University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

Scene I.

—The Capitol of Rome. The Senate assembled there. Fabius, Nero, Fulvius, &c.
Enter Scipio, as Consul.
Fab.
Young man, a noble destiny is thine.
Thou hast outstripped thine elders in the race,
And standest here, thy country's chosen hope.
Well has Spain trained thee, well dost thou deserve
That Italy should want thee. Prosper there!
Say, then, what scheme of warfare hast thou framed?
What province for his arms does Scipio ask?

Scip.
I ask for Africa.

Nero.
Thou art mad, Scipio!

Scip.
If I am mad, a madman must save Rome;
For 'tis my fixed intent to fight the foe
At his own gates.

A Sen.
O monstrous arrogance!
Is this the wisdom, then, whereto our country
Her safety has committed!

Another.
O strange times!
When such boy's fancies are put gravely forth,
As means of Rome's deliverance, by Rome's consul!

Fab.
Scipio, comes this resolve of hasty rashness,
Or hast thou well considered what thou say'st?
We have fixed on thee to cope with Hannibal,
Who, though his field of warfare be much narrowed
Since the good day that cut off Hasdrubal,
Still nourishes his armies on our soil,
And now is waiting with a hope revived,
For his last brother, for the desperate Mago.
This being so, why should thy fancy fly
Across the sea to Carthage? Send him thither;
Then follow if thou wilt. But wait till then.

Scip.
I cannot send him hence, whilst I stay here;
That has been tried for fifteen years in vain.
But let me cross the seas, and I will call him
With such a voice he shall not fail to hear.
I have well thought this over, and perceive
This is the path now plainly traced before me.

Fab.
Thou art elate with easier victories
Than this shall be, which thou art dreaming of.
'Tis true thou wert a match for Hasdrubal;
'Tis true that thou hast conquered Spain for us;
And now we have no Hasdrubal to fear.
There lies he—thanks to Nero and to Livius—
Lord of a few feet of Italian earth.
But Hannibal is ever Hannibal,
And gazes still with the fixed eyes of hate,
On that small spot of earth where Rome still stands.
That spot those eyeballs never will forego,
Whilst his heart beats and hope is named on earth.
No chance we offer will he fail to note
And turn to his own profit. Mago, too—
Again, I say, forgett'st thou Mago's host,
Now on the watch to enter Italy,
For whom, perchance, no new Metaurus waits?
Thus, wert thou absent on a perilous errand,
With soldiers far more needed nearer home,
Thou wouldst be tempting Hannibal to try
His fortune once again. A second spring,
And Rome might be his prey.

Nero.
Wilt thou lure back
False Syphax to us, Scipio? Wilt thou find
Another and more potent Sophonisba?

Scip.
That costly bride, whose smiles may count for kingdoms,
Has stolen one king from us, our sworn ally,
But she has given a better in his place;
For Masanissa's soul belongs to Rome.
I grant that he is kingdomless as yet—
Syphax has seized his realm—but yet himself,
As ye shall find, will be a very host.
Soon as we land, his eager tribe will flock
To join his standard, and I nothing doubt
That he will ride beside us at the head
Of the best horsemen that tread Afric's sands.
His is a loftier genius than his rival's,
A greater prize his friendship. I have fought
In battle with him, and in friendly talk
Have met him face to face. I know him well.
With Masanissa on my side I take
This venture on me. Think of Regulus;
How easily, once landed, he o'erran
The fair and fruitful region wherein stands
The single Carthage; not a fortress there
To bar our progress; houses, gardens, vines,
Corn-fields, where now toil many a Roman slave,
Invite us to approach. Remember, too,
How harsh and hated is th'imperial rule
Of Carthage, by her tributaries round.
Small is the help that she will win from them.
Therefore, I say, let me be turned loose there,
And I will find soon, for Hamilcar's sons—
Ay, both of them, and not for Mago only—
Some work to do a little nearer home.

Fab.
Be not too proud; be not too sure.

Scip.
I am not.
You think me rash and boastful; so, perhaps,
The men of Carthage thought their Hannibal,
When first he spoke of storming the great Alps.
No great deed yet was planned, but they who most
Should profit by th'accomplishment thereof,
Trembled beforehand at its very greatness.
Fathers, again I ask for Africa;
Fathers, deny me not this thing I ask,
Or else take back the name of consul from me,
And let me send my sword home to its sheath.

Fulv.
Must this rash youth prevail in his mad wish?
Shall our grave judgments count as nought with you?
Must you be wiser than so many elder?
You spoke of Regulus. Beware lest pride,
Forewarned in vain, meet with a fall like his!

Scip.
Then, Fathers, to the people I appeal!

Nero.
Scipio, for shame, do thou leave this to us.

Scip.
One day I leave you to consider of it,
And that day being past, let it be seen
Which shall decide herein—you, or the people.

Fab.
So be it. May that day bestow you wisdom.

Sen.
[speaking to each other.]
He has gained his point; be sure that threat suffices.

[The Senate breaks up.]

Scene II.

—A mountain pass on the Bruttian frontier. Corpses of Roman soldiers scattered here and there.
Enter Hannibal and Maharbal, riding.
Mah.
Fools! they forget that here we are at home.
Pray Heaven, they pardon us for shutting to
The door of Bruttium in their face so rudely!

Han.
Along this pass I saw young Zeba dash,
Singly, in hot pursuit of some who spurred
Their horses toward yon glimpse of sun and sky.
If back he comes at all, he comes to bring
Some trophy of his daring.

Mah.
Hark, his shout!
Enter Zeba, on horseback.
And here he comes in triumph, brandishing
His spear, that's red with many a Roman life.

Zeba.
My lord! My lord! I have fulfilled my vow!
Behold thy vengeance. [Dismounting.]
Here lies Nero's son,
Dog, of a breed accurst!—disherited
Of his forefathers' tomb! May the four winds
Scatter its ashes!

Han.
Let me look upon him. [Dismounts.]


Mah.
Thou art a very noble fellow, Zeba!
And, if I live, I'll give my daughter to thee.

Han.
Why should I triumph o'er thee, slaughtered boy?
Thou art not Rome—nor canst, with all thy blood,
Discharge his debt, whose debt to me is Rome's,
And must be claimed from her. Such vengeances,
What are they, but salt mimicries of water
Across the endless desert of my loss?

Mah.
I looked to see thee smile.

Han.
Let Zeba smile,
For he is happy in a vow fulfilled.
Zeba, I say, well done! Ride thou beside me,
And tell me how thou brought'st this stag to bay.

Zeba.
When thou didst honour to Rome's slaughtered consuls,
I think she mocked thee. Let the fowls of the air
Possess this corpse, and tear the senseless heart
With beak and talons ravenous as my hate!

Mah.
With beak and talons not more butcherly
Than Nero's tender mercies to the dead!

Han.
Yet do I bid thee cover him with earth.
Let not these creatures foul profane the dust
That's consecrated by a brave revenge.—
On to Crotona now! I have a work
To dedicate to rock-throned Juno there.

[Exeunt.