 | Hannibal |  |
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ACT I.
Scene I.
—The Roman Senate assembled in the Capitol. Fabius, Fulvius, Nero, &c.Enter Livius.
Fab.
You come late, Livius—yet to-day our business
Does much concern you, for the people's choice,
At this disastrous time, has fallen on you
To share the consulship with Claudius Nero.
Liv.
I have done with you and yours for evermore.
I'll never stir a finger in your cause.
Fab.
What, Livius! Well I know that it may seem
You have had some cause to think your country dealt
Severely with you once; but it is time
To lay aside your wrath, and do your best
To show a noble spirit in this need.
We have looked round, and still we cannot find
A man more fit to serve us in our strait.
Since from Illyria thou, twelve years ago,
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A triumph in these streets. Thine was the last.
And though it may be at that very time
There was injustice done thee, and a fault
Laid to thy charge, such as an honest man
Shall feel most sharply and indignantly,
Yet even then was never whisper heard
From the most bitter enemy amongst them,
Against thy soldier-bravery and skill.
Wilt thou supply the place of the brave dead?
We have no Gracchus, no Flaminius now,
And no Marcellus: all have flung away
Their noble lives in vain on the same rock.
Whom shall we look to, now, but you and Nero?
Say, will you take up arms and save your country?
Liv.
Ay, you can change your tone now you are frighten'd:
But I have done with you; I'll not be consul.
Fab.
What! shall the senate never be enough
Humbled before you? Has your wrath no limit?
Livius, for shame! give me some other answer.
Liv.
I will not be your consul.
Fab.
Gods of Rome!
Has this man's heart no Roman pulse in it?
Would he have the scornful spear of Hannibal
Come ringing to our very feet again?
Would he have us see again his curst Numidians
Sweeping the banks of Tiber up and down—
Flinging the dust, lightly as sands of Afric,
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Are you not satisfied with what has been,
That you desire more humbling for your country?
Another Thrasymene in the north?
Another bloodier Cannæ in the south?
I think, for ten long years of wasting war,
We have found one Hannibal enough for us—
One son of that Hamilcar, who left three.
In the rich south he has made his secure home,
Gathers its harvests, revels in its fruits,
Rules o'er it as a master, orders it
As 'twere the heritage his father left him;
Makes it a camp for all the foes of Rome,
A colony where Afric, Gaul, and Spain
Pour in the overflowings of their tribes—
Marches where'er he will—north, south, east, west—
And not a man of us dares follow him;
There's no advantage to be won from hill,
River, or wood, that may embolden us
To give him battle; and year after year
He has seen this, and mocked us to our faces.
Nor is his sleepless hatred satisfied
With never-ending ravage on this soil;
His eyes, far-searching, wander o'er the world
To raise us up new foes; where'er a sword
Is drawn against us, or a treason planned,
By Greek or Syrian, king or tyrant—lo!
He is there in spirit; on this earth he moves,
The mortal image of Rome's adverse fate.
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Liv.
Say what you will, I care not.
Fulv.
I have a word to say upon this matter!
Perhaps thou thinkest, Livius, we are met
This day to treat about some distant war,
Waged but that we may give our wives to wear
Barbarian trophies for new ornaments.
Perhaps thou thinkest this is not a business
That touches thee—that thou and all thy house
May doze away the rest of life in peace,
Howe'er it end, surrounded by your sons
And sons' sons, let the commons toil and fight
How and where'er they may. If so thou thinkest,
I tell thee this—that thou and I, here met,
And all, or high or low, depend for life
And death, for ruin and salvation, on
The issue of this struggle. Thou thyself
May'st see the day when all the commons rise,
As 'twere one man, and pluck thee by the beard—
Ay, thee and all of this august assembly—
Bidding us, with no soft persuasive voice,
Cease from this wasting war, and take the terms
Which Carthage graciously shall please to send us.
I think thou would'st not love to see thine heir,
Grandson, or grandson's son, of thine old age,
Led off a hostage to a foreign land,
To change his father's for the Punic speech,
And love the nurture of a Punic hearth.
Perhaps thou thinkest 'tis in some child's quarrel
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Go fight for freedom—that now, breaking through
The custom of old privilege, we call
On all the sea-coast colonies for soldiers;
That, in the north, three armies watch Etruria,
And wait for Hasdrubal; that, in the south,
Three more oppose the deadly Hannibal;
That we have suffered Scipio to send home
From Spain, where warfare is no idle game,
One thousand foot, and thrice five hundred horse,
And from the prætor's force in Sicily
Drafted four thousand archers for the south!
Liv.
What can a man, disgraced by you, do for you?
Why do you come to trouble mine old age?
Fulv.
By the gods! I, too, am old and broken down
By many a toil and hardship! I was old
When we took Capua in the days gone by—
Ay, and a great revenge I got for Rome!—
And I think, verily, that I might rest,
If any man might, from my services.
But, sir, I mean not to sit idly down,
And watch what younger men can do for us;
Old as I am, I am bound for Bruttium—ay,
And I will find some work for Hannibal!
I am not past my zeal for service yet—
But as for Marcus Livius, he, methinks,
Was taking leisurely his sleep at noon,
Whilst, broad awake, we here, with all our ears,
Were listening to Massilia's timely warning;
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Which now fills every other soul in Rome,
That Hasdrubal himself now scales the Alps
By the same path that let his brother through,
And e'er his eyes are quite unsealed from slumber,
Down will come thundering on the plains of Padus,
With all his swart Numidians at his heels—
But this, perhaps, is nought to Marcus Livius.
Nero.
Hear me then, Livius! Hear your enemy!
Hear Claudius Nero sue to your proud heart,
And pray you, from his soul, to be his colleague.
Do you not know, now is the crisis come?
That dead Hamilear's trebled in his sons?
Do you not know that, breaking loose from Scipio,
Now, hot from Spanish fields, comes Hasdrubal,
On fire to cut a passage to his brother?
Do you not know that soon one country's bounds
Will hold the two, all burning to grasp hands,
Burning to meet beneath one tent, and shake,
By their fell plotting, Rome's foundations? Come,
Look up and answer me? Shall this be, Livius,
Whilst thou and I can hold this pair asunder?
Liv.
If I am fit to be a consul, why
Was I dismissed by you? If not, why thus
Urge me to serve you?
Nero.
Marcus Livius, know
It fits thee to endure thy country's harshness
With the submissive patience of a son.
This long resentment is a palsying sickness—
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Thy soul to life; I offer thee this cure—
And, once more, ask thee—wilt thou be a consul?
Liv.
If any man but thou, my enemy,
Had begged this of me, I had ne'er consented.
Fab.
He hath prevailed then! Livius will be consul.
A Sen.
O Livius! thou wilt not repent of this,
When thou dost triumph in the streets of Rome!
Fab.
Yet one thing more—'tis fitting Rome's two consuls
Should be no more called foes. Be reconciled,
Ye rivals! to each other.
Nero.
I am willing.
Liv.
And why, I pray you? We shall serve the State
Far better by our jealousy than friendship.
I'll none of it—I'll not be reconciled.
Fab.
The senate begs this of thee, Marcus Livius.
Liv.
And Marcus Livius will but beg the senate
To leave his loves and hates in his own keeping.
Fab.
Art thou a Roman, Livius? Wilt thou hear
Yet once again the senate sue to thee,
For that it might command?
Nero.
Must I again
Humble myself? Will this content thee, Livius,
That Claudius Nero begs thy right hand?
Liv.
Ay!
There, take it, and no further words! Enough.
I wait the further orders of the senate.
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'Tis best we should assign to the two consuls,
By lot, their fields of warfare.
[They cast lots.
Lo! to Livius
Falls Hasdrubal, and Hannibal to Nero.
May the gods prosper both! Oh, be not rash,
Nor cast away the fruits of our great efforts,
By ill-advised battle!
Liv.
I will fight
The enemy that instant I shall meet him.
Fab.
Thou wilt?
Liv.
And either conquer him at once,
Or by the great disaster of defeat,
Revenge my past defeat upon the State.
Fab.
Livius, let thy proud heart be pacified,
And henceforth only seek thy country's good.
Happy art thou, whose age has found a hope,
For thou hast found again the best of youth.
[The Senate breaks up.
Scene II.
—The camp of Hasdrubal before Placentia. Carthalo, Abelux, and other officers assembled in the tent of Hasdrubal.Carth.
To-morrow morn, farewell then to Placentia!
Saguntum's self stood not more stubbornly—
But we chastised Saguntum, and, alas!
We leave Placentia free. Friend Abelux!
I think the spirit of your Spanish towns
Has flown before us into Italy.
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Our drowsy comrade looks far more inclined
To sleep away the summer in these plains,
Than fight his way to Rome.
Abel.
I were content
To tarry here, and also well content
To follow Hasdrubal where'er he goes.
But meanwhile I am sleepy, and you will not
Leave me to doze in peace.
Carth.
Thou lazy Spaniard!
How wilt thou bear to march with Hannibal,
Who flies from north to south, from east to west,
O'er hill, and plain, and river, like the wind—
Whirling his breathless army at his heels,
Till all geography doth stand amazed?
But, as for me, when shall I sleep again,
With Rome in view? Body and soul seem winged
Since we have crossed the Alps.
Off.
His tortoise-spirit
Is wrapped in sweetest dreams, and hears thee not.
Carth.
'Tis but a savage—though a gallant one—
Whose race has still a human soul to find,
Mere beasts of prey as yet, that gorge themselves
With slaughter and with plunder half the year,
And sleep the other half.
Enter Hasdrubal.
Hasd.
I have kept you waiting—
Oh, friends, my heart is at a festival!
To-morrow—yea, to-morrow—we shall march
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That ever led a brother to a brother.
Oh, friends, when we trod o'er the breach he hewed
Through the white adamant so long ago,
With labour to which ours was but a jest,
I could have kissed the very snow whereon
He left the footprints of his thousands, graven
In traces everlasting as the frost.
But I could wish that I had left behind
A garrison in this stubborn colony.
Carth.
A plague on all the Latin colonies!
It is the Latin Name has hitherto
Saved Rome from Hannibal. But for those nests
Of pestilent hornets, long ere now her Senate
Had humbled its stiff neck down to the dust.
Howe'er it be, I would you had lingered less
Before this insolent city. True it is,
You have come sooner down into the plains
Than you were looked for, but—
Hasd.
Oh, peace, Carthalo!
No “buts” this happy eve. Give me that map.
For our friend there, I guess his Spanish soul
Lies dreaming of his own betrothëd bride,
And the fine gold and gems he will snatch for her
From many a proud patrician's perfumed tresses—
Or haply dreams of nothing. Come here, comrades—
Is not this map, Carthalo, like a poem
That chants to us his tale of victory?
Where'er I set my finger is a triumph—
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Why, all the air we breathe, breathes of his deeds—
And Trebia still, methinks, seems red with them.
Oh, brother, hast thou left me any spot
To consecrate mine own—one field for me?
Unkind, didst thou forget, amidst thy glory,
Thy father left another son to share
Thy foreign heritage, and gather in,
With thee, the purple vintage of revenge?
Carth.
This very moment, be you sure, he counts
The hours that bring you to him—and Rome, too,
Counts them and trembles.
Hasd.
So I hope, Carthalo.
To us, to us, to our avenging house,
The Moloch of this land, must the doomed city
Offer the flower of all her children up,
For the burnt sacrifice our souls delight in.
Oh! Italy, whilst thus from north to south
Mine eye sweeps o'er thee, how my soul devotes
All that I look on to Hamilcar's sons!
And, oh! Carthalo, think how we shall meet
The maidens of our city dancing forth
With timbrel-chorus, and the noise of harps,
And voice of song, to celebrate our deeds!
How we, like lions, raged abroad to share
The spoil of Italy, and come back, laden
With all the wealth and fatness of the land!
My comrades, oh! but I must needs be mad,
Thus to exult before the deed is done!
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In youth's fierce bloom, to do his holy mission,
Uttered aloud the passion which flashed light
Heroic, from the sternness of his face.
Blest is that ardour which can find no words!
It finds a tenfold emphasis in deeds.
Ten years ago, ten crowded years, Carthalo!
And now it seems to me but yesterday
That we two parted.
Carth.
But to meet again!
I would I could have seen how Scipio looked,
When he discovered how much he had won
By his great victory of Bæcula,
And knew that you were plunging into Gaul,
Far o'er the northern hills, whilst he, alack!
Perched high amongst the chilly eastern skies,
Watched all the weary days to see you pass.
Oh! youth's presumption, that would bar the way
Against Hamilcar's son!
Hasd.
If I mistake not,
There are in that presumptuous youth, Carthalo,
The makings of a noble general.
He fought, they say, with desperate zeal, at Cannæ.
But let him be—I'll never grudge him Spain,
When Rome is ours. See here my destined way
Through Umbria—ay, how easily my finger
Travels the path so many thousand men
Shall hardly clear for me with the sword's edge!
And here—oh! here, I trace that other path
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Down to the lake, whose veil of morning mist
The war-cry of the Gaul so rudely shook,
E'er the broad sun blazed on his triumph. Thence
His road is mine, or I will perish.
Carth.
Ay,
And here's Spoletum, here's th'audacious town
That dared to close its gates upon the victor—
Another Latin colony, curse upon it!
Enter an Officer.
Off.
My lord, without are Gala and Gulussa
Waiting thine orders.
Hasd.
Bid them to come in.
Enter Gala and Gulussa.
My trusty soldiers, speed and luck be yours—
I need not to detain you. Here's the letter,
And look you bear it safe to Hannibal,
For in it lies the fate of Rome and Carthage.
Gul.
There is no man fights 'neath a Roman banner
Shall live to tear it from me.
Hasd.
Well said, friend.
I fear not but your courage and your cunning
Shall bear you safely to your mission's end.
Nor need I to remind you what advancement
I purpose to reward your skill with. Well,
Be gone, my brave Numidians! Do not fail
To greet my brother well, and bid him drain
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Beneath the walls of Rome. And doubt you not
You shall partake with him—a brimming cup
Of the best grape that's pressed in Italy
I dare be sworn awaits you at his board.
And what a story shall you have to tell
To him and his admiring generals,
Of all your dangers and escapes in coming!
And what a tale shall history tell of you!
So fare you well!
Gul.
It shall go hard, my lord,
But we will win the thanks of Hannibal.
[Exeunt Gala and Gulussa.
Hasd.
Now, friends, let's in to supper. Abelux,
I pray you waken.
Carth.
Wake, thou sluggard, wake!
Abel.
Why, what's the matter?
Carth.
Nothing worse than supper.
We shall not march to the world's end to-night.
Abel.
If I can sleep, I can fight too, Carthalo.
There's not a man here has not seen me stand
Oft and again in the hot battle's front,
With my brave tribe, to beat Rome's legions back,
Nor for the last time yet.
Hasd.
True, I'll be bound.
[They go into supper.
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