It was a fine October morning when the Carthaginian general set out to cross the Alps by the road over the Little St. Bernard, and after a nine days' march, which was at that time a nine days' wonder, he reached the top of the mountain. The fatigue endured by Hannibal and his army cannot be described, and the toils of the journey were aggravated by the chance of their falling into the toils and snares of the enemy. Little passed their lips in the shape of food, and very little passed their lips in a contrary direction, for they were afraid to speak, lest their words should disturb the impending avalanche. The way was rugged, save where it was carpeted by the snow; but even where it was trodden hard enough to serve as a sort of track or guide, they could scarcely trust to it, for it gave them the slip every now and then in the most unsatisfactory manner. On the tenth day they began their descent: and they, perhaps, little thought at the moment that in quitting the top of the Alps they were coming down to posterity. The two first days slid away merrily enough over the ice and snow, but on the third they arrived at a point where the ground had slipped out of its place, and left to the enterprising travellers a far from eligible opening.

The shifting of the earth had, in fact, put them to the most perplexing shifts, for the old road had perversely gone out of its way to baffle the travellers, and lay at the distance of 1000 feet below them. As Hannibal looked down upon the chasm, his spirits fell for a moment; but he speedily rallied, and determined, rather than allow his army to perish with cold, that he would make a way with them. Nature, however, opposed him by means of a mass of rock; and as he and Nature were at variance, he began to think how he could best split the difference. How he made his way cannot be confidently stated, though several of the learned,[49] who have gone deeply into the subject, have come out of it in opposite directions; and the authorities cannot be said to clash, for they are as wide apart as possible. Tradition, who never fails to take a trenchant way of getting through a difficulty, settles the point at once, by attributing to vinegar the success of Hannibal's scheme; but the vinegar must have been sharp indeed to have cut asunder the rocks which barred the progress of the illustrious traveller.

It is difficult, also, to conceive how he could have carried with him the liquid in sufficient abundance to enable him to accomplish the object he had in view, and we are inclined to the belief that it was by continued assiduity, rather than by a mere acid, that the wondrous task was effected. A good-sized cruet full of vinegar would produce no impression on a common pebble, and when we imagine how many hogsheads after hogsheads must have been necessary to moisten the rocks through which Hannibal passed, it can only be the sheerest pig-headedness that would still obstinately adhere to the supposition we have stated.

The passage of Hannibal over the Alps may be regarded literally as one of the grandest passages in history. Though subsequent generals have, in some degree, generalised the achievement, the special merit of it belongs to the Carthaginian leader, whose superiority over his followers consists in the fact that they did but find the way, while he might have claimed the credit of making it. The exploit of Napoleon has been compared to that of Hannibal, though the former, after all, did but follow what had been, for two thousand years, a beaten track; the latter being the individual who beat originally a track for himself, and thoroughly vanquished every obstacle.

At length, after having nearly lost himself in the Alps, Hannibal found himself, at the end of a journey of fifteen days, in the plain of Turin. On mustering his army, he discovered that considerable reductions had taken place in it; for the foot, which had stood at 50,000 when he crossed the Rhone, had now dwindled to less than half the number. He had lost 3000 horse, and his stock of elephants had materially diminished—the few that remained having become so thin, that there was a striking falling off in the material as well as the numbers of the body. So little had his visit been expected, that the Romans were not prepared for it; and Scipio, who ought to have been waiting at the foot of the Alps, did not arrive at Pavia until Hannibal had had time to recruit himself after his late fatigue. Here both armies met, and Scipio gave battle; but Hannibal's cavalry gave it to him in a sense more familiar than satisfactory. In the course of the engagement, the Roman general received a wound, which wound him up to the highest pitch of rage; and he would have exposed himself to certain death, if his son had not valiantly rushed between him and the enemy.

The Romans now began to rate each other for having underrated the strength of the foe; and Tib. Sempronius was recalled from Africa, where he was wasting his time by wasting the coast in the most unprofitable manner. Hannibal pitched his camp on the banks of the Trebia, where, among the bushes, he found for his army a convenient ambush. Sempronius had by this time joined Scipio, who was still a great invalid, and being generally indisposed, was not at all disposed for battle. Sempronius, on the other hand, thinking he should obtain all the glory that was to be acquired, felt eager for the fight; and Hannibal, from the other side of the river, assumed the most provoking attitude, in order to tempt the Romans to come after him.

At length, some of the guards became so irritated, that they volunteered into the cold-stream, and plunged into the icy river. There happened to be at the moment a fall of snow, which was taken by the wind into the faces of the soldiers, who, nevertheless, fought with bravery, though in appearance they seemed to exhibit a mass of white feathers. The Romans, though nearly frozen to death, were not only cool and collected, but eagerly sought, in the hope of warming themselves, the heat of the battle. They were, however, completely beaten, and retired to Placentia, from which the Consuls, with much self-complacency, sent to Rome an account of the battle, in which they attributed to the wind the blow they had sustained, and, plausibly suggesting the ice as the cause of their failure, they endeavoured to slip out of it.

Hannibal determined to pass the winter as quietly as he could, but he appears, according to the authorities,[50] to have indulged in a little masquerading, for the purpose of deceiving the Cisalpine Gauls, who more than once conspired to kill him. He would frequently change his dress; and he appears to have had a large assortment of wigs, in one or other of which he was accustomed to disguise himself. Sometimes he would appear in hair of the richest brown, and at other times it was of the reddest dye; so that the people were puzzled to understand how the same head could, on one day, appear covered with the luxuriant chestnut, and on another day, disfigured with an untidy bunch of carrots. On one occasion, when a conspiracy against him was ripe, he came to the council with a limping gait, and thus saved himself from a much more serious hobble.

In the spring of the next year, the Consul, C. Flaminius, was sent to Ariminum with an army, and Hannibal started for Etruria. This expedition—if expedition is the proper term for an affair so extremely slow—lasted three days and three nights; the soldiers proceeding through marsh and morass, through thick and thin, to the end of their journey. The Spaniards went first, who picked their way, followed by the Gauls, who stuck in the mud, and were spurred on by the swords of the Numidians, who followed. All the horses were knocked up, and Hannibal, to whom all the glory of the march has been given, endured the least of the fatigue, for, while the common soldiers were wading through the mud, their chief was elevated on the back of the only surviving elephant.

The advantages of a high position were, in this instance, strikingly exemplified, for if Hannibal had moved in the humbler walks on this occasion, the probability is, that he could not have walked at all; but that, sinking in the marshes, he would have gone down—in a swamp—to posterity. He, himself, lost the use of one of his eyes, though, indeed, he exhibited throughout this disastrous affair an unusual amount of shortsightedness. After reaching Fæsulæ, now Fiesole, near Florence, he made for Rome, and Flaminius made after him as far as Cortona; but Hannibal, turning sharp round the corner of the Lake Trasimenus; ran unperceived up the heights, getting round to the rear of the Roman general, who thought the foe was still in front of him. While Flaminius was pressing forward, Hannibal and his forces fell upon him right and left, as well as behind, and a fog coming on at the time added to the perplexity of the Consul, by preventing him from seeing his danger. A fight in a fog is one of the most dismal pictures that can be described, if, indeed, it can be called a picture at all, when nothing can be seen, and the whole is a mere daub, caused by a fearful brush between two conflicting armies. Such was the fury of the fight, that it is said an earthquake, which happened at the time, was unperceived by the combatants; and, indeed, so shocking was the carnage, that a shock of nature might have sunk by its side into comparative insignificance. 15,000 Romans were slain, and those who are always ready to prophecy after an event, began to see clearly in certain omens that had happened some time before, the cause of all that had lately happened.

A shower of stones had fallen at Picenum, but it does not appear whether those who told the story of the stones had a hand in throwing them. In Gaul a wolf had swallowed the sword of a sentinel; and in Cœre the answers of the oracle were suddenly written in smaller characters—a proof only that the oracle had got from text into round-hand—the ordinary result of improved penmanship.

The battle had undoubtedly been fearful in its results, for Flaminius himself was slain; and 15,000 Romans having been cut to pieces, were thrown into a brook, which still bears the name of Sanguinetta, from its being turned into the colour of blood, though the statement is too extravagant to have the colour of probability. The horrors of the war were great enough without the aid of exaggeration, and though the instances of suffering were no doubt great, we are inclined to doubt the story, that the Numidians went without their allowance of wine, in order to wash the feet of their horses; for, though the animals might have been unable to do without their hock, they could surely have dispensed with their Falernian.

On the news of Hannibal's victory reaching Rome, the prætor announced the distressing circumstance to a numerous meeting of the people, who, in the absence of the Consul, took upon themselves to appoint a dictator. Q. Fabius Maximus was chosen, and the mastership of the horse was conferred on M. Minucius. Hannibal was expected at Rome, but, like a wise general, he defeated general expectation, and proceeded to Spoletum, a Roman colony, which he hoped would have held out great advantages; but it held out with great spirit against him. Wishing to avoid the inconvenience of a siege, and of sitting down before the city with nothing but a marsh to sit down upon, he marched into Picenum, which contained abundance of everything necessary for the support of his army. His soldiers were afflicted at this time with a cutaneous disease, and, though this annoyance was only skin-deep, he feared a general breaking-out, if he had detained them against their will in an unhealthy country. From Picenum he passed into Apulia; and though he was disappointed in the hope that the inhabitants would join him, they were too weak to resist, and he turned every Italian city into an Italian warehouse for the supply of the comestibles he required. The dictator Fabius followed at a short distance, but always taking the high ground, by hovering about the hills and keeping the upper hand of Hannibal.

His intention was to proceed to Casinum, but by some stupid misunderstanding, the general led the way to Casilinum, and the result was, that Fabius got ahead of him. On the mistake being discovered by Hannibal, he got 2000 oxen—but where he got them from does not exactly appear—and, having procured several thousand bundles of wood, he tied them to the horns of the animals. Having set the wood on fire, he turned the oxen out among the Romans, whose quarters soon were thrown into the sort of confusion prevalent in a London thoroughfare on a Smithfield market-day. In order to inflame the oxen, their horns had been covered over with pitch, which gave them an inclination to toss, and the poor creatures were running about in all directions, under the influence of fear and fury. Fabius is said to have mistaken the cattle for the Carthaginians, and to have rushed forwards, sword in hand, resolved on butchery. The Romans were thus drawn out of their favourable position, and Hannibal slipped into it, leaving the bulls to decide by a toss-up, if they pleased, the chances of victory over their aggressors. On the mistake being discovered by Fabius, he backed out as well as he could, and ventured on a few skirmishes, in which he met with some success, but he continued his policy of trying to tire out the enemy.

The plan he adopted was to continue always in an imposing attitude but to be ready to slip away, so that, when his antagonist gathered up his strength to make a hit, the force was always expended on vacancy. The Romans grew extremely impatient of a series of tactics which showed no immediate result; and Fabius, having occasion to return to Rome, was insulted by having the epithet of Cunctator, the dawdler, or the slow-coach, applied to him. One of the tribunes even went so far as to charge him with treachery; to which he made, what is usually called, the "noble" reply, "Fabius cannot be suspected."

It seems to have been extremely easy to get a reputation for "noble" replies among the Romans, since the mere denial of a charge, amounting to the commonplace plea of "not guilty," is frequently cited by the historians as a noble reply, because an individual in a toga happens to have uttered it. For the purpose of annoying Fabius, or the "slow coach," the people conferred on Minucius, who, for the sake of distinction, may be appropriately termed the "fast man," an equal share of power with the dictator himself, and half the command of the army. On the return of Fabius to the camp, Minucius proposed that they should command on alternate days, a course that would have been extremely inconvenient; for if Minucius had ordered the army to take a week's march, it is possible that on the day ensuing, Fabius would have ordered the army back again. The latter, therefore, proposed that each should take a separate half; but an army, like a house, cannot be divided without weakness being the inevitable consequence. The ill effects of the separation were soon shown; for Minucius, who was hot and hasty, was soon provoked by Hannibal to make an attack, and the Carthaginian general, who had been accustomed to talk of the Romans hanging over him like a cloud, declared that they had now come down upon him in a weak and watery shower. Minucius and his army would certainly have been absorbed, or, to use a more powerful figure, they would have been effectually wiped out, but for the generous intervention of Fabius. The latter saved the former from destruction, when Minucius, who was no less mawkish than rash, followed up the allegory of the rain by bursting into tears, and throwing himself on the neck, as well as on the generosity, of Fabius. Minucius resigned the dictatorship into the hands of his colleague, who leisurely wound up the campaign; and having resigned his power, has to this day reigned supreme as the example of the slow-and-sure principle in the theme of every schoolboy.

Hannibal was now beginning to feel the effects of the policy of delay, for he was getting out of heart, and was terribly out of pocket. The harvest had been all gathered in before he could lay his hands upon it; and he felt it would be idle to take the field, unless he could take the corn that had grown in it. His army was clamorous for food; and complaint is never so open-mouthed as when hunger is at the bottom of it. The Romans began to think the time had arrived for a decisive blow, and had chosen as one of the Consuls of the year an individual named C. T. Varro, whom Livy has described as an eloquent meat salesman.[51] He had been in the habit of going from door to door in the service of his father, collecting orders for meat in the morning, and taking it round in the afternoon; but he was determined that his voice should be heard in something more impressive than a cry of "butcher," at the door-ways of the citizens. His first flights of eloquence were in the market-place, where he interlarded his ordinary exclamations of "Buy, buy," with sarcastic inquiries how long the people would consent to be sold by those who professed to be their friends and rulers. By degrees, he quitted the shambles for the platform, and he began attending public meetings as a professional demagogue. Like those who pursue patriotism as a trade, he accepted the first offer of a place that was made to him; and he became in succession a quæstor, an ædile, and a prætor. At length he was elevated to the consulship, or rather the consulship was lowered to him; for though the name of Varro became afterwards truly illustrious, we cannot allow to C. T. the title of respectable. His colleague, as Consul, was L. Æmilius Paulus, a patrician, who is said to have cherished a profound hatred of the people; but why he is said to have done anything of the sort—except it is in slavish subjection to the old prejudice, according to which all the patricians are supposed to hate all the people—we are at a loss to discover. The two Consuls were at daggers drawn between themselves, which prevented them from agreeing as to the proper time for drawing the sword against the enemy. C. T. Varro, the ex-butcher, was for cutting and slashing at the Carthaginians off-hand; but Æmilius Paulus, having consulted a poulterer, declared the sacred chickens to have lost their appetites, which some considered a foul pretext, and others a fair excuse, for avoiding a battle. The Consuls had, however, set out with 80,000 foot, and 6000 horse, which were encamped on the river Aufidus; their stores being packed up in baskets and cans at the little town of Cannæ. Hannibal, who was completely out of elephants—there being not even one left for the saddle for his own especial use—was compelled to ride the high horse—the highest he could find among his cavalry—as a substitute. He took Cannæ under the very eyes and Roman noses of the consuls, one of whom, Varro, would have fought, but Æmilius Paulus, the other, had taken the sacred chickens so much to heart, that he had not courage for anything.

The slaughter was, as usual, tremendous, 45,000 being left dead on the field, or rather, in conformity with the excess of caution used in those days to prevent the return of an adversary to life, being "cut to pieces." Æmilius Paulus, the patrician, who had been reluctant to fight, was killed while boldly combating with his sword in his hand, but Varro, the patriotic butcher, who had been all ardour and enthusiasm to strike the decisive blow, ran off as fast as his horse's heels could carry him. He reached Rome in safety, and such a perfect master was he of the demagogue's art, that he succeeded in obtaining the thanks of the Senate for his services. It was true that he had shown boldness, amounting to rashness, when the security of the army was at stake, and he had exhibited caution amounting to cowardice, in taking care of himself, by running away when the battle was lost; but he had got the character of the "people's friend," and the people are often a long time in finding out, and casting off, those who are in the habit of duping them.

Among other instances of gross popular delusion which occurred about this time, was the sending of Fabius Pictor as ambassador to Delphi, to consult the Oracle. Fabius was the historian of his age, and was supposed, therefore, qualified to record all sorts of falsehood; for history in those early days had not been dignified by that conscientious accuracy which is in our own time indispensable. His second name of Pictor was acquired rather by his industry as a house-painter, than by his talent as an artist, for he had done the whole of the painting of the Temple of the Goddess of Health; and he probably devoted himself rather to the pound-brush than the pencil. As a writer of history, there was something of the painter in his labours; but he was unfortunately in the habit of employing very false colours. On his return from Delphi, the public seemed to have derived very little instruction from his journey; for the sacrifice of two pairs of human beings, a male and female Greek, and a male and female Gaul, was the principal result of the information he brought home with him.

As it may be interesting to the student to be told how the Oracle was worked in those days, we furnish a few particulars. The office for making inquiries of the Delphic Oracle was in the Temple—dedicated to Apollo—where a fire was continually burning, fed with the wood of laurels, which typifies the ever-greenness that deception lives upon. In the centre of the Temple was a small opening which emitted intoxicating smoke, and, as the Pythia sat immediately above it, she was rapidly reduced to a state in which she fell on the floor and uttered incoherent sounds, which were said to be inspired. A prophet was in attendance to write down the pith of what the Pythia was supposed to say, and the purport of these drunken ravings was accepted by nations and individuals as a guide to their conduct in cases of the most serious interest.

Originally the Pythia was always a young girl, but, subsequently, a law was passed, limiting the office to those who had passed their fiftieth year; and there is no doubt that intoxication being the chief duty, rendered the place peculiarly eligible to the old women. At first there had been only one female employed, but when the business increased, a second, and subsequently a third, was appointed, so that there might always be one at hand to perform the duty, while the other was drunk and incapable. Of course, a fee was exacted from all who came to consult the Oracle, which was entirely in the hands of a few aristocratic families of the place, who made a double profit, by taking money, and giving only such advice as was calculated to promote their own class interests.

CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH.

CONCLUSION OF THE SECOND PUNIC WAR.

Hannibal was now strongly urged by one Maharbal, the commander of the cavalry, to march against Rome, and the gallant general went so far as to promise that if he had permission, he would go and take it so easy, that in five days they might sleep in the Capitol. "The idea is indeed a good one," said Hannibal, with an incredulous smile, "but the only objection to its being carried out, is that it's utterly impossible." Maharbal persevered in his recommendation; but finding his advice rejected, he grew sententious and sentimental, which is often the effect of a snubbing. "Alas!" he exclaimed, with that anti-colloquial style of expression, which characters in history—but not in real life—are so fond of assuming,—"Alas! thou knowest how to gain a victory, but thou knowest not how thou oughtest to use thy victory when thou hast gained it." If this was the ordinary mode in which Maharbal expressed himself, it is not surprising that Hannibal preferred his deeds to his words, the use of his sword to the abuse of his tongue, and his hand in war to his advice in council.

The object of Hannibal had been to attach to himself the Italian towns, but they naturally repudiated an attachment, which consisted in his fastening himself on to them with an army which they were made to support at a ruinous sacrifice. He had, however, succeeded in winning over Capua to his designs, for it was inhabited by a contemptible race, who lay continually in the lap of luxury, where the lapse of all the better qualities would seem to be unavoidable. Not satisfied with treachery to the parent state, the Capuans added cruelty to their other vices, and stifled in their hot baths all the Romans who were living among them—an enormity which sends the blood immediately to boiling heat, to contemplate. The faithless inhabitants stipulated that they should be allowed to break all their engagements with Rome, on entering into new engagements with Carthage,—an arrangement like that of a dishonest servant, who, having robbed a former master, stipulates for impunity for past roguery as the condition of future fidelity. Hannibal was weak or politic enough to enter into terms with this contemptible set; but he incurred the unfailing penalty of wrong, for his own army became corrupted by contact with the Capuan crew, and his fortunes began to decline from the time of his alliance with this degraded people.

The exertions of Rome to repair her reverses were extreme after the battle of Cannæ; and though nearly every family had lost a relative, the period of mourning was limited to thirty days, while a law was passed prohibiting all women from weeping in the streets, for they had been found a crying evil. Sparing no expense, the state performed an operation of a rather curious kind, for 8000 slaves were bought on credit—the Government thus making a large purchase without any money at all—and freeing these slaves, made them fight; thus retaining them actually in bondage, while nominally giving them their liberty. Even gladiators were allowed the valuable privilege of fighting the foe instead of each other, and of falling in the field instead of falling in the circus.

Hannibal having used up nearly all his men and materials, was compelled to send to Carthage for fresh supplies, when his old rival Hanno exclaimed in the senate, that if the Carthaginian general had been unsuccessful, he deserved no help, and if he had been victorious, he could not possibly need any. The speech of Hanno on this occasion would have done credit—or discredit—to a political partisan of the present day; for it was essentially the language of a disappointed leader of the opposition. "If," said the honourable—or dis-honourable—member (for in mere party dissensions it is difficult to distinguish one from the other), "if Hannibal has conquered all our enemies, why does he send to us for soldiers? If he has reduced Italy—the most fertile country in Europe—why does he ask us for corn? And if he has obtained such rich booty, what on earth can he want with money? The truth, I suspect, to be, that his victories are sham—his territorial acquisitions sham—the riches (of which he has sent us specimens, in the shape of a few rings,) sham,—while his necessities, and the burden thrown upon us in supplying them, are the only things that are real."

This argument, though specious, did not altogether prevail, for the senate decreed him four thousand Numidians and forty elephants, the men and the brutes being looked upon as equally articles of consumption in the game of war that had been so long playing. The Romans began to act with increased determination, and blockaded Capua, which was left to its fate by Hannibal, though an attempt to relieve it was made by a detachment which received a severe beating at the hands of Tib. S. Gracchus.

This period is rendered additionally remarkable by the siege of Syracuse, which eventually fell into the hands of M. Claudius Marcellus, whose efforts had long been thwarted by the genius of Archimedes. This illustrious inventor lived to the good old age of seventy-five; but how he lived so long is a matter of almost as much wonder as some of his inventions, for his biographers tell us that he always forgot to eat and drink; nor could he ever be persuaded to take a bath, except when his friends pushed him into one. Even when this was accomplished, he was sure to be found under the ashes of the fire-places, writing problems among the cinders, and endeavouring to sift some important point; so that a bath was really thrown away upon the great philosopher. In a visit to Egypt, he became anxious to elevate the Nile to a certain point; but he remained in Egypt until all his money was spent, for the philosopher had never thought of raising the wind while intent on raising the water. He invented a screw, which still bears his name; but he is said to have amused himself, during the siege of Syracuse, by sitting at the window and inventing all sorts of missiles to hurl at the ships of the enemy. One day he might be seen throwing stones from a newly-invented sling, and a few days after he was found casting out chains, to pull—with a tremendous hook—the ships of the foe completely out of the water. He was so intent upon everything he came near, that he gave a lift to enemies occasionally as well as to friends, as in the instance just recorded, and he declared his ability to give the whole world a lift if he could only find a convenient spot in the neighbourhood for himself and his lever to rest upon. That in one sense he carried out his boast, we are willing to admit; for he undoubtedly elevated the world by raising the standard of science, and he exalted the whole of civilised humanity by his great discoveries. The part he took in the siege of Syracuse has been underrated by some, and exaggerated by others; for though the story of his pulling the ships out of the sea requires a length of rope, and other apparatus, which none but the greatest stretch of imagination can supply, his destroying the vessels by burning-glasses is perfectly credible. He is supposed to have used very powerful reflectors, capable of taking effect within the distance of bow-shot; and though for some time the moderns insisted that the long-bow had been pulled for the purpose of increasing the space, the powers of the burning-glass are now familiar to every schoolboy.

On the fall of Syracuse, orders were given by Marcellus, the Roman general, that the philosopher should be respected; but he was so absorbed in a problem, that the soldier who was sent after him not being able to solve the problem of who he was, or what he was about, fell upon and slew him.

It is of the great man we have been noticing that a story is told, which proves that the pursuit of the laws of gravity may sometimes be associated with the ludicrous. King Hiero, of Syracuse, had handed over a good lump of pure gold to a working jeweller to be converted into a crown, with the distinct understanding that the true metal only should be used, and that there might be no alloy to the pleasure his Majesty would feel in wearing it. The goldsmith brought back an article of the proper weight; but the king, after trying it on his head, turning it over in his mind, and revolving it beneath his eyes in the sun, declared his suspicion that the metal had been tampered with, and a base imposition had been practised. He consulted Archimedes as to the means of detecting the imposture; and on one of those days when the friends of the philosopher had forced him to take a bath, he became immersed as deeply in speculation as in the water.

The bath into which he plunged having been full to the brim, the apartment was soon flooded by the water he displaced; and looking at the wet floor, he thought only of the dry facts of science. It occurred to him that any body of equal bulk would have done exactly the same thing; and he immediately thought of his royal master's crown, which, if all the gold sent for its construction had been fairly used up, should displace as much water as a piece of pure metal equal in weight to that which the crown ought to contain. The moment the idea struck him he jumped out of the bath, and thinking of nothing but the bare facts, he ran through the streets, perfectly unconscious of the naked truth of his own condition. His shout was εὕρηκα[52]—I have found it; but everybody thought, when they saw him, that whatever he might have found, he had certainly lost his senses.

There is, no doubt, much exaggeration in the absurd stories told of Archimedes; but we may excuse a little oddness in a great man whom none was even with. He ran so far in advance of his age, that eighteen centuries had nearly elapsed before any one came up to him, and then it was chiefly by following the track marked out by his footsteps.[53]

We must now leave the nobler instruments of science, to return to the engines of war, which were as usual in full play, and had been employed in the total dissolution of the already too dissolute city of Capua. The dissipated nobles, palsied by their excesses, and paralysed by their fears, fell by their own hands; for they had neither the courage to fight for the chance of success, nor the nerve to meet the consequences of failure.

It is stated that one Vibius Virrius, the chief of the Senate, on the eve of the opening of the gates, gave a sort of legislative supper to twenty-eight of the members, and, at the conclusion of a hearty meal, he produced a cup, with the contents of which he proposed that every one present should poison the remainder of his own existence. The deadly potion was poured out into twenty-nine different vessels, and, with faces more or less wry, the Senators swallowed the fatal mixture. On the surrender of the place, the citizens were sold for slaves; and it must be admitted that they had shown themselves fit for little better than the fate assigned to them.

In the year previous to the fall of Capua, Hannibal had taken Tarentum; but, three years later, the stupidity or treachery of the general in charge, or man in possession, had allowed Q. Fabius Maximus to take it back again. Hannibal was thus daily losing territory, and his cause was consequently losing ground. Many small states which had adhered to him because they believed him to be strong enough to assist them, withdrew from him directly he appeared as if he could not help himself.

Hasdrubal, the brother of Hannibal, had been harassed in Spain by the two Scipios—Cn. C. and P.—when fortune cleared the stage for him, by killing both within a month, and annihilating both their armies. The fate of the two leaders had such an effect in Rome, that when those eligible to command had heard the particulars, they had no inclination to act as generals. Every one seemed to fear that if he went to head the army in Spain, he should be simply going to his own funeral, and every one naturally shrunk from such an undertaking. At length young P. C. S. A. M.—or, to give his name at full length, Publius Cornelius Scipio Africanus Major—who was only twenty-four years of age, though he had entered the army at seventeen, and had been present, or rather absent, at the battle of Cannæ, where the only survivors were those who ran away—volunteered to supply the places of his deceased relatives. An objection was, at first, made to his age—or rather to his want of age—but, as there was no older candidate for the post of honour and of danger, he was permitted to step into it. His popularity was, in some measure, owing to his having acquired the character of a serious young man; for ever since he had assumed the toga virilis—an assumption something like the modern practice of going into stick-ups—he had been in the habit of passing his mornings in the Temple of Jupiter. He proceeded to Spain, with the title of Pro-consul, and an army of about 11,000 men, at the head of whom he proceeded to Carthagena; where he knew the enemy kept the greater portion of their cash, their corn, and their captives. He was accompanied by his friend Lælius, who commanded the fleet, and who was sent to make an unexpected attack from the sea; for Scipio, who was very deep, had ascertained that the water was very shallow. The defenders of New Carthage had relied upon the ocean as a defence; but they had, in reality, built their hopes on sand, which, during the prevalence of a particular wind and tide, afforded easy access to the city. The place speedily fell into his hands; and his gallantry—in a double sense—made him with the brave and the fair an equal favourite. Towards the ladies he was particularly amiable; and he not only sent back to her lover an interesting young girl, but he returned to her husband a maudlin old woman. The latter was the aged wife of the chief Mardonius, who weepingly implored that her sex might be treated with respect; when the young soldier, hiding his face in his sleeve, either cried or laughed in it.

Hasdrubal resolved to make a grand effort, and assembled an army, which including some Iberians, under his brother Mago, as well as some Numidians, headed by Masinissa, their king, numbered 75,000 men, and six-and-thirty elephants. Scipio, though objecting to attack a power more than twice his size, was compelled to do so, by a want of provisions, for he had so little food that his army could not even have grubbed on for a month or two. He was again victorious, and Hasdrubal proceeded to join his brother Hannibal; but the letters written by the former to apprise the latter of his coming, instead of going regularly through all the military posts, fell, by some misdirection or indirection, into the hands of the enemy. The Consul Livius Salinator went into the neighbourhood of Sena Gallica—now Senigaglia—and was joined by his colleague, C. Claudius Nero, who came, under cover of the night, with a large army; and it would appear that the forces of Hasdrubal kept such very early hours, that they had all gone to bed, and knew nothing of the reinforcements that had been sent against them. Hasdrubal, however, saw among the Romans, on the following morning, some soldiers, whose faces were so sun-burnt, as to give a strange complexion to a part of the troops, and he concluded that they had recently been on a journey. After having indulged in an inquiring look, he commenced a patient listen, and he fancied he heard two trumpet calls in the hostile camp, when, without considering whether the second might have been the mere echo of the first, he resolved, in his own mind, that the armies of the two Consuls had joined together. He accordingly determined to fly, and began by trying to swim across the river Metaurus, which is usually shallow enough; but the rains had swelled it to such a torrent that he was soon plunged into the depths of misery. His guides, following the impulse of their own cowardice, ran away as fast as they could, and he, in perfect ignorance of the country, found the river rising and his spirits sinking in about an equal ratio. The Romans came up with him in time to find his army completely damped, and his troops were, according to the military practice of the period, cut, at once, to pieces.

Hasdrubal, who had lost heart early in the battle, seems ultimately to have lost his head, for rushing into the midst of a cohort, he was decapitated by a Roman soldier. It is said that the head of Hasdrubal was afterwards brutally thrown into the camp of his brother Hannibal; but happily for the credit of humanity, this story of the head is absurd on the very face of it.

Spain was now subject to Rome; and Scipio, after quelling an insurrection in his army, paid a visit to Syphax, who was king of a portion of Numidia, and who was desperately in love with a young lady, named Sophonisba, the daughter of Hasdrubal Gisco, a Carthaginian general. Sophonisba was one of those troublesome persons, known as fascinating creatures, who, by attracting the eyes of mankind, set them very often by the ears, and lead to much calamity. This too interesting individual had also won the admiration of Masinissa, another king of another part of Numidia, when her father, irrespective of any attachment she might have formed, gave her hand to Syphax, by way of attaching the latter to his interests. Masinissa, in a fit of jealousy, went over to Rome, leaving Syphax and Hasdrubal to fight it out with Scipio.

The Africans and Carthaginians were, to a certain extent, people of straw, which was the material they used in constructing their tents, and Scipio, basely pretending that he desired to negotiate a peace, sent a set of firebrands, under the garb of envoys, into the camp of the enemy. These hypocritical incendiaries carried fire among the foe; and, though the elephants fought like lions, the Carthaginians behaved like lambs, for the poor creatures, thinking the burning of their tents was accidental, looked on with simple bewilderment. 40,000 Africans were cut to pieces on the spot; and Syphax, who had managed to escape, was ready immediately with 30,000 more, to engage Scipio in the neighbourhood of Utica. Syphax was urged on by his wife, who is described as a woman of remarkable spirit—a character equivalent to that of a very troublesome body. Poor Syphax did all he could against a very superior force, but he was ultimately taken prisoner, and sent to Scipio, while Sophonisba remained at home to receive Masinissa—like a woman of spirit—at the gates of her husband's palace.

The lovely creature, admitting that she was vanquished, and declaring that further opposition would be vain, appealed, in the character of an unprotected female, to the generosity of Masinissa. Expressing the utmost horror at being placed as a captive behind the car of Scipio, she entreated the protection of her husband's conqueror; and Masinissa, not knowing exactly what to do, politely offered to marry her. She at once consented; and, after a widowhood of a few hours, she was presented to Lælius, the Roman Consul, in her new character.

Syphax, not being dead, was of course rather painfully alive to the conduct of his wife, and having hinted to Scipio that she might be the cause of further mischief, an order was immediately sent to Masinissa to send her back by the bearer. This her new husband was unwilling to do, but he forwarded her a cup of poison, which she drank off with the air of a tragedy queen, and died with a clap-trap in her mouth, which was almost as nauseous as the stuff that she was called upon to swallow.

The Carthaginians now began to feel that every thing went wrong in the absence of Hannibal, whom they invited home, and on his arrival he was really anxious for peace and quietness. Scipio felt much the same, and the two generals, having met, looked at each other for some time in silent admiration. It may be doubted whether they got any further than this point, for even if they had a few words, it did not prevent them from ultimately coming to blows at the great and decisive battle of Zama. Hannibal brought into the field 50,000 men, and about 80 real elephants; but his soldiers were most of them raw, and liable to be roasted on the ground of extreme awkwardness. He put the Moors, the Gauls, and Libyans in front, the Carthaginian cowards in the centre, for they were but a middling set, and he brought up the rear, with a few of his best soldiers. Scipio exhibited some very skillful generalship on this momentous occasion, and by a clever arrangement of his forces, he left room for the elephants to run through the ranks without coming into contact with any of his soldiers.

The success of Scipio was complete; and Hannibal returned to Carthage after an absence of thirty-six years; having so far forgotten the manners and customs of his country, that, during a debate in the Senate, he dragged a noble—whose sentiments did not exactly coincide with his own—by force from the tribune. On being called to order, he explained that he had forgotten the forms of the house; and the discussion proceeded as if nothing particular had happened. Carthage made peace with Rome, on very advantageous terms to the latter; and Scipio, who took the name of Africanus, enjoyed the honours of a triumph, at which poor Syphax—who appears to have been everybody's victim—was obliged to figure in fetters.

The terms imposed upon Carthage were very severe; for she was to deliver up, without ransom, all the Roman prisoners: to surrender nearly all her ships; and to part with all her elephants. She was also to pay over a considerable sum in cash,—a stipulation which set the Senate off into a roar of anguish, and caused Hannibal sneeringly to exclaim that "the only thing to draw tears from their eyes was to draw money from their pockets."[54]

Though Rome had been victorious, so fatal is war to all who engage in it, that her successes had brought her almost to the verge of ruin. Scenes of cruelty had dyed the country with blood, and left a stain upon it which could not easily be effaced; and wherever the sword of war had been brandished, nothing else had flourished. Troops had been raised merely to be cut down; the country had been wasted on all sides; and there had been a still more terrible waste of human existence. While life was being made so cheap, the means of supporting it were getting dearer every day; for provisions rose to an enormous price under the influence of a system which converted the ploughshare into the sword, and turned what should have been fields of corn into fields of battle. To meet the expenses of the war, the public had been obliged to run into debt; and there is no process to which the term running is more properly applied, though the opposite movement is always slow, and often impossible.

The Carthaginian fleet having been destroyed, Rome became nominally mistress of the seas; but, for want of means, she made a very bad mistress, and the sea might be said to maintain a mastery over her.

War, however, had been in some degree productive of good; for it had led to the recognition of the great principle that the public service was not to be monopolised by the privileged few, inasmuch as where there is real work to be done, there is scope for the talents and energies to be met with among the many. Wealth, however, had become a passport to public employment; and the door could be opened by a golden key, which has, in modern times, served most appropriately as the emblem of office.

The drain upon the resources of the nation was so considerable, in consequence of the frequent wars, that the Senators sent their plate to the treasury, and received bank bills instead,—an arrangement as satisfactory as exchanging silver dishes for silver paper. The merchants supplied dresses for the troops on the same terms, and accepted printed rags for comfortable clothing.

Superstition also sensibly—or rather foolishly—increased during the wars against Carthage; and the Sibylline books were consulted from time to time, though usually with no other result than the recommendation of a job, to be performed by Government Commissioners. On one occasion the books were declared to require that Cybele should be brought to Rome; and ambassadors were appointed, at a considerable expense, to go to Phrygia, for the purpose of fetching her. They professed to find her, and bring her home; but upon their arrival, they produced nothing but a large black stone, which the people welcomed as a most precious stone, and which they were contented to receive as the goddess they required.