BUT now the Roman Senate was harassed by a fresh anxiety. Who was to undertake the war in Spain and protect the natives discouraged by defeat? Both the Seipios, both the brothers who had waged war with martial spirit, had been slain by the triumphant enemy. Thus there was a risk that the land of Tartessus would now yield to the supremacy of Carthage, through dread of an enemy nearer home. Meeting in anxiety and sorrow, the Senate sought for some remedy to heal the tottering state, and prayed to Heaven for a general who would dare to take over the decimated army.
The young Scipio was eager to appease the spirits of his father and uncle; but all his kinsmen, dismayed by their grievous loss and mindful of his youth, sought to dissuade him. If he went to that land of ill omen, he must stand on the graves of his dear ones to fight against a foe who had baffled the dispositions and beaten the armies of them both, and was now flushed with victory. Nor was it a simple task to take the burden of a mighty war on young shoulders, nor easy for a beardless youth to ask the command of an army.
These anxious thoughts filled the young man’s mind, as he sat beneath the green shadow of a bay-tree that grew behind the dwelling; and suddenly two figures, far exceeding mortal stature, flew down from the sky and stood to right and left of him: Virtue was on one side, and Pleasure, the enemy of Virtue, on the other. Pleasure’s head breathed Persian odours, and her ambrosial tresses flowed free; in her shining robe Tyrian purple was embroidered with ruddy gold; the pin in her hair gave studied beauty to her brow; and her roving wanton eyes shot forth flame upon flame. The appearance of the other was far different: her hair, seeking no borrowed charm from ordered locks, grew freely above her forehead; her eyes were steady; in face and gait she was more like a man; she showed a cheerful modesty; and her tall stature was set off by the snow-white robe she wore.
Then Pleasure spoke first, confident in what she could promise: “This is madness, my son, to use up all the flower of your age in war. You deserve better things. Have you forgotten Cannae and the river Po, and the Lydian lake, more terrible than the Stygian swamp? How long will you persist in defying fortune on the battle-field? Do you intend to attack the realm of Atlas also and the city of Carthage? Take my advice, and cease to fight against danger and expose your life to the storm of clashing weapons. Unless you abandon the worship of her, stern Virtue will bid you dash right through battle and flame. She it was who sent your father and uncle down to the Stygian waters of Erebus, she who threw away the lives of Paulus and the Decii, while holding out a glorious epitaph on the tomb that covers his ashes to the ghost that cannot even be conscious of the great deeds he did on earth. But if you follow me, my son, then your allotted term of life will move along no rugged path. Never will the trumpet break your troubled sleep; you will not feel the northern cold nor the fierce heat of Cancer nor the pangs of thirst, nor take your meal many a time on the bloodstained turf, nor gulp down the dust behind your helmet, suffering fearful hardship. No: you will pass happy days and unclouded hours, and a life of ease will warrant you in hoping for length of days. What great things the gods themselves have created for the use and enjoyment of man! How many harmless pleasures they have supplied with bountiful hand! And they themselves set an example of peaceful existence to men; for they live at ease, and their peace of mind is never broken. I am she who wedded Venus to Anchises by the waters of Simois, and from them was born the founder of your nation. I am she who turned the Father of the gods into many different shapes: at one time he became a bird, at another a bull with threatening horns. Attend to me. The life of man fleets fast away, and no man can be born a second time; time flies, and the stream of death carries us away and forbids us to carry to the lower world the things that gave us pleasure in life. Who, when his last hour comes, does not regret too late that he let slip the seasons of Pleasure?”
When Pleasure had ceased speaking and was silent, Virtue began: “How,” she asked, “can you mislead this young man in the flower of his age and tempt him to a life of obscurity? The goodness of the gods has granted him reason and germs of the divine intelligence from heaven. Man stands as high above all other animals as the gods above mortals. For Nature herself assigned man to earth as a lesser god; but her fixed law has condemned degenerate souls to dwell in the darkness of Avernus. On the other hand the gate of heaven stands open to those who have preserved the divine element born with them. Need I speak of Amphitryon’s son who destroyed all monsters? or of Liber, whose chariot was drawn through the cities by Caucasian tigers when he came back in triumph from the conquered East, after subduing the Chinese and the Indians? or of Quirinus, the hero of Rome, or the Brethren whom Leda bore, to whom sailors cry in their sore distress? See you not, how the Creator raised the faces of mankind towards heaven and gave them countenances that look upwards, though he had caused all herds and flocks, all birds and beasts, to creep on their belly, inactive and unsightly? But man is born for glory, if he can appreciate heaven’s gift, and in pursuit of glory he is happy. Listen to me for a moment — I shall not go far for an example. Rome was once no match for the attacks of Fidena and was content with the growth that the Asylum gave her: but see to what a height she has been raised by the valour of her citizens. Consider too the cities which once spread and flourished but were overthrown by luxury. For neither the wrath of heaven nor the attacks of foemen are as fatal as Pleasure alone when she infects the mind. She brings with her an ugly train, Drunkenness and Luxury; and dark-winged Disgrace ever hovers round her. My attendants are Honour and Praise, Renown and Glory with joyful countenance, and Victory with snow-white wings like mine. And Triumph, crowned with laurel, raises me at last to heaven. My household is pure; my dwelling is set on a lofty hill, and a steep track leads there by a rocky ascent. Hard at first — it is not my way to hold out false hopes — is the toil you must endure. If you seek to enter, you must exert yourself; and you must not reckon as good those things which fickle Fortune can give and can also take away. Soon you will gain the height and look down upon mankind below you. Pleasure makes you smooth promises; from me you will experience the opposite in all respects. Lying on a hard bed of straw, you will endure sleepless nights under the stars, and you will master cold and hunger. Also you will worship justice in all your doings and believe that the gods stand and witness your every action. Then, whenever your country and the danger of the state demand it, you will be the first to take up arms and the first to enter the breach in the enemy’s walls; neither steel nor gold will ever master your mind. Therefore I will give you, not garments stained with Tyrian purple nor fragrant perfumes that a man should blush to use, but victory — victory over the fierce foe who is now harassing the empire of Rome; you shall destroy the Carthaginians and place your proud laurel upon the knees of Jove.”
When Virtue had uttered these prophecies from the shrine of her heart, she gained Scipio to her side; he rejoiced in the examples set before him, and his face showed his approval. But Pleasure was wroth and could not refrain from speech. “I will detain the pair of you no longer,” she cried; “but my time will yet come, when Rome will learn my lessons and be eager to obey my commands; and then I alone shall be honoured.” Then, shaking her head with anger, she soared into the dark clouds.
Now Scipio, with a heart full of Virtue’s counsel, conceived mighty designs and was fired with love for the high task imposed upon him. Though all men shrank from war, he climbed the high Rostrum and claimed for himself the heavy burden of a doubtful contest. There was universal excitement: some thought they saw his father’s face, and others that the stern features of his uncle had grown young again. But, though men were encouraged, yet an unspoken fear of the hazard crept into their doubting hearts; they measured with fear the huge burden of the war; and Scipio’s supporters were uneasy when they reckoned up his years.
But while the people were considering these things, speaking low in their uncertainty, lo, a serpent, glittering with rough spots of gold, was seen to glide athwart the sky between the clouds, tracing a furrow of fire in
the heavens, and it moved on towards the quarter where the sky ends in the shore of Atlas, the supporter of the firmament. Nor was the sky silent; for Jupiter twice and three times confirmed the portent with his thunder, and his far-flung bolts crashed suddenly, and the heavens were shaken. Then indeed men fell on their knees to hail the portent; they urged Scipio to take arms and go whither the gods so clearly summoned him, and where his path was marked out by the image of his father.
Men flocked eagerly to join him as comrades in war and helpers in the campaign, and begged to share his arduous labours: to serve in the same army with him was glory enough. Then a new fleet was launched on the blue sea. All Italy went with him and crossed over to the land of Spain. So the North-west wind, when it has launched fierce battle on the deep, hurls the arching waves high over the Isthmus of Corinth, and, rushing over the bellowing rocks with foaming flood, mingles the waters of the Ionian sea with the Aegean. Then Scipio sprang up in arms and standing forth on the stern of his ship prayed thus: “Divine Lord of the trident, whose deep seas we are in act to cross, if my design is just, suffer my fleet to complete her voyage, and deign, O Father, to assist our efforts. The war I carry across the sea is a just war.” Then a light breeze blew, and drove the sails on with favouring breath. Quickly the vessels slipped past the coast of Italy, where the Tyrrhene sea splashes, and then their prows sped along the strand of the Ligurians. And now from the deep they sighted far away the soaring Alps where earth invades the sky. Next came the city of Massilia founded by Greeks. The settlers from Phocaea, though girt about by warlike tribes and horrified by the savage rites of their uncivilized neighbours, still retain, among unpeaceful surroundings, the customs and manners and dress of their ancient home. Then the Roman general threaded his course along the curving coastline, till lofty hills with tree-clad tops were sighted and the forests of the Pyrenees were lost in the clouds; then came Emporiae, an ancient settlement of Greeks, and Tarraco next, where the grapevine is at home. There they found rest in harbour; the ships rode in safety behind the breakwater, and the fatigues and dangers of the sea were forgotten.
The profound stillness of night had brought slumber deep as death to Scipio, until he dreamed that the ghost of his father stood before him and warned him thus, while he was dismayed by the apparition: “Son Avho once saved your father’s life, son who bring me honour even in my grave, this land, the accursed mother of war, you must utterly lay waste; and the Libyan generals, flushed with slaughter, you must conquer by valour and prudence. At present they keep their armies apart in three separate camps. If you chose to join battle, and they summoned their forces to meet from the different points, who could withstand the onset of three united armies? Abandon that dangerous enterprise; but bestir yourself and adopt a better plan. There is a city here, founded by Teucer long ago; Carthage is its name, and the population is Punic. Like the Carthage in Libya, this Carthage in Spain is a famous capital. No other city can rival its stores of gold, or its harbour and lofty site, or its wealth of fertile land, or its skill and activity in forging weapons of war. Attack this city, my son, while the generals’ backs are turned. No victory in the field could bring you as much glory and as much booty.”
Thus his father advised him and was coming closer to warn him, when the young man awoke from sleep and the vision faded away. He rose up and prayed to the gods who dwell in the nether world, and accosted the ghosts of his kinsmen by name with supplication: “Take the command yourselves and lead me to the city you have told of. You shall be avenged by me; and, when the Spaniards are routed, I shall stand conspicuous in gleaming Tyrian purple and offer sacrifice at your graves; and I shall honour your tombs further by sacred games and competitions.” Marching in front, he quickened the pace and carried his army along at high speed, and scoured the plains. So at Pisa, when the unbeaten race-horse has sprung forward from the starting-place, he moves in front of his rivals and also, wonderful to relate, in front of the horses harnessed to the same chariot; and no eye can follow the car in its flight through the air.
And now, as they drew near, sunrise on the seventh day of their march revealed the citadel of Carthage growing higher hour by hour; and the towers rose in height, the nearer the army came. Then, at the hour appointed by the general, Laelius came up by sea with the fleet and blockaded the city in the rear with a line of ships. Carthage is highly favoured by nature: its high walls are compassed by the sea; and a small island confines the narrow entrance of the bay, on the side where the morning sun showers his rays on the earth. But where the chariot of the setting sun is seen at evening, there is a barren expanse covered with standing water which the ebb and flow of the tide diminish and increase. In front of this lagoon stands the city facing the frozen North; it stands high on an eminence and runs out towards the sea beneath, and protects its walls by means of the eternal sea.
The Roman soldiers made haste to scale the height, as boldly as if they were carrying victorious standards over level ground. The leader of the defence was Aris. In his evil plight he trusted to the high ground for protection and had fortified the citadel beforehand. The nature of the ground fought for him: a slight effort of the defenders hurled many of the Romans from their footing; and rolling down the steep with mangled limbs, many breathed their last. But when the tide turned and the water of the lagoon flowed back fast into the sea, then it was possible to pass safely on foot over the place where tall ships had lately ploughed their furrows; and from this point, where none feared him, Scipio made his silent effort to approach the walls, bringing up the crews in haste from the ships and wading forward at speed. Thence they ran with all haste to the rear of the city, which Aris, relying on the sea, had left unguarded. Then the defeated Carthaginian prostrated himself — a pitiable object — and yielded his neck to the fetters, surrendering the disarmed inhabitants to slavery. Thus the sun, which at his rising saw this city surrounded by an army, also saw it taken, before he dipped his chariot in the western waters.
Dawn came on and expelled darkness from the earth. First of all, altars were reared. A tall bull was slain as an offering to Neptune, and another was sacrificed to the Thunderer. Then good service gained its due reward, and valour received the prizes earned by wounds. On one man’s breast glittered bosses of metal; another warrior put a circlet of gold round his neck; and a third displayed with pride the decoration of a “mural crown.” Laelius, above all, famous for his exploits and his lineage, received thirty kine, and a glorious decoration for his victory at sea, and the arms just stripped from the Punic general. Spears and martial banners were then awarded to each according to his deserts, and part of the booty was picked out for them.
When the services of men and gods were duly rewarded, the captured treasure was reviewed and the booty divided up. This gold was for the Senate, these talents for the purposes of war; the allied kings received presents, and the temples of the gods were enriched first of all; the remainder fell to the soldiers who had fought so nobly. Moreover, Scipio summoned the ruler of a Spanish tribe; this man had a promised bride, a maiden famous for her beauty, whom he loved passionately; and Scipio, joyful and triumphant, gave her back freely to her bridegroom who rejoiced in an unpolluted bride. Then, with minds at ease, they set tables on the shore hard by and feasted and made merry. Laelius spoke thus: “A blessing upon your chaste heart, O noble leader! The praise and glory of mighty heroes, and their achievements famed in song, must hide their heads before you. The ruler of Mycenae who launched a thousand ships, and he who brought Thessalians to join the Argive ranks, were led by the love of women to violate the bond of alliance; and every tent then pitched on the plains of Troy was full of captive paramours; but you alone had more regard for the honour of a foreign maiden than was shown to Apollo’s Trojan priestess.’ Thus and in this style they held converse together, until black-robed Night drove her dark steeds into the sky and wooed men to slumber.
Meanwhile the land of Aetolia, dismayed by a sudden invasion of the Macedonian fleet, was involved in a f
ierce struggle with Philip; and the Acarnanians, their next neighbours, made common cause with the foe. This new disturbance was due to an alliance formed between the Carthaginians and King Philip against the Romans. Philip had a splendid pedigree and an ancient monarchy; he was proud to wield the sceptre of the Aeacids and proud of his descent from Achilles. He terrified Oricon by a night-attack; and where the people of Taulas dwell in small and nameless villages along the Illyrian coast, he made a fierce assault in arms. He put to sea and fell upon the lands of the Phaeacians and Thesprotians, and rushed through Epirus with a campaign that led to nothing. At another time he displayed his standards on the coast of Anactorium, and overran with his arms the bays of Ambracia and the shore of Olpae. His oars stirred to fury the waters of Leucate, and he saw, as he rushed along, the temple of Apollo at Actium. Nor did he leave unvisited the harbours of Ithaca where Laertes once reigned, or remote Same, or the rocks of Cephallenia against which the hoary waves bellow, or the stony fields of Neritus. He went further: he visited with special joy the land of Pelops and the cities of Achaia, and approached the city of Oeneus that suffered from Diana’s vengeance and was once inhabited by the Curetes; he promised the Greeks that he would fight for them against Rome. Next he swept through Ephyre and Patrae and the royal city of Pleuron, and Parnassus with its two peaks, and the cliffs that have a voice for Apollo. Often too he was recalled to his own country by war, when the kingdom was attacked by the Orestae from Sarmatia or a fierce swarm of Dolopes invaded his country. Yet he was loath to abandon his useless designs, and carried on a pretence of warfare round all the coasts of Greece. But at last, stripped of his power by sea and land, he ceased to rely on Carthage and begged for an alliance with Rome and was forced to endure limitations of his kingly power.
Complete Works of Silius Italicus Page 33