University of Virginia Library

Scene IV.

The camp of Scipio at Tunes.
Enter Masanissa with a train of horsemen. Scipio goes in state to meet him.
Scip.
Hail, noble prince, the faithful friend of Rome!
What means this gloom on Masanissa's brow?

Mas.
[Turning away.]
Well know'st thou what my faithfulness hast cost me.

Scip.
Well do I know how great the sacrifice
That has endeared thee to the heart of Rome,
And mine, and to all hearts that in their fellows
Can honour such fidelity as thine.
Thou standest higher in my State's esteem,
Trust me, than any other of her friends.
I bid thee, then, take comfort.

Mas.
Idle words!
Thou hast not loved like me! Take all my tribe
To serve thee, if thou wilt; but in this quarrel,
I'll never lead them more.

Scip.
And does my friend
Shut to his heart against the words of friendship?
Then must I call upon his nobler self,
And bid him think what Afric looks for in him.
Thou art a man, too wise, I think, and proud,
To make a woman's love, although she were
The pearl of women, thy life's all in all;
With her soft voice she charms successful leisure,
But hinders him who has not reached success.

Mas.
This lesson is no longer needed now—
No danger of a second love for me.

Scip.
The safer for thee, on thy way to greatness,
Whose price in this great sorrow has been paid,
Beforehand, to exacting Nemesis.
Thou art too young, yet, to forego the best,
And having in thy view the golden prize,
To waste regret upon the silver trophy!
Let grief now spur thee to a noble wrath
Against thy wrongers, not against thy friends!
Remember thou hast had one deep revenge
On Syphax, once thy rival, now Rome's captive;
Carthage, whose perfidy bestowed thy bride
On one who could not keep her, has received,
And with thine aid, a signal chastisement;
But more remains for her, when Hannibal
Comes to receive the punishment of pride,
And long relentlessness of enmity;
In which great glory, great should be thy share,
If thou art what I thought thee, Afric's pride,
And not a boyish trifler.

Mas.
Scipio, no!
No boyish trifler is the son of Gala!
Judge not too hastily a wounded heart!
To prove to thee it's still unshaken truth,
I'll strive to tear out of that heart henceforth
The recollection that you would not trust
A Carthaginian bride to Masanissa,
And left your friend's betrothed no last resource,
Save poison, to escape out of your hands.
You feared her charms would yet allure me back
To Carthage—you were wrong—but let that pass!
I shall not mourn for Sophonisba more
Than may become manhood and royalty,
Though I will love no other.

Scip.
Well said, prince!
Now I know Masanissa once again!
Now let all men see how I honour thee.
[He leads him to a curule chair.]
Lo, with this golden diadem I crown thee
The king of all Numidia; in thy hand
I place this ivory sceptre, and array thee
In tunic and in toga, garnished each
With their triumphal Phrygian broidery.
No greater honour could myself receive,
Though entering Rome in triumph. Hail, O king!

[The Numidians raise loud shouts.]
Mas.
O Sophonisba! for such toys as these,
Thinks he, I cast away thy priceless love?

Enter Soldiers dragging in Zeba.
Scip.
Who's this?

Sold.
A spy, O Scipio! Like a cat,
This cunning Berber drops as from the trees,
Into our very midst; with tympanum,
And charcoal brazier, plays demoniac pranks,
Swinging his body round, like one possessed,
In time to a strange tune; next, as I live,
Tastes iron heated red on yonder forge,
As 'twere some dainty morsel; lays it by,
And greedily devours the prickly leaf,
That tears our flesh like poisoned Libyan darts!
A very sorcerer we thought him, yet—

Mas.
This fellow comes to play the serpent-charmer.

Scip.
What is his story?

Sold.
In his broken Latin,
He calls himself King Masanissa's tribesman.

Mas.
Dost thou so? Never has Massylian steed
Borne thee to battle, nor Massylian lion
Been flayed to clothe those limbs, the hangman's due!

Zeba.
I said so—but I lied. A nobler tribe
Than thine rides with me, for it ne'er bred traitors.

Mas.
Take that, thou dog!

[Aims a blow at him.]
Scip.
Hold! Let me question him.
What seek'st thou in my camp?

Zeba.
I came to do
An errand for my lord.

Scip.
Ay, a well-paid one.

Zeba.
Thou liest! I serve him for himself, not gold.
I came to spy thy camp.

Scip.
Good. Thou shalt first
Tell me how many Berber horsemen ride
Along with Hannibal.

Zeba.
What's that to thee?

Scip.
An idle question, doubtless. We will waive it,
And thou shalt tell me of the elephants—
How trained, how numerous.

Zeba.
I've not counted them.

Scip.
But if I fill thy hand with gold?

Zeba.
I'd spit
Upon thy gold and thee.

Scip.
Or bid them scourge thee?
Thoud'st make a guess then?

Zeba.
Not to save my head.

Scip.
Well, keep it for thine errand. They shall lead thee
All round my camp—then haste to Hannibal
And tell him what thou'st seen.—Do him no hurt—
Let him see all, then send him safely forth.

[Exeunt Zeba and Soldiers.
Scip.
Hannibal's first forerunner. In good time!
Nor mean I idly to await his coming,
But, strengthened by your timely reinforcement,
March on Naragara to morrow.

Mas.
Ay!
You will do wrong, assuredly, to suffer
Further delay of battle; everywhere
The country is laid waste, and every day
In which he leaves you isolated in it
Is gain to Hannibal.

Scip.
True; yet my heart
Feels well assured the enemy of Rome
Is marching to his downfall. Pray you enter.

[Scipio and Masanissa enter Scipio's tent.