great distance, in the midst of fogs, do you perceive that
giant with yellow beard who lets fall a sword red with blood? He is the
Scythian Zalmoxis between two planets--Artimpasa, Venus; and Orsiloche,
the Moon.

"Farther off, emerging out of the pale clouds, are the gods who are
adored by the Cimmerians, beyond even Thule!

"Their great halls were warm, and by the light of the naked swords that
covered the vault they drank hydromel in horns of ivory. They ate the
liver of the whale in copper plates forged by the demons, or else they
listened to the captive sorcerers sweeping their hands across the harps
of stone. They are weary! they are cold! The snow wears down their
bearskins, and their feet are exposed through the rents in their
sandals.

"They mourn for the meadows where, upon hillocks of grass, they used to
recover breath in the battle, the long ships whose prows cut through the
mountains of ice, and the skates they used in order to follow the orbit
of the poles while carrying on the extremities of their arms the
firmament, which turned around with them."

A shower of hoar-frost pours down upon them. Antony lowers his glance to
the opposite side, and he perceives--outlining themselves in black upon
a red background--strange personages with chin-pieces and gauntlets, who
throw balls at one another, leap one on top of the other, make grimaces,
and dance frantically.

_Hilarion_--"These are the gods of Etruria, the innumerable AEsars. Here
is Tages, the inventor of auguries. He attempts with one hand to
increase the divisions of the heavens, while with the other he leans
upon the earth. Let him come back to it!

"Nortia is contemplating the wall into which she drove nails to mark the
number of the years. Its surface is covered and its last period
accomplished. Like two travellers driven about by a tempest, Kastur and
Polutuk take shelter under the same mantle."

_Antony_, closes his eyes--"Enough! Enough!"

But now through the air with a great noise of wings pass all the
Victories of the Capitol, hiding their foreheads in their hands, and
losing the trophies suspended from their arms.

Janus, master of the twilight, flies away upon a black ram, and of his
two faces one is already putrefied, while the other is benumbed with
fatigue.

Summanus--god of the gloomy sky, who no longer has a head--presses
against his heart an old cake in the form of a wheel.

Vesta, under a ruined cupola, tries to rekindle