University of Virginia Library

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE THE FIRST.

Syphax, with Roman Centurions.
Sy.
You may at least here leave me to myself
Till Scipio's return.—My hands, my feet,
Are manacled with fetters; Syphax now
Stands in the centre of the Roman camp;
Of every means of flight is he bereft:
Grant him, at least, a respite from your presence.

SCENE THE SECOND.

Syphax.
Sy.
How hard to bear is military pride!
Should their commander as in real valour,
In haughtiness surpass them ... 'Tis not so;
Scipio is known to me: within my palace,
At Cirta, he was formerly my guest:
Most gentle and humane he then appear'd ...
Credulous Syphax, dost thou speak in earnest?
Then Scipio came to thee to ask for aid;
Nor was he then thy conqueror.—Vanquish'd king!
Taken in fight, and bound in fetters, dragg'd
Within the enemy's camp, dost thou yet live? ...
Oh Sophonisba! to what obloquy
Hast thou reduced me? Now, when I no more
Ought, or design to live, I am so fall'n,
That e'en the power of voluntary death
No more is mine? ... But hark, the trumpet's sound
Scipio's approach announces. See. He comes.

SCENE THE THIRD.

Scipio, Syphax.
Sci.
Let all my train retire. A retinue
Would be an insult to a captive king.—
Syphax, provided that the lofty pangs
Of vanquish'd kings admitted of relief,
Thou should'st now hear me speak to thee in terms
Of pity; but the greatness of thy heart
Is known to me, to which each pitying word
Would be an added wound: hence, at this time,
Nothing will I attempt, except to wrest,
With my own hands, thy unbecoming fetters.
This thy right-hand I ought indeed t'unloose;
A pledge of friendship and of fealty,
I well remember that thou gavest it
To me in Cirta.—But what do I see?
My kindness thou disdainest? Motionless,
And fierce, thou fixest on the ground thine eyes?
Ah! if in battle Scipio had subdued thee,
He with no other fetters than thy own,
Than by reminding thee of thy sworn faith,
Thy person had enthrall'd. Then yield, I pray,
These iron manacles of thee unworthy;
Yield them to me: raise thy disconsolate brow:
And fix thine eyes, erect, on Scipio's face.

Sy.
On Scipio's face? Oft have I seen it near,
With soul undaunted, in the ranks of war:
Fortune, the arbitress of all things, now
Wills that I should dare not to see it more.
Nought should the Romans to this camp have borne
But the cold relics of what once was Syphax:
But to the valiant, death, though coveted,
Sometimes is not allowed; and I am here,
Alas! a lamentable proof of this;
Ah, wretched that I am!—Hence are these chains
Become my portion; hence my downcast looks
Are to the dust condemn'd; for never more
Can I presume to raise them to the eyes
Of a triumphant foe.

Sci.
Of the subdued
Scipio is not the foe; and though till now
Fortune hath look'd on him with smiles alone,
He's not elated from a prosperous fate,
As from an adverse he would ne'er be abject.—
I am resolved to overcome thy pride
By courteous violence. Behold unloosed
Thy unbecoming chains: as man to man,
Equal with equal, now to Scipio speak.

Sy.
Thou speakest courteously, and thou art courteous.
If to a king it were supportable
To be o'ercome, 'twould be so by thy arms.
But what can I now utter, that may seem
To thee becoming my past dignity,
And worthy of my present wretchedness?
And what remains for thee to say to me
That I already know not?

Sci.
I? To thee
I will confess, that yet so great I deem thee,
And so magnanimous, that I doubt not
To ask of thee the reason of thy change.

Sy.
It is not usual to make bare the heart
Except to faithful and experienced friends;
And kings are seldom, or are never bless'd
With friends like these. Perhaps I, although a king,
Was once not undeserving real friends:
And, as a proof of this, I now to thee,
Without disguise, will manifest my heart.
In thee, a generous foe, 'twere more discreet
Than in a feign'd friend, thus to place reliance.
Then listen to me.—Thou wert born a Roman,
And I an African: the citizen
Of an illustrious commonwealth art thou;
I of a numerous and powerful people
Was once the monarch. Interposing seas
Sever'd from mine thy country; I ne'er placed
In your Italia my encroaching feet;
Thou standest sword in hand in Africa:
The vanquisher of Carthage, 'tis your hope
To bring all Africa beneath your sway.
Carthage to me contiguous, was hence
Alternately my foe and my ally:
And though she also, equally with Rome,
Execrates kings, her people, less than yours,
From power and arrogance intolerant,
Was thence by me less bitterly abhorr'd.
By every commonwealth a monarch's heart
Is tacitly aggrieved; what anger then
Must that excite in him which dares to shew
Towards him a haughty front?—Behold the whole
Divulged to thee: my heart was resolute
To hate you e'en to death, as insolent
And predatory foreigners: to swear
To you allegiance and fidelity,
After your memorable deeds in Spain,
Became my interest.

Sci.
But thou by proof
Hadst known the valour of the Roman arms;
Why didst thou violate thy faith with Rome?

Sy.
And what will Scipio say, if I divulge
To him the naked truth?—That mighty Scipio,
Whose heart, th'abode of friendship and of pity,
And of all elevated impulses,
Hath hitherto proved inaccessible
To love alone.—The blandishments of beauty,
That irresistible captivity
Which love inflicts, hath wrought in me this change;
To thee do I confess it; and feel not,
In saying it to thee, the blush of shame
Suffuse my face. A citizen thyself,
The love of fame impels thee to surpass
Thy fellow citizens; hence art thou deaf
To other impulses: a king who sees,
Seated upon his throne, no rival near,
Such an incentive needs; hence, deaf to fame,
His other flatter'd passions render him.
Believe thou this from an unhappy king;
For he may be sincere. Great as thou art,
Feel pity from it rather than contempt,
For I disdain it not from Scipio only.

Sci.
I never felt the flames of love, but I
Respect, and even fear, his boundless power.
Oft have I fled from him; for it is best
T'anticipate his arrows, to whose wounds
All after remedies prove impotent.
Thou, ere thou saw'st her, should'st have felt mistrust
Towards Sophonisba: finally, she was
The child of Asdrubal, in Carthage born,
Imbued with rancour and with hate towards Rome
E'en with her very milk: if thou wert then
By thy necessities united to us,
Clearly might'st thou foresee, that detriment
Must to thyself assuredly result
In forfeiting our friendship.

Sy.
Dost thou then
As nothing deem, that which so often sways,
So often fascinates unwary man?
Hope? I imagined, that, to Asdrubal
United by such ties, in Carthage none
Would equal me in power: then having seen
The charms of Sophonisba, caught, subdued,
In short more fetter'd than e'en now I am
In this thy camp, with inadvertent steps,
I from one error to another stumbled.
For Sophonisba's sake I forfeit now
My kingdom, my renown, and, what is worse,
My self-esteem: and yet, would'st thou believe it?
Fain would I languish out a few hours more
In hated life, that I at length may hear
Of her security. On her account
Do no foreboding thoughts of infamy
Oppress my heart: her soul, like mine, is lofty;
Nor could she ever, more than Syphax could,
Living, be dragg'd behind thy car a captive.
Now hear, not thoughts that do become a king,
But the wild ravings of a frantic lover.
A jealous fury tortures me, and makes
My vacillating life protracted death.
Perhaps in Cirta, in my very palace,
Is Sophonisba, by your arms subdued,
Become already the illustrious prey
Of Masinissa, of my mortal foe.
To him a promised spouse ere to myself;
Perhaps now he burns for her ... at such a thought,
With desperate inexplicable rage
I feel myself o'erwhelm'd. I wish to die,
I ought to die; and powerless as I am,
A thousand means of death do I possess.
But ah! I know not how, nor can I die,
Till I have learn'd her destiny. The prey
Of Masinissa, ah! (if prayers of mine
With thee weigh aught) ah! never, never grant
That she his prey become ... Oh Heaven! ... I burn
With rage ... But whither does that rage impel me
Beyond my royal dignity?—No more
Remains for me to say ... permit that now
I to my tent withdraw: I would conceal
My unbecoming grief. Excepting Scipio,
No man should see me in the Roman camp
With face more ruffled than becomes a king.

SCENE THE FOURTH.

Scipio.
Sci.
Unhappy king! His words excite in me
Equal compassion and surprise.—But grieved
Am I at heart at that which he has told me.
By Masinissa, in beleaguer'd Cirta,
Will Sophonisba doubtlessly be seen:
And should he fall into the snares of love?
And should he waver in his faith to Rome? ...
Oh valiant warrior, by myself beloved,
No less than indispensable to Rome,
For thee I tremble.—What unwelcome cares
Remain for thee, oh Scipio! How much grief
Does it cost generous hearts to practise force
Even on vanquish'd foes! Should I be then
Constrain'd to practise it against a friend? ...
Ah, this indeed, this is the only duty
Of a commander, that my soul abhors.