University of Virginia Library

Scene VI.

—A rising ground between the camps of Hannibal and Scipio. Hannibal and Scipio are seen approaching from opposite directions.
Enter Zeba and Numidians.
Zeba.
Oh, if this conference should end in peace,
I swear I'll go stab Scipio in his tent!
This battle that we longed for snatched from us!
And I, who burned to see o'er yonder plain
Brave Masanissa like an ostrich run,
Until my spear should catch him—

A Num.
Look, oh, look!
Scipio himself approaching.

Zeba.
He is punctual.

Num.
A stately figure, and a goodly face.
That man, I swear, is fit to lead an army.
Who's this rides to his side and speaks to him?

Zeba.
That's Lælius. Ay, and there goes Masanissa!
Oh, as I live, I'll have that horse of his
To-morrow, and the head of him that rides it,
Or never throw spear more! Presumptuous upstart!
Puffed up by Scipio's gifts and flatteries,
To think himself the greatest prince in Afric!

Enter from opposite sides Hannibal with Maharbal and Numidians, and Scipio with Lælius, Masanissa, &c.
Mas.
At last! Behold the demon-conqueror
Draws near, as by a sorcerer's spell constrained,
With a superb reluctance, to salute thee!
Thou hast conjured well!

Scip.
That is the man I dreamed.

[Hannibal and Scipio approach, dismount, and salute each other, whilst those on either side withdraw to a little distance.]
Læl.
So, that is he!

Mas.
Still silent! How they stand
Each gazing on the other!—There he is, then!
Dead Hasdrubal was like him.—How he seems,
On Scipio's face, with eyes of fire to read,
As in a book, the story of to-morrow!

Læl.
And Scipio, on his face, is studying Cannæ.

Mas.
Can he be doomed? With a half-guilty knowledge,
As of a sacred secret, I foresee
How the stern genius, throned on that man's brow
So splendidly to-day, must fall to-morrow.

Læl.
His time is come.—He speaks.

Han.
Scipio, in you
I see an untried foe, the youthfulest
Of all that Rome has sent to cope with me;
But yet, I think, the noblest.

Scip.
I am proud
That Hannibal so thinks.

Han.
Therefore, I sought
This conference—to offer you a gift
That shall not shame the giver nor the taker.

Scip.
What is this gift? I wait to hear it from you.

Han.
I come to offer peace.

Scip.
Now, Hannibal,
You crown me with a wreath that Rome will envy!
But yet I seek a nobler.

Han.
Not so! Profit
By the brief breathing space destiny still
Leaves you, to choose the future. On that spot
Where now we stand, to both, but most to you,
Wisdom cries, Halt! I bid you hear her voice.

Scip.
Proceed, I pray, and if it be the voice
Of wisdom, I both hear it and obey.

Han.
Shall I remind you, then, of what you know,
How yesterday I was the present dread
Of Italy, the ever haunting spectre
That stood and frowned into her shrinking eye?
The children, born since first I crossed the Alps,
Have grown up as familiar with my name
As with their fathers', and without my presence
Beneath their skies could scarce conceive existence,
Nor knew what peace meant. And how is it now?
The country that has been to me so long
In place of mine own land, sees me no more!
No lover parted from his mistress yet
With such a mighty sorrow as was mine,
To leave the land I scourged for fifteen years—
The land I loved and hated, all those years,
With such a love and hate as never yet
Found room together in the heart of man.
You, who well know, and will not scorn to own,
That Rome watched breathless my departing host,
Nor dared draw nearer by a single step—
That Rome rejoiced, as o'er a hundred victories,
When the sea rolled 'twixt her and Hannibal—
You well can image what that sorrow was.

Scip.
Ay, no man better!

Han.
Yes, I understand you!
By that fierce joy which leaped up in your soul
When first you touched the soil of Africa,
You can conceive what my soul felt, that day
When back on still retreating Italy
I gazed, till Italy was there no more.
Now, whilst you triumph in my grief, I bid you
Prolong that triumph whilst 'tis in your power!
Take peace whilst still with honour you can take it—
Take peace, whilst you can feel that you have won it!
Your arms have brought me here to offer it—
Your arms have brought me here, who once had camped
Before Rome's gates, and offered up for sale
Rome's forum. Well may you be satisfied!
Measure your gain by all that I forego,
Who, face to face with all that most I hate,
Now offer to thrust back into its sheath
A bloodless sword, offer to join the hands
Of Rome and Carthage o'er a million graves,
And enter first the city of my birth,
After a banished life of war with Rome,
The friend of Rome, and not her conqueror.
Let this content you.

Scip.
Well might it content me
That Hannibal seeks peace—yet that he seeks it,
Still persuades war, so great it shows to be
The straits of Carthage.

Han.
Take no heed of that!
Think rather of your own straits, and your country's!
You are alone, far in a hostile land,
Now half deserted, and soon wholly so,
And stripped of all provision—you yourself
Cut off from aid and refuge in the sea:
Behind you Carthage, Utica, and Tunes;
Before you I who speak, with all my army.
Now, with that veteran army at my back,
Unconquered to this hour, I offer peace.
Do you accept it?

Scip.
Name, I pray, your terms.

Han.
These, then, in brief. I offer, in the name
Of Carthage—Spain, Sardinia, Sicily,
And all the isles that lie betwixt the shores
Of Africa and Europe. All for which
Carthage and Rome have warred almost to death—
All this I freely offer up to Rome.
Let her rejoice, thus easily to keep
What she has struggled for at so much cost.
Leave Carthage her possessions on this coast,
So long her own: take all the rest yourselves.

Scip.
Hannibal, trust me, with a grave attention
I have weighed all the words that you have spoken,
And hear no whisper in my heart, that tells me
I am reserved to be a monument
Of youth's presumption signally chastised.
The terms you offer should have come before.
You should have offered them from Italy,
Adding your own departure to the sum,
Since all that you propose to render up
Already has been wrenched away from you.
Before you came, in a most abject terror
Your countrymen did send and sue to me,
With humblest supplications, to spare Carthage,
And not avenge on her one man's ambition.
I granted them the instant truce they asked,
Requiring those conditions you have named,
And more, far more than these, as well you know.
Your humbled citizens, with thanks, agreed;
And I sent home to gain the Senate's sanction.
Meanwhile, before that sanction had arrived,
Came suddenly the news that you had landed;
Then straight their fear was changed to insolence.
Uprose they in their full-blown confidence,
Broke through the truce, seized on some Roman ships,
Then sheltered in their harbour, and withal
Mocked and maltreated those I sent to claim them.
Now, then, shall I, for their ill faith's reward,
Go back from the conditions first proposed,
And grant an easier peace? It cannot be.
I will not even seek my Senate's pleasure
Touching this matter, till you shall agree
To yield up, as preliminary terms,
All that your State did formerly accept.
Nor for Rome's honour can I ask for less,
Though 'tis of Hannibal himself I ask.

Han.
To justify my country I disdain,
Or to fling back your charges on yourself;
I leave them to the page of history,
And bid you welcome to the field to-morrow.

Scip.
So be it. There we'll meet, then.

[They remount their horses.]
Mas.
[advancing.]
Hannibal!

Han.
Who's this that speaks to me?

Scip.
It is the king.

Han.
I know him not.

Mas.
O Hannibal, beseech thee,
Hear thy good genius! Do not fight this battle!
Take Scipio's terms, and save thyself and army.

Han.
Scipio, adieu.

Scip.
Fare thee well, Hannibal.

Mas.
Am I a dog, that he should scorn me so?
No more of lingering pity for her people!
On Carthage fall the blood of Sophonisba!

Zeba.
[pausing for a moment.]
Thou prince of traitors! I will meet with thee,
Be sure, on Zama's field.

Mas.
Thou shalt be welcome!
Count not too surely on thy parting from me.

Mah.
Gods give us a good riddance of ye all!

[Exeunt Hannibal and Scipio, with their attendants.