University of Virginia Library

Scene IV.

—By the gate of the citadel of Metapontum.
Enter Hanno and Maharbal.
Hanno.
He found you at Grumentum first, then?

Mah.
Ay,
And got there his first lesson from us. Back
We sent him helter-skelter to his camp,
At the first glimpse of his presumptuous face;
Then, as I told you, leaving our fires burning,
Slipped off by night the old way. Once more only
His horse came close enough to be chastised.
'Twas then we caught our truant Mutines.

Hanno.
This Nero is in earnest. Not for long
Has consul dared so closely dog our steps.
He will not give us passage to the north,
Without a blow.

Mah.
Welcome to give and take!
Oh! to stake all upon one furious hour,
Dash at the throat of Nero, and have done!
So near our one last chance, and still to wait,
Sore plagues me. Something, too, keeps whispering me
We shall outstay our luck.

Hanno.
Come, patience, patience!
You're ever thus—fretted with black misgivings,
When you are not in the full tide of march,
Or the wild whirl of battle.

Mah.
Oh! I tell thee
I shall not breathe till we are on the road,
With Nero boldly marshalled on our front,
And trumpets sounding battle. Then, we'll hope,
Both brothers in the Capitol may sup
At that same board which these ten years agone
Waited so long for one of them in vain.

Hanno.
Again that tale? But would'st thou have him, then,
Rush northward e'er he knows his brother's road?

Mah.
Oh! never doubt he comes by Umbria—Ha!
The Greek philosopher, by all that's wondrous!
With—why, the lady weeps, for all her finery!

Enter Silanus with Ianthe.
Ian.
I do not see him—tell me, do you see him?

Hanno.
[To Maharbal.]
Hush! let us watch.

Sil.
I see him coming, now.
Enter Hannibal.
I bring thee here a suppliant, Hannibal.

[Ianthe throws herself at his feet.
Ian.
Oh, mercy, mercy, Hannibal, my lord!

Han.
Rise, lady! Tears and passion are not needed,
If thy request be fit for me to grant—
If not, they must not move me.

Ian.
Oh, my lord!
I only ask thy pardon for a man
Thou once didst love! Spare hapless Mutines!

Han.
No, by my father's soul, I will not, lady.

Ian.
Thou wilt! thou wilt! Thou canst not mean to kill him—
So noble, happy, and honoured once—so fallen,
So miserable, now!

Han.
Thou askest, lady,
My grace for one who does not wish to live.
Why should he live? No place is left on earth
For such an one as he.

Ian.
Yes, yes, oh, yes!
For he shall learn new loyalty from me!
I love him—he loves me—and I will hold him
Fast to his faith by charms that mock at magic!
Believe, thou never shalt repent thy mercy!
Believe, believe, there's power in love like mine!
Believe, believe, there's power in penitence!
Trust to the generous ties that bind for ever
The pardoned to the pardoner! Speak the word,
And send me happy home.

Han.
Ask me no more!
He who betrayed his first love, in that cause
Which he was born to, reared in, and adored—
Thinkest thou he would not, lady, betray thee?
Ask me no more. Resign thyself.

Ian.
I will not!
No, no! I will not! Come then, thou who art
Our hope, our pride, our master! who hast saved us,
By thine own godlike arm, from abhorred Rome!
Thou, happy on that loftiest peak of fame,
So dazzling to my woman's eyes from far,
Be not all brightness, and all glory! Deign
To be loved, Hannibal, as well as worshipped!
Oh, yes, I know that thou wilt grant my prayer!
I know thou wilt! Keep thy stern looks for men;
To me thou wilt be gentle!

Han.
Lady, pray
That death from that man's soul may cleanse the stains,
The blacker as his nobleness seemed brighter.
I blame thee not that the star dazzled thee,
Whose sad eclipse thou couldst not prophesy,
For he was prompt and fiery in his looks,
As in his deeds, and seemed, indeed, the hero
He might have been, but was not.

Ian.
Speak'st thou so,
Oh! and canst think, without a freezing horror,
Of trampling out by thy deliberate will,
So warm, and bold, and passionate a soul,
From this bright, beautiful life, that we enjoy—
This human life we cannot live but once—
This human life, at longest, all too short—
Of snatching—horrid robbery!—from thy fellow
That once delicious prime of glowing manhood,
Whose strength and fierceness, hope and love, and laughter,
And revels of the wine-cup, dance, and song,
The very gods might envy humankind?
Restore him this, and I but live to bless,
Love, and adore thee!

Han.
Live, but not for this.
The life thou paint'st I cannot give him back—
The baser life that's left to him, I will not.

Ian.
Relentless heart! Oh, cruel Carthaginian!
Dost thou live only to surround thyself
With tears, and groans, and terror? Didst thou come
Into this pleasant land, only to slay?
Art thou the same, then, in thine iron manhood
As ever in thy fierce and dreadful youth,
Which o'er a shrieking land—o'er hearth and field,
Strewn with their unarmed corpses, whose sole crime
Had been the name of Roman—long ago,
All the sad length of Adria's smoking shore,
From Trebia swept to Cannæ's horrid shambles?
Oh, on such heaps of slaughtered foes, what profit
To fling this one life of a man that loves thee?

Han.
Enough, enough! No longer waste this passion.
What is his life, or mine, or any man's,
Weighed with the destinies of Rome and Carthage?
I know thy grief is heavy—his the blame
Who cast himself away so madly. Yet,
If, when I war with men, I stop to count
The tears of women, I may sheathe my sword.
No house in Rome but maid and matron there
Weep tears as sore as thine: so let them weep!
The daughters of my people rend their hair
For many a dear-loved soldier, slain for Carthage—
Vowed to avenge these, what have I to do
With tears that flow for traitors? Mourn not him;
Mourn to have loved unworthily; and know,
I must be cruel, lady, to be true
To that austere commission which my soul
Holds from my gods, my country, and my father.

Ian.
Accurst commission! Why must my heart break?
Oh, what to me is Carthage, what is Rome,
Or peace, or war, or anything but him?
As thou hat'st Rome, so I love Mutines.
My passion matches thine, and shall be heard!
Silanus, plead for me to this hard heart!
What is this mission of thy fancy?—what
This dire abstraction? Say, who profits by it?
Oh, if mankind's made up of human hearts,
And every human heart be worthless to thee,
What art thou but the foe of all mankind?
How dost thou cheat thy nation to believe
The groans of each compose the good of all?
Still, still I ask—why must my heart be broken?
Think of it once again; strive but this once
To comprehend my anguish! Surely, surely,
No man on earth should scorn a woman's thanks
And blessings! Oh, Silanus, plead for me!
Why art thou silent? Hast thou, too, no pity?
My heart is breaking.

Han.
None that knows me, lady,
Would plead in such a cause. I pity thee—
Farewell.

Ian.
Let me go home, now! Let me die!

[Exeunt Ianthe and Silanus. Hannibal walks apart with Hanno. Enter Adherbal.
Adh.
What lovely fury's that?

Mah.
How should I know?
Some poor besotted creature, so bewitched
With love of Mutines, the treacherous hound!
She needs must come to beg his precious life,
And now goes hence despairing. Silly soul!
Pity she wastes her tears so.

Adh.
Heavenly powers!
For the first time I envy Mutines.
'Tis well I was not tempted; for one smile
I would have granted all.

Mah.
The more fool thou.
Oh, we all know thy softness!

Han.
[approaching with Hanno.]
Therefore, Hanno—
Since what we want is soldiers, soldiers ever,
Against the enemy's o'erwhelming force—
So it may double, and not triple ours—
To Bruttium thou shalt march without delay,
Gather in all our garrisons there, ransack
Each corner for new levies, then return
And meet me on the border. I myself
Will lead the new force to Apulia. There,
I spend such interval as Hasdrubal
May leave me, in providing corn and stores
For that which is before me.

Hanno.
Whatsoe'er
Is left in Bruttium, fit to serve thy purpose,
Trust me I'll find and safely bring to thee.

Adh.
Maharbal looks most gloomy.

Han.
Much I would
That we were galloping to the charge together
Against an enemy three times our number,
For then I think that we should see him smile.

Mah.
Would that we were! would to the gods we were!

Han.
We will, then, soon as Hasdrubal shall deign
To send me word which road he marches by.

Mah.
And that will be—how canst thou doubt? Oh, save us!
Here's thy philosopher again. I must not
Intrude my soldierly discourse on him.

Re-enter Silanus.
Han.
Thou couldst not have an apter auditor,
For he is deep in military tactics,
And knows by heart our battles, though not given
To interrupt his ease by joining them.

Sil.
No, verily! I never prized so much
My philosophic privilege, as when
I watched the field of Cannæ; yet I think
That I can tell the story to the world,
As well as some that fought there. Now I pray
Give ear to a petition that I bring thee
From this despairing beauty. She implores
To see her lover once before he dies.

Han.
'Twere merciful to him I should refuse her—
Yet let her have her will. Here, take this ring;
The guard will let thee in. Thou know'st the way.

[Exeunt omnes.