University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

Scene I.

—Crotona. A public banqueting-hall. Citizens assembled, drinking after the banquet. Hannibal, Maharbal, Adherbal, and other Carthaginians, as guests of the Greek Citizens, the Master of the Feast presiding.
Mast. of the Feast.
O Hannibal, yet one more health we owe thee,
Ere for the longed-for lyre we hush the board,
And with sweet songs delay the brimming cup.
Proud is Crotona that her temple adds
To priceless stores from countless votaries
The sacred story of a hero's deeds,
Told as a hero tells them! Thou hast told them;
Others must praise them. Proud are we to think
How oft the pious thousands of the towns
That honour Juno, when they hither crowd
To celebrate her day of awful pomp,
Shall on thy dedicated column read,
In thine own words, the wonders of thy life;
And more shall read than yet is graven there,
For fiery letters in the dark I see,
Wherein thy last achievement shall be writ.
I drink to the next record on thy column!

Han.
Receive my thanks. Whatever record stands,
Come ruin, or come triumph, 'gainst my name,
Be it a true one, I desire no better.
But were my deeds all even that you say,
May Juno's temple and Crotona long
Outlive their fame, and greater fames than mine!
I drink to the great goddess.

All.
Hail to her!

Mah.
[Aside.]
Their wine is good; but for their chatter! oh,
Pray heaven 'tis the last time I ever sit
At a Greek supper-table! Ha, the lyre!
Now for a love-song, for Adherbal's smiling
His sweetest o'er that jingling toy he dotes on.

Adh.
[Sings.]

Mah.
That voice cloys me like honey. He a soldier!—
Could Rome be won by singing!—

Han.
Pardon him,
For that sweet voice in noisy battle still
Outrings the trumpet with its silver cry.

[Adherbal passes the lyre to a Citizen.]
Cit.
Deign, Hannibal, to choose a theme for me.

Han.
Pray thee, a lay from Homer.

Cit.
Willingly.
Say, what strain shall I choose?

Han.
Sing Hector's slaughter,
And the lament of Troy around his corpse.

[The Citizen sings.]
Enter Silanus, and seats himself by Hannibal.
Mast. of the Feast.
Welcome, Silanus! Thou hast missed our supper,
But if thou com'st to share the wine-cup with us,
Thou art not yet too late.

Sil.
Thanks, it sufficeth.
[To Hannibal.]
In the cool colonnade I looked to find thee,
According to thy wont. To-day it seems
Thou scorn'st not the symposium.

Han.
As thou say'st.
Whence com'st thou?

Sil.
From Lacinium. I have spent
The supper-hour in studying on thy column
The battles, sieges, marches, dates and numbers,
Drily inscribed there, as the trader notes
His bargains on his tablets. When I first
At thy dictation penned the list of them,
I had no time to reckon up the sum.
To-day I have done so.

Han.
And what sayst thou, then?
Find'st thou that column an authentic record?

Sil.
I think it is the sole authentic one
Thy deeds are like to have in after-times;
Unless, indeed, I finish ere I die
The narrative I mean to give the world.

Mah.
Thou write a history of war, forsooth!
Thou man of peace! A pretty tale thou'lt make.

Han.
I'll trust Silanus; but forbid it, Clio,
My fame be forced to beg its bread from Rome!
My ghost would scarcely know myself so handled.
A monster, first, of cruelty, and next,
A blunderer after Cannæ. Then for Capua—
The luxury we all did live in there!
What a pet theme for moralists! Besides,
Did I not lose an eye this side the Alps?

Sil.
Thy strange disguises in Cisalpine Gaul
Must bear, I think, the credit of that story.—
I wonder oft with what a simple faith
We read the pretty stories of old authors,
Who know how gossip deals with us that live;
And how we think we understand men's motives,
And are as much at home in minds that lived
Some hundred years ago as in our own,
Which yet our nearest understand not.

Han.
Nor,
Perchance, ourselves much better.

Mah.
The gods save us!
How thou wilt make thy personages talk!
I pray put no fine speeches in my mouth!
Plain sense for me! I'd start out of my grave,
If any man should think I prosed in Greek.

Sil.
Fear not—I shall deal tenderly with thee.
I'll tell posterity that thou couldst ride
As well as a Numidian—couldst much better
Manœuvre cavalry for Hannibal,
Than comprehend an epic—and, moreover,
I'll say thou wert an early riser—hadst
A head most potent wine could never vanquish—
Wert punctual to appointments, also wont
To curse and swear at every man that was not,
And never couldst be brought to understand
Why any woman should be taught to read.
Will this content thee?

Mah.
Have it thine own way—
Be sure I'll never read a page of it.

Sil.
[to Hannibal.]
Thou art not in the spirit present here.
Where art thou, then?

Han.
In Carthage.

Sil.
There? Methinks
Thy spirit must behold her through a mist,
Left in such early childhood. Canst thou still
Feel it thy home?

Han.
As it so chanced, last night
I dreamed of Carthage, and was there, I think,
As verily as if my soul had been
Rapt from my sleeping body, and borne thither.
The vivid vision is all round me now.

Sil.
Would I could see it too! Paint it for me.

Han.
Strange, how the scenes beheld in childhood last,
With all the slight details in waking hours
Forgotten, stood out in sharp colouring!
There, in their threefold ring of walls and towers,
With here and there a straight black cypress-spire,
Or plumy palm-top, pointing to the sky,
Lay all the shining crowd of its white houses,
Marching, as 'twere, into the smooth, bright sea,
And wound in its blue girdle; bounding all,
The spacious outer harbour, galley-thronged;
The Kothon's mighty quays more deep within—
Its thick-set fringe of masts, like lifted spears,
Glimpsed through its white Ionic colonnade;
Then, high above, the Bozra's stately steep
Rising through terraced streets to the vast stair
Of Esmun's Temple, the whole city's crown;
And all the garden-suburb of Magalia—
A walled-in paradise with its green shrine
Of orange groves and lightly-feathering trees,
O'er breadths of glittering water strewn in isles.
There was I standing in the streets again:
I saw the loaded elephants, I heard
The cries of them that drove the strings of mules,
And through the gates watched the long trains stream in
Of sable slaves from the far savage south.
My father's palace I beheld once more,
'Neath whose broad archway, to and fro, so oft
The brothers of my childhood have passed with me.
Then, with a sudden flitting of the scene,
O'er miles of corn and olive, trellised vines,
And mantling fig-tree foliage, I was borne
To his Byzacean mansion, dark and cool,
In cedar-shade, and labyrinths of rose.

Sil.
Were I a cunning soothsayer, I would tell thee
This vision did portend thy swift return,
Loaded, of course, with laurels, and so forth.
There's still room for the story on thy column.

Han.
Ill did the shade of solemn sadness thrown—
As 'twere a haze across the spendid sun—
Over the scene I saw, that flattery suit.
I am content to have seen my city thus.
Nought but calamity can call me home.

Enter a Messenger.
Mess.
My lord, a ship from Carthage is in port,
Whose captain brings you letters. He is here,
And waits to place them in your hands.

Han.
Admit him.

Enter Carthaginian Captain, and salutes the assembly. He presents his letters to Hannibal.
Mast. of the Feast.
Gladly, O stranger, to our board we welcome
Hannibal's countryman. I pray you sit.

Han.
[starting from his seat].
Traitors and cowards! The fires of hell devour them!
Shame blast their names to all eternity!
[Re-seats himself.]
Pardon me, friends, I interrupt your revel;
Heed not, I pray, my rudeness.

Sil.
[aside to him].
Have a care!
Men's hearts break with such efforts.

Han.
I am well.

Sil.
Thy face is stony, but thou art not well;
Whate'er thy secret be, hide not too long
The inward pang that rends thee.

Han.
I can bear it.

A Cit.
[to another].
What follows next? I thought some god had doomed us,
And this was but a banquet of dead men!

Another.
What thunderbolt from Afric has been hurled,
To set that swarthy darkness in a blaze?

Another.
This comes when mighty conquerors deign to sup
With peaceful citizens!

Another.
His generals
Roll their fierce eyes on him with gloomy wonder;
The stranger captain sits in a stern silence.
[To Maharbal.]
I trust our city, sir, is not in danger?
Methought that Rome was at our very gates!

Mah.
Plague take your foolish city! You are safe
As Punic shields can keep you!

A Cit.
[aside].
He may say so,
Yet non the less the revel has grown tasteless.

Mast. of the Feast.
Friends, have we drained enough of cups to-night?
Let us depart, I pray you.
[All rise together. The Greek guests disperse hastily; the Carthaginians gather round Hannibal.]

Mah.
Ay, hence with you.

Han.
O my unsatisfied revenge! that hast
Haunted me like a beggar for so long,
Be patient, for thy waiting is not done!
Yet, thou stern ghost, no pardon do I ask
Of thy beheaded form, and all the wounds
Which made a ruin of thy mortal house,
Because that Tiber runs not yet with blood,
Because that Rome is not yet changed to flames!
I ask no pardon, for thou sitt'st so close
To the most secret counsels of my heart,
Dead though thou art, thou still art one with me,
As ever in those days, when the great dread
Of thee walked living over Italy!

Adh.
O Hannibal, awake from this dire trance,
And let us share thine agony with thee!

Han.
A second time the fool of Roman gods,
A second time the plaything of their scorn!
They jest upon me, Hasdrubal, my brother!—
Comrades, I am recalled.

Adh.
Recalled!—Thou? Whither?

Han.
Recalled to Africa. Scipio has thrice
Routed the Son of Gisco, and King Syphax;
Cirtha is taken, and Syphax is a prisoner;
Carthage is threatened, and will fall, unless
I am in time to save her.

Adh.
Are we dreaming?

Han.
Scipio has now my place. Long have I borne
In patience the slow death of my heart's hope,
And well I might have guessed that this would be—
Yet scarcely thought so to revisit Carthage.

Mah.
Accursed news!

Adh.
This is the heaviest blow
Save one, thou hast been called to bear and live!

Mah.
Thou yet shalt march on Rome.

Han.
Never again.
Yet here I would have lingered till old age,
So her deep wounds might bleed at last to death.—
Read here, too—little may we doubt that Scipio
Holds for the foremost trophy of his triumph
A Carthaginian's daughter and a queen.
I think Rome will enjoy her holiday!

Adh.
Unless we spoil it for her.

Han.
Knowing this,
You'll further look to hear my brother Mago,
Like me, has been recalled.

Mah.
That's easy guessed.

Han.
In truth this does not take me by surprise.
Sooner or later 'twas inevitable,
If Mago's desperate effort in Liguria—
Our last hope—failed; but Mago has done nobly,
And bringing me himself, brings me a host.

Mah.
Now shalt thou meet him the first time since Cannæ.
Let Rome look to it when you come together.

Han.
Back to my quarters now—no time to lose.
[To the Captain.]
Come with me, sir, and let me hear from you
What further you are charged with from the State.

[Exeunt omnes.

Scene II.

—A House in Crotona. Hannibal and Adherbal, and Citizens.
Han.
I have said it. You are welcome to my ships,
Both you and yours; and on the soil of Afric
Shall find a home and refuge from Rome's rage,
As long as Afric is a home for me.
For those who choose submission to their fate,
I trust there may e'en yet be clemency.
I grieve to leave them—leave, but not forget—
And if I can, will break their yoke once more.

Cit.
O Hannibal, our mournful thanks we owe thee!
To leave our home is hard, yet not so hard,
Following the fortunes of thine undimmed star,
Trusting to which we look for our return.

[Exeunt.
Enter an Officer hastily.
Off.
My lord! my lord! Th'Italian troops are all
Crowding to Juno's temple, where, drawn up,
They vow they will not go to Africa.
They heed us not—they call upon the goddess,
And drown our words in outcries of defiance.

Han.
They'll go where I will, or to Tartarus.—
Thoas! my horse!

Adh.
Let me call out my Spaniards,
And if these fellows come not to their duty,
We'll show Lacinian Juno on her throne
How red's the blood of traitors. We can face,
I think, her clamours at the sacrilege.

Han.
'Twill not be needed. Ne'ertheless be ready;
For if they come not willingly, I'll show them
Stern reasons for obedience. If those fail
I leave to Rome their corpses; but, meanwhile,
I want them living, and will have them, too.

Enter Silanus.
Sil.
I break in on stern moments, I divine.
Adherbal, by that soft, persuasive smile,
And tones as soft, is counselling rough deeds;
So doubtless, too, that delicate pen of his,
Which traces war-despatches like love-letters.
Yet pardon this intrusion, Hannibal!
This is the hour thou bad'st me come to thee.

Han.
Yet must I keep thee waiting, for a space,
Whilst first I gallop to Lacinium.

Adh.
I,
Meanwhile, will have my men in readiness,
To fall upon these mutineers.

Han.
So do.
I shall not need thee.

[Exit.
Adh.
Thou, if time hang heavy,
Mayst spend it in composing funeral dirges.

Sil.
Willingly. But for whom?

Adh.
For Mago, first.

Sil.
For Mago? Art thou such a gloomy prophet?

Adh.
News of his death this morn have reached his brother.

Sil.
Is this no jest? Dead?

Adh.
Of his wounds in battle.
The summons home found him, it seems, defeated
In one last struggle to cut through his way
'Gainst overwhelming numbers to Etruria,
And with a death-wound on him—not, indeed,
Defeated till that death-wound. Yet did he
Haste, like a true son of Hamilcar's blood,
To obey the call, all dying as he was,
Embarked with all his army, and expired
In passing the Sardinian shore, worn out
By the fierce fever of his mind and body.

Sil.
And Hannibal has now no brother.

Adh.
None!
Such is the comfort that to-day has brought him;
To-morrow may bring comfort of its own.
The other news we have may be called good.
The noble Sophonisba had drunk poison,
Rather than fall into the hands of Scipio,
And shame her country and her royalty,
Her father's house and every house in Carthage,
By living for his triumph. Mago's ghost
Will find her gone before him.

Sil.
Well, the skies
Can rain disaster on no soul and heart
More strong to bear them—yet on none, perchance,
More strong to feel them. What shall follow next?

Adh.
The times are changed. This day, nine years ago,
We left our fires red on Tifata's heights,
And swept along the Latin road, to Rome.

Sil.
I had forgotten.

Adh.
They will not forget!
Long shall the husbandmen of Cales tell,
Around the purple winepress, how our swarms
Burst on her vines when all the leaves were green,
And left nor green leaf nor a blossom there!
Long shall Casinum for her olives mourn!
Long shall Fregellæ curse the day when first
Our vengeful trumpets sounded in her lands,
And silent Liris tremble down the vale,
Remembering how he rolled that day through flames!
E'en from the loftiest peak of Algidus—
On whose black oaks the burden of his snows
Round Dian's freezing temple lay so late—
Long the pale priestess in her dreams shall hear
The echoes of our horsehoofs thundering by!—
Yet Capua fell, and on Tifata's heights
Ne'er have our fires been seen to burn again!
Small comfort in such anniversaries!
I must begone! Adieu!

[Exit.
Sil.
Proud soldier-souls,
Hard is the lesson you are now to learn,
Nor gentle the task-masters that shall teach it.
Under his novel schooling, Mago died.

Scene III.

The Temple of Juno on the promontory of Lacinium, surrounded by groves and pastures. The Italian troops gathered in and around it.
Enter Maharbal.
Mah.
What! what! You will not! Oh, you pitiful turncoats!
Dogs! Scoundrels! all of you! You will not, then?

Ital.
We have had war enough! For fifteen years,
There has been no peace in Italy for him!
We will not follow him to Africa—
We will not go and perish in the desert!

Mah.
I'd like to see you say this to his face!
So this is all the thanks he gets from you
For making soldiers of you, giving you
So many victories over your enemies!

Ital.
We will not leave this land—we swear we will not!

Mah.
A pretty pack of cowards are you all!
You fear salt water, do you? By my life!
I'll throw you every man into the sea.
Ha! horse-hoofs that methinks I know the sound of!

Enter Hannibal.
Han.
What's this, Italians? What's this mutiny?

Ital.
O Hannibal, take us not o'er the seas!

Han.
Peace! Let me never hear those words again,
And I'll forget that you have uttered them!
Where'er I go, you'll follow.

Ital.
Oh, thou know'st us!
Remain in Italy, and we're thy slaves!

Han.
I have trained you like my children, you Italians!
I have been proud to win my victories with you,
I know you better than you know yourselves,
And I'll not yet believe you are no braver
Than frightened girls that weep to leave their mothers!

Ital.
Try us! oh, try us! Lead us to Rome's gates,
And we will burst them for thee!

Han.
Not to Rome
I choose to lead you, but to Afric—What!
You think, when I am gone, you'll stay at home,
To eat and drink, and boast of your old fights,
Whilst o'er the seas, Scipio and I are locked
In the death grapple? And when I come back,
Conqueror without your help, you'll wish me joy?
Ay, hang your heads, lest I should see you blush!
You will not cross the seas to Afric? Nay,
But your new masters wait to lash you thither,
Whine and crouch as you will. I'll meet you then—
Meet my old soldiers, but no longer mine—
No more your general, but with levelled spears!

Ital.
We'll perish first! Curst be the man of us
That dreams of fighting 'neath a Roman banner!
Dost thou not know thou break'st our hearts to say so?

Han.
Come, then, with me! Make not my triumph sad,
Won without you! We are so knit together,
The gods themselves dare not to part us. Come!
Help me to win the noblest of my battles!
Help me to save my Carthage! One more victory,
Then home! yes, home to happy Italy!

Ital.
We go! we go!—We follow thee to death!—
Forgive us, oh, forgive us!—We were mad!
Take us! still take us!—We are thine for ever!

Han.
Oh, now I know again my brave Italians!
The old voice, the old look, and the old love!
Who says we shall not stand or fall together?
Let Juno ratify our new betrothment,
And witness your true vows!

Ital.
We swear by Juno!
May Juno strike us dead, if now we fail thee!

[The Italian troops march out of the Temple.]
Han.
They have done well; for death was at the door—
Had they stood out—in a more human shape.

Mah.
I would have done the business with a will!

Han.
So Mago's work is done, and he is gone!
None left to mourn me, as I mourn for him.

[Exit.

Scene IV.

—The sea-shore. A crowd collected waiting for Hannibal's embarcation. Herdoneans and Metapontines mixed with the people of Crotona.
A Cit.
Ay, let the women wail! 'Tis time indeed!
Who will protect us now?

Anoth.
Yes, there they go!
Gaul, Spaniard, African—each in their turn,
The blue-eyed and the swarthy—one fierce face
After another. Pass one little hour,
And this land will have seen its last of them!

Anoth.
A swarm of hornets seeking a new nest!
And ne'er a Roman dares but raise a shout
To send them quicker.

Anoth.
Pale, sad faces here!
We seem to wait an earthquake! Well, no wonder!
What shall our fate be now? As yet the Roman
Cares not to show so much as a spear's point.
They let him go in peace, but once he's gone,
Down come they with a vengeance!

Anoth.
Mighty Juno!
He leaves us worse off than we were before!
He should have never come, or never gone.

A Herd.
Let him go, the black-hearted Carthaginian!
And let the curses of the slain go with him!

Anoth. Herd.
And let the curses of our ruined cities
Shake his own Carthage deep as her foundations!

A Metap.
You'll all live to regret him. Greater man
Never did this land see, nor ever shall—
A man more dreadful to his enemies,
More generous, just, and faithful to his friends,
Yea, to the humblest of them.

A Cit.
If he beats
Young Scipio, who knows but he'll come again?

Anoth.
If Scipio beats him, he's the age's wonder.
Who ever heard of Hannibal defeated?

Anoth.
Say what you will, with him our sun goes down.

Enter Hannibal, Maharbal, Adherbal, and others, attended by some of the principal Citizens.
Han.
Farewell, my friends! To leave you thus exposed
To Rome's revenge, afflicts me to the soul,
Believe me. I have done what best I could
To lighten your hard fate, and still will hope
That Rome may gently deal with you. Farewell!

Cit.
O Hannibal! Farewell! farewell! farewell!

Enter Ianthe, dressed as a Sibyl.
Ian.
O Hannibal! Dost thou remember me?

Han.
What seek'st thou, lady?

Ian.
What I cannot find—
Rest for this troubled brain—ice for this fever—
Comfort to my despair. Thou art going, then?
Go, with the curse of cruelty upon thee!
Go, with an evil star, to Africa,
And think of me upon the battle-field!
Live to see Scipio riding o'er thy slain!
Live to fly routed before Scipio's face!
Live to behold the ruin of thy country!

[She rushes away.]
Adh.
An evil omen, if the soldiers heard.

Mah.
Confound her, the mad witch!

Adh.
Ah, fair Ianthe—
Good-bye to thy crazed, piteous loveliness!—
And thee, too, goddess Juno, gazing down
From yon sun-lighted promontory of woods—
Through which thy temple sparkles like a flame—
To watch us go! It may be thou shalt yet
Watch us return.

Han.
What though we ne'er return!
Whatever henceforth shall become of me,
My labour never will have been in vain—
Long shall Rome feel me in her heart of hearts!