ZAMA
Had the battle of Zama been won by the Carthaginians and lost by
the Romans, then Semitic influence rather than Aryan, would have
moulded the civilization of Europe. These two mutually antagonistic
races have grappled together in mortal combat at Zama, Tours,
Jerusalem and, influentially, at Belgrade, Lepanto, Constantinople,
Adrianople--and the end is not yet. Will there ever be full amity
between these races?
But Rome won at Zama. And as Roman historians gravely assure us
that it was better for all subsequent civilization that Rome should
win, why we gratefully acquiesce; feeling, indeed, dully content
that fate should, at all past times and crises, have shown herself
as wisely beneficent to the winning cause as she is today. But
however superior Rome may have been to Carthage, and however Roman
valor, Roman dogged endurance, Roman integrity, (_Romana Fides_)
may have surpassed Carthaginian--yet Hannibal, favorite of Baal,
towered mountain-high over all Romans of his day, and for a time,
even over all Rome.
Hannibal’s personality thrills thro’ the centuries. The school-boy
with the good wonder-flush of admiration at the revealing vistas
of the past, understands Hannibal. That eternal enmity to Rome in
the son of Hamilcar; that youthful vow at the altar of Baal and its
life and death fulfilment; that Herculean crossing of the Alps;
Ticino, Trebia, Thrasymenus, Cannæ--Capua; Metaurus, Zama: exile,
suicide--why the school-boy understands it all: and Hannibal,
hunted victim of the past, is victor of the passing hour. Glamour
of the historic page, generous youth, poets in prose, dreamers of
dreams--and the Smoky City classroom is all aglow with white-light
from the Alps as Hannibal crosses; with red light from the bloody
waters of Lake Thrasymenus; with gold-glow from the rings severed
from the cold dead hands of Roman knights at dread Cannæ; with
mocking death-light as Hannibal defiantly dies!
CAPUA.
And after the great victory at Cannæ Hannibal led his troops
into winter quarters at Capua. Here his soldiers, relaxed from
the severe discipline of war and wildly delighting in the genial
climate of southern Italy, gave themselves up unrestrainedly to
luxuries and pleasures. And just here at Capua, in the midst of
those luxuries and pleasures, lay potentially the defeat at Zama.
For the Romans, gaining courage from despair, grimly faced the
fatal losses of Cannæ, and never were the Roman people more royally
Roman than when they voted thanks to the consul, Terrentius
Varro the runaway loser of Cannæ,--“because he had not despaired
concerning the Republic” (_quod de republica non desperasset_).
Every day spent by Hannibal and his army at Capua trebly weakened
his fighting force and cause as it trebly strengthened the fighting
force and cause of the Romans. Capua lost Metaurus, Zama, Carthage,
and Semitic dominance in Europe. _Ave Capua!_
DEFEAT.
The Roman senate determined to carry the war into the enemy’s
country hoping that thereby Carthage would be constrained to summon
Hannibal and his army from Rome in order to defend the Carthaginian
capital. Nor was this hope vain. Hannibal’s eight years’ success in
Italy was negatived by this call from Carthage and his reluctant
compliance.
Rome’s ablest general, Scipio, with a well equipped army awaited
Hannibal on his disheartened return into Africa. They met at Zama.
History or story relates that a personal interview between Scipio
and Hannibal took place before the battle. Each stood in awe and
admiration of the other: each felt mutually the charm of bravery,
integrity, excellence; as men they were friends, as leaders of
hostile armies, they were enemies. The interview proved futile.
After a proudly lingering farewell they parted with dignity; and
riding back to their respective armies prepared for immediate
battle.
When the fight was fiercest and success seemed to favor the
Carthaginians, suddenly the sun ceased to shine and darkness
enveloped the contending hosts. It was an eclipse of the sun
for which the Romans were, in great measure, prepared; the
Carthaginians, wholly unprepared. Panic fear and superstitious
terror seized upon Hannibal’s veterans; they who had crossed the
Alps, and stood knee deep in blood at Lake Trasymene and at Cannæ,
yet quailed in this midday darkness.
With the slow and ghastly return of the light of the sun, Rome’s
bull-dogs were again ferociously at slaughter; but the Semitic
heart had been smitten with awe of the unknown God; he would pray,
not fight; he would fall prone in adoration of the awful Deity of
darkness and of light. In vain did Hannibal strive to rouse his
terror-stricken legions, in vain did he himself perform prodigies
of valor: the hour of conquering Rome had come and on her way to
world-conquest lay Zama. The Juggernaut of destiny rolled on, and
Zama-Carthage fell to rise no more.
AND AFTER.
“It is not in the storm or in the strife
We feel benumbed and wish to be no more;
But in the after silence on the shore--
When all is lost except a little life.”--_Byron._
Hannibal was only forty-five when he lost Zama. That flame of
hatred toward Rome, kindled at the altar of Baal when he was a boy
of only nine years, still raged within him inextinguishably. He
had lost his right eye in the Roman campaign. His brave brothers,
Mago, hero of Trebia, and Hasdrubal, hero of Metaurus, had fallen
in battle. The second Punic War, the war of Rome against Hannibal,
or rather of Hannibal against Rome, had after phenomenal successes,
ended in the disastrous defeat at Zama and in the most humiliating
conditions of peace imposed upon Carthage by world-conquering Rome.
All, indeed, seemed lost except a little life; yet in this dull
defeat-peace, this wearily sullen after-storm, the old hate fires
insatiably raged.
Hannibal, unsupported and unappreciated by his own country, passed
over into Asia. He wandered from Asiatic court to court ever
striving to arouse enmity towards Rome or to incite the nations to
battle against her. Rome steadily pursued her inveterate foe. From
court to court he passed, and from country to country passed too,
the paid assassins whose sole object in life was to bring Hannibal
dead or alive to Rome.
And at the court of Prusias, king of Bythinia, Hannibal was at last
hopelessly trapped. Hatefully grinning faces glared in upon him
from corridors, doors, windows: Rome had won.
Hannibal’s presence of mind and proud dignity did not desert him
even in that crucial hour, even when he toyed with death. Whilst
adjusting his military robes in full presence of the leering faces
at corridors, doors, and windows, he took from his finger a ring
whose hollow setting contained a most potent poison. This he drank.
And before any one of that self-gratulating victor-gang realized
what was taking place, Hannibal fell forward dead.
The Catholic Church condemns suicide. The divine command _Thou
shalt not kill_ has as its complete predicate _either thyself or
another_. No man can escape from God. Death only shifts the scene.
Stoicism advocated suicide; and many philosophies of the past
taught that a man ought not to outlive honor.
When one considers not only the chagrin and humiliations and mental
agonies, but also the rank physical tortures inflicted upon the
vanquished in times past, the full meaning of _Vae Victis_ (Woe
to the vanquished!) is brought forcibly to the mind. Those were
wild-beast times and the jungle-fights are ferocious. Plutarch
speaking of the proscription list at the close of the civil
war between Cæsar and Anthony says: “The terms of their mutual
concessions were these: that Cæsar should desert Cicero, Lepidus
his brother Paulus, and Anthony, Lucius Cæsar, his uncle by his
mother’s side. Thus they let their anger and fury take from them
the sense of humanity, and demonstrated that no beast is more
savage than man, when possessed with power answerable to his
rage.” And we read in Marlowe’s “Tamburlaine” that this mighty
despot, conqueror of many Asiatic kings, made use of these one time
monarchs to draw him in his chariot: and that bridled and with bits
in their mouths they fumed forward under the swishing wire-lash,
while galling insults goaded on their pangs.
“Forward, ye jades!
Now crouch, ye kings of greater Asia!
* * * * *
Thro’ the streets with troops of conquered kings,
I’ll ride in golden armor like the sun,
And in my helm a triple plume shall spring
Spangled with diamonds, dancing in the air,
To note me emperor of the threefold world.”
Whether this be only “Marlowe’s mighty line”, or whether it be
the somewhat fantastic presentation of a dread reality--need not
be known. The thoughtful student of history knows only too well
just where to turn for human jungle-scenes. And there are many.
From Assyrian cruelty boasting of pyramids of severed ears, lips,
noses, and the deft art of flaying alive--down to Balkan-Turkish
atrocities and Mexican murders the forest-way is long and dark and
dreary. We hope light will yet shine upon this way. We dream that
the black hags of war and of demon cruelty will not dare disport
their hideousness in the future white-light. We would suspend
judgment as to the past; we would not condemn Hannibal; we would
play on the one-string lyre of hope--forlorn tho’ it be as Watts’
allegorical “Hope”--and we would wait kindly content with God’s
plan for this world and for a better world to come.