University of Virginia Library

Scene IX.

—The tent of Hannibal. Adherbal, Maharbal, and Himilco.
Adh.
Tell us, then, how he bore to hear your story?

Him.
With pale and steadfast countenance he sat,
His head supported on his hand, his eyes
Fixed on me, till, as I approached the close,
And spoke of Hasdrubal, and how he died,
He pressed both hands a moment on his face,
And his breast heaved; but, when he took them off,
I saw no tear. He heard me to the end,
But when I ceased, without a word he rose,
And to the inner room withdrew himself,
And if he wept there, best knows Hasdrubal,
Whose shade was surely with him.

Adh.
So 'tis ended!
But how shall soul of man find strength to bear
So deep a ruin of so dear a hope?

Him.
What will he do now? Will his strong heart break,
And fling the fate of Carthage to the winds?
Or will he keep his dream, that years to come
Shall find him once more on the road to Rome?

Mah.
Ay, that will he! His heart will never break
While there's a mischief to be done to Rome.
I think he'll not go hence until he dies.—
Gods! this is like the days when Capua fell;
I was by then, when first he heard the news.

Adh.
But that great anguish was to this a jest;
The fall of Capua was a child's toy broken,
Rome's bloody vengeance there a butchery
Of lambs, beside the death of Hasdrubal.

Enter Hannibal from within.
Him.
I take my leave—you do not need me now.

[Exit.
Han.
Be seated, friends. No need to strive for words,—
I know already all that you would say.
Well, it is time boldly to face the truth;
Hasdrubal and his army are no more—
My dearest dream is perished.

Adh.
Hannibal,
How noble is thy fortitude! For us,
Needs must I own it, we have wept like women.

Han.
There's cause for tears,—but now no more of them;
We'll speak of what concerns our present actions.
I need not say that now, for many a year,
All hope of marching to the siege of Rome
Must be laid by. Nor can I wage this war
As I have done so long—ere yet I hoped
To end it at a blow. 'Twill be enough
If I can hold a spot of Italy
Against mine enemies, till time or chance
Work some auspicious change.

Mah.
Ay, let us wait
Till Mago o'er the Alps shall come to greet thee!
We'll take heed not to miss him.

Han.
That's a dream.
But Mago still is Mago, brave and true,
And precious to his country.

Adh.
True, indeed,
Ten years' experience shows not even thou
Canst thus alone perform the mighty work
That's set before thee. Thou hast kept thy ground
Gloriously, been a vengeance to thy foes,
And shalt be, in the ages yet unborn;
But neither Carthage nor yet Italy
Have done their part by thee. We now can see
The tide had reached its height when Capua joined thee;
Then it stood still, and with her fall, alas!
The ebb began—it may flow back again,
Canst thou but hold thy ground.

Han.
Hold it I will!
I'll follow the old counsels of my namesake,
And feed my soldiers on their enemies' flesh,
Ere they shall starve me from the land I covet;
I'll fight the Roman to the water's edge,
Ere he shall drive me out of Italy.
Yet by these ten years past I have taught Rome
Some lessons she has wit to profit by—
And she, unlike to Carthage, has staunch friends,
Confederate with her, whose hate to me
Waxes, not wanes, with time, whilst on my side
Too grievously the faithfullest have suffered,
Oft as I've had no choice save to commit them
To Roman mercy, or to root them up
From house and lands, and bid them follow me.
This cannot last for ever. Thus I stand
Wholly alone this day. Sicily's lost—
Spain soon will be—and Carthage is exhausted.
I must be now content by slow degrees
To waste the heart of Rome; my armies now
Must spread no longer o'er so wide a space:
I must withdraw my garrisons, and take
My stand in Bruttium; on that boundary
I will maintain myself for years, if needful,
Waiting for Carthage's revenge and mine.

Mah.
A goodly windfall of revenge for Rome
When all Apulia lies beneath her feet!
Ay, and for Metapontum such a rod
As never yet hath scourged her in her dreams!

Han.
For those who choose it, I shall have in Bruttium
A home of refuge still: her scorching rocks
Within their rugged arms shall guard us well;
The seas that wash her olive-mantled slopes
Shall still be open to the ships of Carthage.
So will we wait awhile, and laugh to scorn
The State whose mightiest energies have failed
From her fair gardens to dislodge her foe.

Mah.
So good-bye to Canusium! So we turn
Our backs on Cannæ!

Han.
Even so. 'Tis time
That all should brace their minds for the farewell
To this familiar spot, dear to our hearts
For past achievements. Now, my friends, I pray,
Leave me alone. We'll meet again to supper.
[Exeunt Maharbal and Adherbal.
Mago is left—and Mago is like him.
Why cannot Mago fill his place for me?
But I will cherish Mago with such love
As I can spare unto the end of time,
From him whose pale dishonoured head I kissed—
What time my very veterans wept aloud—
Kissed it, all shamed by the defiling dust—
With that great heartbreak that, through all my life,
Shall need no second blow to break it more.
Parted so long—O brother! brother! brother!—
But I will never offer up again
That costly funeral sacrifice of tears,
Over whose agony the Roman gods
Laughed in their skies!—
O brother! oh, how often have my hopes
Clasped thee with strenuous passion to a heart
Married to thine by all the golden ties
Of boyhood's love, and manhood's iron truth—
Married to thine by all the burning vows
Of life-long constancy to one dear hate—
Hate deep as hell, unsatisfied as death!
And there thou art!—Why was this misery sent me?
There is not in the compass of the world
A fit revenge for it! Though I should ride
Over the smoking ruins of their Capitol,
Should sell their Senate for bondslaves in Carthage,
What would it all do for me? Nothing! nothing!—
Bound in the fetters of my childhood's vow,
From Carthage I have lived a banished man,
Nor ever have I murmured, though my days
Have now shed off the green leaves of their spring.
I have no wife nor child, but I had thee,
Whose love to me was more than woman's love.
Apart from thee I lived, but lived for thee!
But now, divorced from that dear love of thine,
Only for hate I live, only for Rome!
To her my heart's stern marriage-vows be paid!
Let her exult in my fidelity!—
And there thou art, at last!—And there thou go'st,
Down to the shades, to drench my father's soul
In the immortal cup of thy despair!
O Hasdrubal, for thee the maids of Carthage
Shall drown the blossom of their youth in tears!
O Hasdrubal, my fiery Hasdrubal!
My other self, my hero Hasdrubal!
My only love, my brother Hasdrubal!