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On the 1st of March, in the year 213, the inhabitants of Nîmes were congregated near the fountain, all in holiday costume. Among them ran and laughed numerous young girls, all with wreaths of white hyacinths or of narcissus on their heads. Yet, jocund as the scene was, to such as looked closer there was observable an undercurrent of alarm that found expression in the faces of the older men and women of the throng, at least in those of such persons as had their daughters flower-crowned.

For this day was especially dedicated to the founder and patron of the town, who supplied it with water from his unfailing urn, and once in every seven years a human victim was offered in sacrifice to the god Nemausus, to ensure the continuance of his favour by a constant efflux of water, pure, cool, and salubrious.

The victim was chosen from among the daughters of the old Gaulish families of the town, and was selected from among girls between the ages of seven and seventeen. None knew which would be chosen and which rejected. The selection was not made by either priest or priestess attached to the temple. Nor was it made by the magistrates. Chance or destiny alone determined who was to be chosen out of the forty-nine who appeared before the god.

When the priests and priestesses drew up in lines between the people and the fountain, the ædile of tile city standing forth, read out from a roll the names of seven times seven maidens; and as each name was called, a white-robed flower-crowned child fluttered from among the crowd and was received by the priestly band.

When all forty-nine were gathered together, they were formed into a ring, holding hands, and round this ring passed the bearers of the silver image of the god. As they did so, suddenly a golden apple held by the god fell and touched a graceful girl who stood in the ring.

“Come forth, Lucilla,” said the chief-priestess. “Speak thou the words. Begin.”

Then the damsel loosed her hands from those she held, stepped into the midst of the circle, and raised the golden pippin. At once the entire ring of children began to revolve like a dance of white butterflies in early spring;

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and as they swung from right to left, the girl began to recite at a rapid pace a jingle of words in a Gallic dialect that ran thus: –

One and two,
Drops of dew.
Three and four,
Shut the door.

As she spoke, she indicated a child at each numeral –

Five and six,
Pick up sticks;
Seven and eight,
Thou must wait.

Now passed a thrill through the crowd. The children whirled quicker.

Nine and ten,
Pass again.
Golden pippen, lo! I cast
Thou, Alcmene, touched at last.

At the word “last,” she threw the apple, struck a girl, and at once left the ring, cast her coronet of narcissus into the fountain; and ran into the crowd. For her the risk was past, as she would be over age when the next septennial sacrifice came round.

Now it was the turn of Alcmene. She held the ball, paused a moment, looking about her, and then, as the troop of children revolved she rattled the rhyme and threw the pippin at a damsel named Tertiola. Whereupon she, in her turn, cast her garland of white violets and withdrew.

Again the wreath of children circled, and Tertiola repeated the jingle till she came to “Touched at last,” when a girl named Ælia was selected and came into the middle. This was a child of seven, who was shy and clung to her mother. “My Ælia! Rejoice that thou art not the victim. Be speedy with the verse, and I will join the crustula.”

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So encouraged, the frightened child rattled out some lines, then halted, her memory had failed, and she had to be reminded of the rest. At last she also was free, ran to her mother’s bosom, and was comforted with cakes.

Now arrived the supreme moment – that of the final selection. The choosing girl, in whose hand was the apple, stood before those who alone remained. She began: –

One, two,
Drops of dew.

Although there was so vast a concourse present, not a sound could be heard save the voice of the girl repeating the jingle, and the rush of the holy water over the weir. Every breath was held.

Nine and ten,
Pass again.
Golden pippin, now I cast
Thou, Portumna, touched at last.

At once the girl who had cast the apple withdrew, as also did the girl who skipped to the basin and cast in her garland. One alone remained – Perpetua; and the high priestess, raising her hand, stepped forward, pointed to her, and said “Est.” ’

A princess of Lemuria
apple-girls – the counting games – choosing the sacrifice

Perpetua – in perpetuity