University of Virginia Library

Scene V.

—Carthage. An apartment in the house of Sophonisba's father. Sophonisba alone.
Enter Gisco.
Gis.
Well, niece of mine, what cheer, this summer's morn?
How, the book dropped? Th'embroidery thrown aside?
As languidly reposing on your cushions
As any listless beauty of them all?
Come, I must have some talk with you.

Soph.
I am ready.

Gis.
'Tis on a theme which, by your face, I guess
Your thoughts are now engaged with—this sad news,
This luckless battle of your father's. Well,
There's no help for it; but, oh, wherefore lost he
That field of Silpia? Spain is lost, I tell you,
Unless by some bold stroke—By all the gods!
'Tis strange how, after all, we scarcely seem
To prosper long without Hamilcar's sons.
Here's Hasdrubal flown off to Italy,
And straight Spain falls into the clutch of Scipio!
And now our sole dependence is young Mago.
Ay, but for him and for his cavalry
Your father would not hold his own an hour.
A dangerous house it is, this house of Barca,
And will subvert our government at home,
As surely as it thrives in arms abroad.
Well, but there's something else now. You have read
Young Masanissa's letter? Is there in it
That which displeases you? Speak honestly.

Soph.
Have you a purpose in these questions, uncle?

Gis.
A purpose? Ay, and you shall shortly know it.
Well, well, I see, without more questioning,
The prince's letter has not satisfied you.
Nor, to say truth, has his demeanour lately
Been less displeasing to our generals.
I, too, have heard from Spain, and have in charge,
As your director in your father's place,
To let you know his wishes in this matter.

Soph.
Then pray you in brief words to tell me them.

Gis.
Why, 'tis a serious business, and concerns
The interests of the State. When you were pledged
To the Numidian prince, 'twas to secure
To Carthage, as we thought, the usefullest
Of all th'alliances that Afric offered—
A boy of promise, trained amongst ourselves,
Heir to a mighty chieftainship, and son
To our best friend, our sage and faithful Gala.
But, look you, he is somewhat changed since then!
He is no more in Spain the fervent friend
He seemed in Carthage, smiled upon by you.

Soph.
He was then what he seemed.

Gis.
If it so please you,
What he is now, I think, concerns us more!
Oh, we have not forgotten the old story,
The pretty history of your childish loves,
When you two mounted, on one elephant,
Day after day, would pace the city streets—
And how you whispered in your father's ear,
Once, e'er he sailed for Spain, that Massanissa
Had promised to take Rome. You think, forsooth,
He is still the humble bondslave of your charms,
As much as in those days when idle youth
Is all for love and such poetic folly.
Not so; he knows the world a little better,
Since he has led his father's troops, and seen
What war and Rome are, and has felt himself
Almost a king, too. Oh! I promise you
His thoughts are busier counting future chances,
Than ever they have been with your sweet face,
And your sweet words, which you think so prevailing.
Now, mind you, his old father's throne will soon
Be vacant, and this youth be in his place.
But he's not staunch, no, no, he is not staunch;
He is not worthy of you, Sophonisba;
He wavers in his faith as he grows older,
And, who knows, yet may turn to Rome?

Soph.
All this,
Though you may think it, is not news to me.
But to the point.

Gis.
Oh! the caprice of woman!
I looked to have a storm of tears and anger;
But you've a cool head, girl, a right cool head,
Not the weak heart I gave you credit for.
But to the point, then, touching Massanissa.
Affairs stand thus: your father has sent word
The prince will very soon be with us here,
In quest of reinforcements. You will see him,
And be it then your business, if you love him,
To fix him to yourself and to our cause.
If it shall seem hereafter you have failed,
Then hold yourself prepared to wed instead
His rival Syphax, who already shows
Some signs of willingness to break with Rome,
And whom we judge the promise of your hand
Would make ours wholly. Do you listen, niece?

Soph.
Yes, I have heard you, and weighed all your words.
You need not fear but I will do my best
For Carthage. You may tell my father so.
As for my own heart's happiness, to speak
Or think of that, I know were but a jest
In me, a statesman's and a general's daughter.
When, think you, we may look to see the prince?

Cis.
He may arrive in Carthage any day.
So now I take my leave. Fair niece, good bye.

[Exit Gisco; enter Ada by another door.
Ada.
May I come in?

Soph.
Yes, I am all alone.

Ada.
I am so restless now, till I can find
Some one to feel as I do! All the others
Laugh only—you are serious.

Soph.
Nay, I think
You can laugh sometimes too.

Ada.
It is so hard
Always to want more news! All night I dream
That Hannibal and Hasdrubal have met,
And Rome has fallen.

Soph.
Haply 'twill come true.

Ada.
Oh! then, at last, we shall see Hannibal,
And he will see his Carthage. Do you not
Picture him so unlike all other men,
That, stood he here this moment unannounced,
The very children would shout Hannibal?

Soph.
'Twill be a glorious moment.

Ada.
Dearest cousin,
I weary you; you look so grave and sad.

Soph.
I did not mean to seem so.

Ada.
Do you know,
Whene'er you look as now, I cannot choose
But fancy such a grave pathetic grace
With a half sadness shadows o'er your beauty,
As haply, rescued from the halls of Dis,
Still hovered o'er Persephone's sweet brow
When mounting into sunlight?

Soph.
How your thoughts
Run wild with poetry, my little cousin!

Re-enter Gisco hastily.
Gis.
Come, guess what news I bring!

Soph.
How can I, uncle?

Gis.
You guess, though! But what need to turn so pale?
Ay, he's in port; you'll see him in an hour.
Remember what we talked about! Come, Ada,
Leave her alone to think her lesson over.

[Exeunt Gisco and Ada.