Salammbo crouched down upon the onyx step on the edge of the basin; she
raised her ample sleeves, fastening them behind her shoulders, and began
her ablutions in methodical fashion, according to the sacred rites.
Next Taanach brought her something liquid and coagulated in an alabaster
phial; it was the blood of a black dog slaughtered by barren women on a
winter's night amid the rubbish of a sepulchre. She rubbed it upon her
ears, her heels, and the thumb of her right hand, and even her nail
remained somewhat red, as if she had crushed a fruit.
The moon rose; then the cithara and the flute began to play together.
Salammbo unfastened her earrings, her necklace, her bracelets, and her
long white simar; she unknotted the band in her hair, shaking the latter
for a few minutes softly over her shoulders to cool herself by thus
scattering it. The music went on outside; it consisted of three notes
ever the same, hurried and frenzied; the strings grated, the flute blew;
Taanach kept time by striking her hands; Salammbo, with a swaying of
her whole body, chanted prayers, and her garments fell one after another
around her.
The heavy tapestry trembled, and the python's head appeared above the
cord that supported it. The serpent descended slowly like a drop of
water flowing along a wall, crawled among the scattered stuffs, and
then, gluing its tail to the ground, rose perfectly erect; and his eyes,
more brilliant than carbuncles, darted upon Salammbo.
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