a broad shield, hanging down from the rims whereof are the scalps of the enemies whom he has vanquished in battle, while his right hand rests upon a sword five feet long, the broad blade of which is covered with symbols of magic potency. This weapon weighs half a hundredweight.
No sooner was the man unveiled than a shout of joy burst from the people, a shout which died away in the bestial bellowing of the human caricatures below.
Then the priest of the megatherium approaches the second shape, and slowly removing the veil from it exclaims to the people: "Behold and adore!"
The shape of the second man is bright with neither gold nor precious stones. The stranger wears a simple white robe, which displays his stately figure as it really is, without attempting to improve it by exotic finery. The only decoration of his bare head are his luxuriant, down-flowing locks, and the sole armament of his loins consists of a short sword, which requires the foe who has anything to say for himself to come to very close quarters.
And now the priest spoke to the people.
"Lo! here is a strange man from a distant land beyond the sea, who has been drawn to our shores by Triton's mighty arm. In his eyes burns a fiercer fire, in his veins flows a warmer blood than ours. Before the expression of his visage the face of every man born on our shores quails and blanches. I say no more. You have eyes to see. Make your choice."
Then the other priest cried: "Who will have this hero?"
At this invitation only a poor couple or so of wreaths fluttered down from the crowd, wreaths which certain women of vicious taste had taken from their heads and cast at the feet of the half-savage Hercules below.
But when the priest of the megatherium cried: "Who will have this stranger for a god?" there was a veritable tempest of falling wreaths. The women tore the flowers from their hair and bosoms and threw them with shouts of joy towards the stranger, so that the floor of the amphitheatre resembled a garden in a rain of flowers. "Him only!" they cried, "him only, and none other!"
The diamond-garnished, gold-embroidered hero of many fights rose in disdainful wrath with his priest, and throwing his glittering sword over his shoulder, descended the steps of the platform and sat down moodily on its lowest step.
The stranger remained alone upon the platform with his priest, who twined a fragrant wreath of roses among his locks and cried joyfully—
"Hail thou god Tetzkatlepoka! hail in the name of the fair dispensers of bliss, thou elect of the people! Take thine own, thou king of all beauty, thou prince of women! Take the flowers which bloom for thee, the lips which smile at thee! Hail, thou god Tetzkatlepoka!"
The people responded with a loud shout; but, in a dark corner of the amphitheatre, sat a trembling woman, with a sorrowful countenance, holding in her hands the Ark of the Covenant of the one true God, and groaning and sighing, she cried in the bitterness of her heart—
"Oh, Bar Noemi! Bar Noemi!"
Bar Noemi did not hear the feeble sound. The music of the glass flutes, the soft harmony of the silver trumpets, mingled in his bosom with the choruses of the children into an enchanting, intoxicating harmony, which Byssenia's voice failed to penetrate. Seductive, sylph-like forms danced before him in fluttering garments. Their dishevelled tresses waved wildly in the air. Their flashing eyes shone brighter than the sun. Who would not have lost his reason at the sight of so much beauty, so much bliss?
And again the plaintive, sobbing sound was heard—
"Oh, Bar Noemi! Bar Noemi!"
And the young man seemed to feel a light shudder run through all his limbs. What was that?
Hast thou eyes? Hast thou a heart? Where are thy senses that thou shouldst hesitate a moment? If a hundred years were thine allotted span wouldst thou not give them all away for such glances, and forfeit thy very soul's salvation in the next world for the possession of such an earthly paradise? Thousands and thousands of fairy forms dance round him in a bewitching, ensnaring circle, ever nearer, ever more lovely and more numerous; their breath fans his cheeks; their eyes burn into his very soul, their melodies take possession of his heart. It needs but one word from his lips, and he will sink into this sea of sweetness, die the most delicious of deaths, a death which is nought but a long, long kiss.
The music, the singing, grows more and more enchanting; the odours of the censers fill the air with a sweet intoxication; the snow-white arms already touch the shoulders of the deified man, when again, for the third time, and still more mournfully, still more appealingly resound the words—
"Oh, Bar Noemi! Bar Noemi!"
Suddenly he starts like one just awakened from sleep, a wondrously deep sleep which has benumbed all his limbs. He makes a snatch at his head, tears off the chaplet of roses, and, rending it in twain, throws it to the ground, exclaiming, with a threatening voice—
"I am no god! Jehovah is God alone!"
Instantly the music, the singing is dumb as when the strings of a lyre are cut asunder by the stroke of a sword. The enchantment is broken; the features of the seductive sylphs are distorted into the faces of Furies; the sweet harmony vanishes in a deafening uproar; curses, gibes, mocking laughter and the howling and bellowing of the men-beasts fill the vast arena.
But though the earth tremble beneath the hideous hubbub, Bar Noemi's heart trembles not. He has found the name which gave him strength in the midst of the raging elements, and drawing his sword, he stands in the midst of the furious mob, like a god, or rather like a true man amongst men who have lost every spark of manhood.
And as they rush upon him, he speaks fearlessly to the people, speaks in a voice which rises above their screams and curses—
"Ye inhabitants of the City of Triton! Ye coward worshippers of idols! Ye living, painted coffins abandoned by your own souls even while still in the flesh, listen to my words! My name is Bar Noemi. My strength is the one true God, whose countenance no human eye has ever gazed upon. I'll show my courage by my good sword, which no one has ever yet despised. And I tell you, ye who make a mock of God and His noble image, man, that I despise you all, and that there is not a youth nor an old man within your walls before whom I tremble!"
Shame and wrath made white the features of all who heard him. Everywhere else, red is the colour of shame and wrath, but here, in Triton's City, it was white. For Bar Noemi had spoken the truth, in the whole of that great city, in the city of delight, not a man was to be found who dared to raise his hand against the stranger! And there he stood on the daïs, with a terrible countenance, and his naked sword in his hand, like an avenging angel who had come not to fight with men, but to chastise them.
The warrior with the long broadsword, the herculean frame, and the helmet set with diamonds, was sitting all this while on the lowermost step of the daïs, and did not once turn his head towards his rival.
The priests and elders, filled with despair, rushed towards him and urged him to arise and wipe away the insult thus offered to a whole people. But the man moved not. The paralyzing, voluptuous draught he had just partaken of still held captive both soul and body. The wise pleasure-mongers of Triton's city had introduced this overpowering potion into their mysteries to their own confusion, for it unnerves a man, enfeebles his heart, divests him of his manhood, and pours into his heart a sickly craving after pleasure so that Hercules himself becomes the willing slave of the bright petticoat and the whirring spindle.
At last they brought him another drink which they were wont to give to those who went forth to battle. It was a strong, stimulating cordial, prepared from the froth of wild beasts and the fruits of poisonous trees, filling the heart with an inextinguishable thirst for blood. The fiery drops of this battle potion stung the warrior's nerves. He arose and stared around him with frenzied, bloodshot, rolling eyes. His protruding lips were covered with a yellow foam and his dusky cheeks seemed to be wrapped in burning flames.
"Who calls?" he cried, in a voice of thunder, like the roar of a ravening beast; and, expanding his bulky chest, he swung his ponderous sword, like a reed, above his head whilst his eyes flashed green fire and his trampling feet crushed the heavy stones into the hard earth.
"Kill him! the accursed, hideous stranger, the despiser of the people!" resounded from the galleries, and every hand pointed at Bar Noemi as he stood on the topmost step of the platform which only a few moments before they had covered with wreaths.
With a frenzied howl, the giant swung his sword aloft and shaking his shapeless head, rushed, like a bloodthirsty lion up the steps of the daïs.
"Help, Triton!" roared the mob. Only one soft, almost expiring voice behind one of the columns of the amphitheatre sighed: "Help, Jehovah!"
Bar Noemi fell back not a single step. Motionless as a molten statue, he awaited his antagonist on the top of the platform and avoiding his furious blow, raised his own arm to strike.
The two weapons clashed together in the air. The huge broadsword of the giant split in two at the hilt, and after describing a wide circle fell into the arena, while the sword in Bar Noemi's right hand did not even take a scratch.
The whole multitude was instantly dumb with astonishment. In that land iron was unknown, every weapon was made of copper only, and the thin, bluish-shimmering unknown metal had split in two the shining red sword at the very first blow.
"Woe to Triton, woe!"
The terrified giant tried to protect himself with the broad silver shield, from which the scalps of so many conquered enemies hung down. The descending sword hissed, the uplifted shield groaned, and at the second stroke the people saw the silver buckler split into two pieces for all its potent magic symbols.
"Woe to Triton, woe!"
The stroke brought the giant to his knees. He could now only shield himself with his huge strong arm; but Bar Noemi, with his left hand, grasped his wrist so that the joints cracked, and dealt him, with his right, a last tremendous blow.
The diamonds and topazes scattered sparks beneath the swift glancing steel which fell upon them like a thunderbolt, and as if struck by lightning the corpse of the savage giant rolled down the steps of the golden daïs, his glazed eyes stupidly staring at the horror-stricken multitude. The terrified mob fell with their faces to the ground while the priests rent their clothes and flung themselves at Bar Noemi's feet.
With meekly bowed head, the priest of the megatherium crawled towards him, and asked with a trembling voice—
"Thou God from a strange land who dost carry thunderbolts in thy hand, what dost thou require of us?"
"My wife, whom you have taken from me, my Ark of the Covenant wherein are the laws of Jehovah, and then I will leave the city."
At these words Byssenia, with tears of joy in her eyes, stepped forth from behind the pillar which had concealed her, and covered the hands of Bar Noemi, the strong, the irresistible Bar Noemi, with hot kisses.
"Oh, how blessed is this woman!" cried the women of Triton's city, for it had never been their blissful lot to be able to say: "I am the wife of one husband."
None dared to molest Bar Noemi with gibes and taunts as he left the city. The escort they gave him did not even venture to raise their eyes to his face.
"He is not a man," said the priests, "but the god of a strange people, on whom no human hand has any power. A sinister, wrathful, and austere divinity who has no place in Triton's city. Rejoice that he has quitted you for ever!"
CHAPTER X
THE PROPHETIC MIRAGE
Triton's city had one hundred gates from which paved roads led to every corner of that vast continent; but through one of these gates passed a road which led no whither. This gate looked upon the snowy mountains, where dwelt the invisible God of Nothingness and Desolation. Thither those only were wont to withdraw who became sick and weary of the earthly felicity of the City of Delight. The very threshold of this gate was overgrown with grass, for it was very seldom opened.
Bar Noemi cast not a single glance behind him till he had reached the mountains. There, where the vegetation of the south came to an end, and the pine succeeded the palm; there, on the top of the nearest pine tree, sat the beautiful bird, the dove with golden plumage, which flitted on before Bar Noemi as he reached the mountains, just as she had done before on the ocean, guiding the fugitive through the barren wilderness of mountain and forest.
The region of spontaneously growing trees and grasses soon came to an end, and now began that inhospitable zone where the earth does not willingly open her bosom, where she is a step-mother to lazy sons, hiding her benefits from all but those who labour for them. This is surely the spot whither God brought Adam out of Paradise, blessed him, and said: "Thou shalt eat thy bread in the sweat of thy countenance!" The wise men of old were in error when they called this a curse, for labour is a blessing, and the sweat-drops on the brow are the noblest jewels of him who was created after God's own image.
Rock succeeded rock. Bar Noemi and Byssenia mounted higher and higher, and the exhilaration with which they breathed the invigorating air made them feel as if they were nearer heaven already.
On the top of an elevated rocky plateau, the dove alighted on the ground in front of them, as if it would say: "Halt here." The white and blue bells, mingling with the fragrant grass, seemed to be nodding a welcome to the new arrivals; the love-song of a little yellow bird resounded from the green bushes opposite; everything around them seemed so strangely fair and new.
And now, for the first time, Bar Noemi threw a glance behind him. The abandoned city lay beneath him in a thick, yellow mist, which gave to the whole region a corpse-like hue, a mist not to be driven away by any breeze that blows. On the high roofs of the cities lying in the plain, burned sacrificial fires on gigantic altars; fires whose heavy, dark-blue smoke could not rise up to Heaven; something seemed to press it earthwards where, like a curse-laden cloud, it lodged immovably above the houses, enshrouding the cupolas of the towers and the rigid likenesses of the idols.
Far away on the distant horizon, a delusive mirage performed its juggling tricks, by sketching in the sky the outlines of an inverted city. Towers and palaces stand in the dizzy height with their roofs turned upside down, and the palms stretched down their crowns from above. The next moment everything had melted away—the plain, right up to the very gates of Triton's city, swam in a vast sea, over which the overhanging palms and the inverted battlements seemed to throw down far-stretching shadows, whilst the white sails of ships flitted across the space where the city had been. In a few moments the sea also vanished; the Fata Morgana withdrew her delusive spells. The land again appeared with its woods, meadows, and cities.
Bar Noemi and Byssenia gazed with astonishment at this marvel, whose wondrous significance only they who could penetrate the secrets of the divine counsels might interpret. Involuntarily they folded their hands and prayed together from the very depths of their hearts that the Almighty would turn away His strong, avenging arm from a people who had forsaken Him, and not visit them with the furiousness of His heavy displeasure.
CHAPTER XI
THE DWELLERS AMONG THE GLACIERS
Beyond the mountains quite another world began.
At the foot of a group of eleven glaciers are populous villages, with cultivated fields, and happy, peaceful dwellings. Here dwell those happy ones who have from time to time withdrawn from the world of bliss below, and sought the unfrequented mountains where solitude abides. Here they have built their houses, and in the lapse of years have grown into a people which passes its days in innocence and industry. The only radiance and brightness visible there is in their bright and radiant faces; they carry their treasures in their hearts, not on their garments, and to listen to the prattling of their children is their highest felicity.
These stalwart men and tender women receive the new-comers with joy, and employ their united strength in building them a hut by the side of the other huts; give them a little garden; provide them, in the meantime, with the necessaries of life, and lend them a helping hand in their first labours, and when at last their house is finished, and everything set in order; when their heart diffuses its genial warmth, and the oxen low and stamp in their stalls, Bar Noemi and Byssenia are summoned to the elders, who dwell in the midst of the highest mountain and there judge and rule the people.
The grey-headed chief of the little community dwelt in a hut like the rest of the people; his wisdom alone distinguished him from his subjects, and although he did not go about in purple, every little child knew who he was. To him Bar Noemi related all his wonderful adventures, his marvellous deliverance from the ocean on a sailless, rudderless raft, the loathsome spectacles in Triton's corrupted city, and his fight with the godless giant. He also told him of that mysterious sign in the heavens which showed him the city turned upside down.
Whilst Bar Noemi was speaking, the head of the aged man sank lower and lower, and when he heard of these last scenes, he threw himself with his face to the ground and began to weep bitterly. Much disturbed, Bar Noemi inquired the cause of his grief. With tearful eyes, the old man replied: "What thou, O youth, hast just told me, convinces me that the time is at hand when the Lord will separate the righteous from the wicked, and judge this evil world; when millions will vanish from the face of the earth, and the earth herself will open her mouth and swallow them up because she can endure no longer the sins of mankind."
And the old man bitterly bewailed the doomed continent.
Bar Noemi dried the old man's tears and raised him from the ground.
"Weep not!" said he, "the Lord is not a man that His wrath should not be appeased. In the history of my people have I read that the Lord had once pronounced His judgment over a great city which He had doomed to perish. And He sent His prophet to warn the people to repent them of their sins if they would not be utterly destroyed, both they and their city. And the city repented and so turned away the chastisement of the Lord, and it was preserved. And again it came to pass that the Lord condemned eight cities to be consumed by a fiery rain from heaven, and a fiery torrent from out of the earth, which should change them into a lake of sulphur. And near to one of these cities dwelt a single righteous man, who carried God in his heart, and the Lord revealed His fearful judgment to this man. Then this righteous man threw himself down before God and prayed: 'O Lord! wilt thou destroy the righteous with the wicked?'—And God answered and said: 'If I find five righteous men in Sodom, I will spare the city.'—Dost thou hear, my father, what God has spoken? He doth ever keep His promise, for His word standeth faster than the stars in heaven. And therefore I say to thee, choose me four men out of the people who are righteous in all their ways, men of clean lips, who have neither defrauded their neighbour nor lusted after the wife of the stranger, nor denied their God in word or deed. Them will I take with me to Triton's city, and God, for the sake of five righteous men, will not let a whole city perish."
The old man kissed Bar Noemi, and said: "Of a truth thou art that prophet of the Lord of whom our traditions speak, for it is the Lord who hath put these thoughts into thy heart. My own four sons shall go with thee. Their souls are as pure as crystal and their hearts know no fear. Five men shall save a people."
With that the old man sent for his sons, who, after bathing together with Bar Noemi in pure rain water, knelt down before the old man to receive his blessing.
Now as they were setting off, Byssenia threw her arms round the neck of her husband and asked him—
"Whither goest thou?"
Bar Noemi never lied, yet he did not wish to grieve his wife, so he answered—
"To Paradise!"
And he spoke the truth, for Triton's city was the Paradise of Bliss.
Byssenia walked beside her husband, kissed him once more, and asked again—
"If thou goest into Paradise, wherefore dost thou not take me with thee? Speak the truth? Whither goest thou?"
And now, too, Bar Noemi did not lie, as he answered his wife the second time—
"I go to hell!"
Triton's city was indeed a hell.
But the woman threw herself weeping on his bosom, and asked a third time—
"Oh, my husband! Oh, Bar Noemi, whither wouldst thou go?"
And stretching out his hands towards heaven, Bar Noemi answered the third time—
"I go into the presence of God!"
And, indeed, the road that lay before him led even to God's judgment-seat.
When they came to that rocky plateau from whence they could survey the whole plain, the wondrous phantom of the Fata Morgana again appeared before them—the aerial palaces, the hanging gardens, and the toppling towers which, as they dissolved away, left behind them a sea that covered mountain and valley, so that only the distant pinnacles and the heads of the idols emerged above the billowy flood.
"'Tis the finger of God!" said the old man, with reverential awe, and he blessed the five men and bade them be strong that they might wrestle with God for a continent and the people of a continent. And pressing Bar Noemi's hand to his lips, he breathed in his palm, and said: "Blessed be he whom thou blessest and cursed whom thou cursedst!"
The five men descended the mountain.
But the old man led Byssenia back to his hut among his daughters, who welcomed her as a sister, and when he saw that the woman secretly bewailed her husband who had exposed himself to such dangers, he comforted her, and said—
"Fear nothing, for I know that Bar Noemi will return."
CHAPTER XII
THE DESTRUCTION OF A CONTINENT
The city shimmered from afar in the evening twilight as the five men arrived at the gates. All the houses were lit up with bright torches and coloured lamps. The feast of flowers had begun and here it lasted three days. During that time all the streets and housetops were strewn with fragrant flowers, the columns were intertwined with garlands gay and festoons of wreaths hung across the market-place from one statue to the other.
But the feast of flowers is also the feast of Love. 'Tis the merry springtime, the blushing rose, the flowery mead that charm the senses most. This was well-known and recognized in Triton's city, and men rejoiced when this festival began, the festival of flowers, of roses and of the spring.
Five doleful men, with their swords slung over their shoulders and long lances in their hands, stride through the flower-strewn streets. The passers-by eye them with amazement. On this day the men of Triton's city do not walk the streets alone, every one of them has a gay companion by his side. On this day, too, no weapon is borne within the walls; these be certainly strangers who do not know the custom of the land.
In the midst of the flowery market-place stands an old, hollow, olive-tree, whose branches touch the earth, and whose glistening green leaves distribute their shade over a wide circle.
The five morose strangers are greeted with friendly words by enticing voices from every doorway. Smiling lips, seductive eyes, look down upon them from the roofs, and flowers are scattered upon them from the bridges which span the streets.
Silently, with downcast eyes, the strangers make their way to the old olive-tree, where they thrust their lances into the ground; spread their mantles over the points and there make a primitive tent in which they lay them down to rest.
The more curious of the mob surround this strange tent, whispering at first among themselves, then, presuming further, they cry aloud; boldly pull aside the downward hanging curtains and provoke the strangers with rude and shameful words.
Bar Noemi rose from his couch and stepped among the crowd.
"Ye men of Triton's city," he cried, "gather together unto me in your thousands!"
The men recognized him by his tremendous voice, and, in their terror, gave place to the youth.
Bar Noemi saw the multitude swaying to and fro in the flowery market-place; there were as many heads as wreaths.
"Go and fetch hither all your friends and kinsmen, that they may hear my words!"
Gradually the space around him was full to overflowing, and when all the roofs were also thronged with people, Bar Noemi raised his voice and spoke.
"Ye men of Triton's city, listen to my words! The Lord, the only true God, the Lord of heaven and earth and sea speaks thus to you. Five righteous men came to-day into your city in order to stay the judgment of the Lord which He has pronounced against you. Your years have come to an end, only a few more days remain to you, for the measure of your iniquities is full to overflowing, and no one will see another moon. Cast your sins from you, therefore, that the number of your days may be increased! Strew ashes on your locks and sand before your thresholds instead of flowers and green boughs, for I say to you that the Lord has but to beckon with His hand and not a flower, not a green leaf will thenceforward grow upon the earth!"
At these words the people burst into a roar of laughter.
"The stranger knows not what he says! Such a beauteous youth and yet so senseless; so strong and yet so cold! Oh the pity of it!"
The blithesome groups danced and sang and did homage to the flowers which grow on the green branches and—on the red lips of the women.
And lo! that same night, as Bar Noemi raised his hands to curse, there came from the west with a fearful roaring noise a large, dark cloud, a multitude of locusts, not to be expressed in numbers, condensed into a cloud, a pitch-black, evil host, hiding sun and stars and annihilating grasses and flowers wherever it alighted. And then there came with rapid writhings, like an army of infantry, long, hairy, brown caterpillars, which covered the trees, crept up the houses and marched over the bridges and through the streets, in infinite numbers, fell upon every tree and shrub and devoured them all to the very roots. In one day the whole region resembled a calcined stubble-field; palms robbed of their crowns, woods with bare trees, every blade of grass consumed, annihilated. Only the old olive-tree under which Bar Noemi and his comrades had encamped, kept its strong, dark, glittering leaves.
On the third day the terrified people hastened to the tent of the strangers, and on their knees besought the youth, who had pronounced the curse, to turn away this plague from them, and not let the land be any more destroyed.
Bar Noemi felt compassion for the desolated land, and turning the palm of his hand heavenwards, he softly breathed thereon, and at the same instant a strong west wind arose, which swept the countless millions of the locusts into the sea, where they perished miserably, while a mighty frost slew the caterpillars so that not one remained alive. Trees and shrubs sprouted forth anew, and, after the first plague had been turned away, the first terror disappeared from the hearts of men.
And rankly as ever trees and flowers did the wild human passions spring up again in their breasts. The rich man sat him down again at his sumptuous table, and, puffed up with pride, the inhabitants of Triton's city refused the five men the least nourishment, and commanded them to quit the city. If no one dared to drive them therefrom, they should at least be constrained to leave it by hunger.
In his rage, Bar Noemi stretched out his hand for the second time, and the words of the curse had scarce quitted his lips when, with a thunderous sound, the sluices of heaven were opened; the great blue tent of the firmament was wrapped in black; the dazzling lightning descended upon the earth, and ravaging hail, with devastating fury, shot down from the wrathful heaven and annihilated in a moment the insolent pride of the people.
This second plague made the inhabitants of the Fortunate Islands tremble, and they hastened to bring the most tender of their sacrificial offerings to the five righteous men, who would take nothing of their bounty save unground grains of wheat, for they were forbidden to taste anything prepared in the vessels, seethed in the pots, or baked in the ovens of the sinful people.
The prayers of the five men appeased the wrath of heaven, and no sooner had the Lord withdrawn His chastening hand, than the impious pride of the people returned to their hearts. The women painted their cheeks anew, gilded their eyelids, put on again their glass-spun mantles, walked defiantly through the streets, and mocked the youth who, despite their ensnaring cajoleries, would not come forth from their tent.
In the midst of the square in which their tent was pitched, stood a huge spring with a broad marble basin; there, every morning and evening, these seductive fairy shapes used to gambol and lave their snow-white bodies in the sun-warmed waters.
Bar Noemi hid his face in his mantle, and stretched out his right hand towards them with a gesture of loathing, and this gesture was a curse.
In one night the order of the seasons was changed. In the midst of the most sultry summer, there arose an ice-cold wind, which raged through the land and disturbed the equilibrium of Nature. In a land where ice had never been seen before, the streams were covered with an icy coat of mail, and the terrified people saw unknown white flakes fall from heaven, which covered woods, fields, streets, and pinnacles with a white winding-sheet.
Ha! how the sounds of revelry suddenly died away. On the first day of this wonderful visitation men did not know what to think; they marvelled at the ice, the snow, the wonderful frost. But the very next day they had recovered themselves, and were scouring through the hard, frozen streets on sledges, hung with bells, to the sound of music and singing. They protected themselves against the cold with fur pelisses; they built them transparent palaces of ice, made monuments of the snow, and laughed at the wrath of heaven.
At a sign from Bar Noemi the third plague also came to an end. The sun again appeared in his strength; ice and snow melted away; the earth grew green once more.
And even this third plague did not make the people amend. They laughed already at the five youths, and Bar Noemi was challenged to do fresh wonders in order to break the dull monotony, the sluggish slowness of existence.
Woe to the people whose children complain that life is dull and slow.
Bar Noemi addressed them once more, and for the last time—
"Ye dwellers in Triton's city, and ye who inhabit the plains of the Fortunate Islands, hear and spread abroad among you what I say. The Lord will send terrible plagues upon you, through my hand, that ye may repent and be converted. In the first week from now I will poison the waters; in the second, the earth; in the third, the air, so that what has hitherto been the source of life shall become the source of death; what hitherto has been the bosom of a loving mother, shall become, from to-day, a deep and open grave. Turn you back to God within three weeks from now, to Him who is merciful towards the righteous, but a terrible avenger of the wicked."
The frenzied people laughed at his words, and mockingly bade him do his worst.
The heavy curse smote first the flowing waters. The surface of the streams became coated with a thick film of small green beetles, whose disgusting odour completely poisoned them. Every beast which drank therefrom died in horrible torments; the fish floated, belly uppermost, on the surface of the water, and were cast upon the shores by the green foam. Next the water in the wells became infected. It grew salt, bitter, and nauseating; the jets of the fountains were muddied by a subtle slime, which they sucked up from the earth below, and all the springs lost their fresh coldness, a disgusting, sickly lukewarmness made them unfit for use, so that the thirsty beasts turned away from them with loathing, and, looking up to heaven, moaned piteously. They had more sense than men. For the men of Triton's city laughed at the wonder. If the water was spoilt, was not the wine so much the sweeter? So every one drank wine, nothing but wine—men, women, and children. Stubborn, indeed, is the heart of man!
And now the living, nourishing earth was smitten by the curse. The earth felt the hand of the Lord, and quaked and sickened with a deadly fear. Hard, dry chinks and flaws rent the soil asunder, and as the earth's pangs increased, the hills, the rocks, and the bark of every tree were coated with livid moulds and hideous, sallow excrescences. The fruitful earth became a wretched cripple, whose horrible sufferings were visible in the trees and grasses. Instead of the sweet fruit, there grew polypi never seen before, poisonous funguses, loathsome gall-bladders. The ears of corn were burnt black, the grapes dried and withered on their stems, the honey-yielding reed was covered with wood-lice, the tubers of the bread-dispensing roots rotted underground, and gave a curse instead of a blessing. Every green thing sickened beneath the curse of God; only man felt no sorrow. Oh! hard indeed was the heart of man!
And now the curse infected the vivifying air. Thick, impenetrable vapours, black, brown, and dun, descended. The sun became invisible, the day became night. The stench of the vile, infecting mist oppressed the lungs and provoked convulsive coughing fits; it was a burden to draw the breath of life. There was no longer any staying in the streets. A fetid dampness trickled down from the walls, and the thick brooding clouds, which at other times traverse the air above men's heads, now moved along the surface of the earth; crawling about the streets, and huddling together over the fields and houses in a manner horrible to behold.
"What ho, there! Bring hither the flutes, bring hither the trumpets. Let every one sing who can. If the sun will not shine, the torches shall burn all the brighter. If clouds float along the streets, the wine bowl within will be all the more comforting. If life is to be short, let us make the most of it; if death be at hand, may he find every cup of joy and pleasure already drained to the dregs."
These thoughts were rampant in every breast, and no one came to the five men beneath the olive tree to beg for God's mercy.
Sadly Bar Noemi watched the frenzy of the devoted people, till, in the bitterness of his heart, he uttered another and still more grievous curse.
"Let everything which is dear to man become his abhorrence. Let the sweet become bitter, and the bitter sweet. Let meat and drink turn to poison. May your dreams haunt you with images of terror. May you find sorrow where you seek for joy. May the plague lurk in every kiss. May ulcers deform the flushing cheek and the smiling countenance, and may loathing take the place of lust."
And when, after seven days, the clouds passed away and the dwellers in Triton's city came forth, they shrank back from one another with horror and loathing. Ulcers and scabs disfigured every face. Noses and lips had vanished; the hair of the damsels had fallen out; their bodies had grown crooked. God had obliterated His own image in those whose creation He had repented of. And the sky above their heads had lost its bright blueness, and henceforth remained dull and livid, and men could gaze without winking into the pale disc of the midday sun, and count the spots thereon.
Yet even all this was not enough.
People had no longer any reason to find fault with their neighbours. As they were all equally hideous, it became a point of honour to deny the fact, so scorn grew all the more outrageous, and defiance all the more determined.
The domestic animals no longer recognized their masters. The tame beasts with their mates escaped from the city, and fled with anxious, plaintive cries to the mountains. The dogs and the little yellow birds forsook the city in swarms, and fled to the mountains, where they agreed among themselves never to utter another sound. The dogs will bark no more, the yellow birds will sing no more, lest their loathsome owners discover where they are. In their stead ravens and wolves came into the city. There these natural scavengers held a great council, at which they partitioned among themselves the inheritance of man.
Bar Noemi raised his avenging hand for the eighth time, and cried with a deeply sorrowful voice—
"Let there be death."
And he came, that cruel angel, that terrible angel, Malach Hamovez, with his two-edged sword of flame, the slayer of hosts, before whom nothing in the height or in the depth can remain hidden, and began his awful work of desolation.
The small and the insignificant perished first.
In one day, every little worm and beetle vanished from off the face of the earth, just as if autumn had come and taken them away.
On the second day the serpents and other reptiles came forth from their holes to breathe their last in the plague-stricken sunshine. They lay in thousands at the gates of the city.
On the third day the fowls of the air fell down upon the earth. Stiff and stark they whizzed down from the roofs and covered the streets with their carcases. The wolves saw their companions, the ravens, stiffen out before their eyes, and they had not the courage to fall upon the carrion, but assembled in troops before the gates of the city and began to howl for fear, as if they would say: "Is there then none to help?"
On the fourth day the mammals perished; there they died at the very feet of their masters. No other thing was now to be found in the city, but man and the primeval monster.
And even this last plague did not startle them; they did not shrink back horror-stricken from the appalling solitude; every beast had already fallen a prey to death, only they and their idol still lived on.
There was still time for enjoyment; still they had days to look forward to. Still God had not pronounced His most terrible judgment upon them. "Let us wait!" said they.
And at length the angel of death began his fearful work on this race, which thus disowned their very consciences. A terrible epidemic went from city to city; men died off helplessly, irremediably; a brief moment put an end to their lives; the young and healthy to-day were corpses on the morrow. Already there were more graves than houses; the living no longer sufficed to bury their dead. A wail of anguish resounded through the whole land. Lamentations went from province to province. Men writhed convulsively in the dust.
But wherefore in the dust? Must not God be sought for in heaven? Does He dwell in the dust? Oh! they could not look up. They had prayers only for their idols. They said: "These are our gods. We ourselves made them so." And none of them had the courage to say: "Descend from your altars, ye abortions of the earth, ye who are lower than the dust itself, and give place to God, who is the only Lord."
Instead of this, they rushed in their frenzied despair to the youths encamped beneath the olive-tree, and, hoarsely bellowing, threatened Bar Noemi, the author of all these evils, with poisoned arrows and instant death.
"Ye who have not bowed beneath the eighth plague, recognize the Almighty's hand in the ninth miracle!" cried the ambassador of God, stamping with his foot on the ground.
And oh, wonder! the hard earth began to tremble beneath the feet of the raging multitude. At first there was only a sound like a distant wailing wind in the depths below, but soon it seemed as if a gigantic car were thundering along underground, and shaking the palaces which rose above the surface.
Merciful Heaven! Surely some angry spirit of the depths, striving to escape from his dungeon, is shaking the very foundations of the earth, grinding the mountains to pieces, and hurling the rocks into the plains. The surface of the earth resembles a billowy sea; the crowns of the loftiest palms sweep the reeling earth, and towers and bastions sink down in ruins.
Who can now sustain those golden palaces? Thousands of columns collapse on every side. The proud golden cupola topples, and crushes multitudes beneath its falling fragments; the débris of the gigantic pyramidal gates cover the ground; the remains of the arched bridges strew the ruined streets. Dust and rubbish where once was pomp and splendour.
The terrified people, hastening to the temples of their idols, were crushed by the falling rubbish; the houses of the besotted Bacchanalians bury their own secrets; the sinner perishes in the secret haunts of forbidden joys.
The people fly in terror to Triton, the chief of all their idols.
All around lay the rubbish of the eight walls of the temple; the silver effigy of the god had been cast down and lay with its face to the earth. But the living idol sat on its throne as immovable as ever, only the large, cruel eyes seemed to roll in their sockets as if wondering why the light of day had been withheld from them so long.
The people threw themselves at the feet of the monster, and, folding their hands over their heads, cried and howled: "Help us, O Triton!"
The monster himself began to feel the earth trembling beneath his feet, and there, on his left side, where a sluggish pulsation was visible beneath the scaly skin, a fear, unfelt before, made his heart throb quicker and quicker, and, arising from his throne and raising aloft his frightful head, the monster stood like a tower among the people.
The idolaters shrieked with joy: "Ha! God Triton has arisen! Triton has heard our words. Triton will fight against the strange God. Now, show thy countenance, thou strange God, and tremble before Triton, whose height measures twenty cubits, and whose hand is stronger than the lightning."
The blasphemy penetrated to the tent of the five men. Then Bar Noemi arose; the youths threw their swords over their shoulders, and boldly advanced in the name of the one Almighty God to answer Triton's challenge.
The priests brought them face to face with the monster, and said—
"God Triton has arisen to protect us. He has stretched out his strong arm, and opened his mouth, whose voice puts to silence the thunder. Ye strangers, who have brought destruction upon us, cast yourselves in the dust before him, and await the pouring out of his fury, which shall destroy both you and your God!"
In Bar Noemi's breast the flames of a superhuman enthusiasm began to glow. Round about him swarmed the raging multitude; before him the uncouth and unearthly monster towered up to heaven. With a far-resounding voice he spoke to the crowd—
"Ye dwellers in the dust! Ye dust-worshippers, whom neither blessing, nor cursing, neither good nor evil days, can turn from your sins. Ye loathsome worms, let the tenth plague smite you that ye may have none to pray to. Impotent monster, vile brood of hell, bow thee before the Name of Him who created thee once, and now annihilates thee, and return to thy forefathers—to the worms of the earth."
Thus speaking, he swung his sharp spear around his head with all his might, and hurled it at the monster. The spear flew hissing over the heads of the priests, and there, where the beating of the heart was visible on the left side of the monster, beneath its hard, scaly skin, the spear penetrated, and remained quivering in its heart.
Triton fell down upon his face with a frightful roar, vomiting forth streams of black blood from his gaping jaws, shaking the earth beneath the lashing of his tail, and tearing up the stones all around with his claws.
Bar Noemi and his comrades fled before the crowd had time to recover from its consternation; and when the men of Triton's city at last bethought themselves of pursuing the deicides, the ground burst asunder, so that a broad gulf lay between the pursuers and the pursued, and a stifling, infernal smoke rose up from the abyss.