Tales From Jókai

by Mór Jókai

In the days when Rome, still in her first bloom, had begun to be the mistress of those regions which the geographers of antiquity called the known world, there arose another young city on the opposite seashore, almost over against that great boot which we call Italy, and which, when once it had a good strong foot inside it, was to conquer the world with such rapid strides.

The new metropolis sprang from the ground as rapidly as Rome herself. The legend still lives of its imperious foundress, who purchased from the strange king as much land for her fugitive people as could be covered with an oxhide, and now that plot of land, once meted out by a buffalo-skin cut into strips, was already the seat of a great empire, and of all the coast land round about, and might perhaps have won the dominion of the whole world besides—if Rome had not chanced to be in that very world at that very time. Two centres the world cannot have; round two axles the earth cannot revolve.

This young city was called Carthage.

Men counted 330 years from the foundation of Carthage, which time Christians call 550 B.C., when the following event took place in the city of Carthage.

The captain of a merchant vessel, who very often touched the African coasts in the way of business, had been absent from his native land so long that his funeral feast had been held; his wife had wedded a second time, and another had succeeded to his office. Suddenly, when no one ever expected to see him again, he reappeared at the entrance of the great double harbour, which shut out the sea by means of huge chains, and had not its equal in the whole world, not even in Tyre itself, the oldest of all trading cities.

The mariner's name was Hanno. The whole city knew all about him, and every one now said how wonderful it was that Hanno should have come back again, after remaining away so long.

And he brought back with him treasures and curiosities such as no man had ever seen before, not even in dreams.

It was the custom at Carthage for the merchants who traversed distant lands to record the sum and substance of their experiences on marble tables, which tables were then preserved in the Temple of Kronos, which was in the heart of the city, near to the circumvallated Byrza. That the God of Time also possessed a temple there proves that, even in those early days, the fact that time is the greatest of all treasures, that time is money, was generally recognized at Carthage.

So Hanno's tables were placed on the altar of Kronos. These tables the people were not allowed to see. The inspection thereof was solely reserved for the Council of Elders, the grey Senators whose business it was to calculate how the information thus acquired could be turned to the profit of the fatherland.

The very next day after Hanno's tables had been placed on the altar, he was summoned to the dwelling of the Governor, which stood on a little island, midway between the two havens, exactly opposite the Gate of Elephants. At that time Carthage had already 260 gates and 650,000 inhabitants. A wall 180 feet high encircled the city on the land side; the cupolas of her palaces sparkled with gold; and, high above all her palaces, towered a temple whose walls were of black marble, whose columns were of alabaster with silver capitals, and from the top of whose domed roof rose a huge golden cupola, surmounted by four silver wings.