University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Scene I.

—Africa. Scipio's Camp at Utica.
Scipio, Lælius, and others, returning from battle, enter the tent of the former.
Læl.
Io triumphe! Laud we all the gods!—
Here are red swords!—Scipio, your work's half done.
I dare be sworn, the game you have played to-day
Shall blow so loud a trumpet o'er the sea,
As Hannibal himself shall start to hear.
Three calls you have sent him, and the last will bring him.

Scip.
My friends, I give you, one and all, my thanks.—
Let us sit down, and, whilst our bodies rest,
Our minds shall not be idle. Therefore hear
My present purposes. Hasdrubal-Gisco
May carry his disgraces where he will,—
I think we shall not see his face again;
But, for his partner in ill-luck, King Syphax,
Lælius, it falls to you and Masanissa
To chase him to his capital. By dawn
I'd have you mount again, nor spare the spur
Till you have reached Massylia. Masanissa
Must get his kingdom back; which being done,
Press after Syphax. I shall look to have
A garrison in Cirtha, and its lord
Alive or dead. For my own private pleasure,
I could desire he might be saved alive
For my hereafter Triumph. But remember,
Whether he live or die, I enter not
Rome without Sophonisba. Give the land
A taste of fire and sword, from end to end,
Then back to me. This, Lælius, is your part.
Myself will on to Tunes, and, whilst you
Are busy with Numidia, make short work
Among the towns of Carthage. I conceive
Your voices will be all for me in this?

All.
Ay, Scipio, we have but one mind amongst us!

Læl.
There's one that's absent I will answer for.
I know where Masanissa's heart is now,
And think that he will mount at dawn to-morrow
To ride a joyful race.

Scip.
Let him not think
To win again that dangerous bride of his.
She made a traitor of our old ally,
And she may make one of the new friend too.
Enough for him to get his kingdom back,
And add his rival's kingdom to his own;
His rival's queen is destined to my triumph.
Let him know this; precede him, if thou canst,
In Cirtha, and at once secure the prize.

Læl.
What, I must teach him Rome claims all his heart,
And will not brook e'en woman's rivalship?
Well, I will preach my best.

Scip.
My friends, good night.

[Exeunt Lælius, &c.

Scene II.

—Cirtha. A hall in the palace of Syphax. Micipsa, Juba, Mastanabal, and other Numidian Chiefs assembled.
Enter Sophonisba.
All the Chiefs.
Behold thy slaves! We kiss the dust before thee!

Soph.
Micipsa, Juba, and Mastanabal!
My husband's loved and trusted from of old!
Conquered and captive as he is, alas!
It may be he will ne'er return to thank you
For all your faithfulness to him and me,
Who seem to stand this day on ruin's brink;
Yet well I know that you will never suffer,
Whilst there are hearts and hands to follow you,
Such as these matchless ones I see before me,
His city and his queen to be the spoil
Of Masanissa's spear.

Micip.
No! by the rocks
Our fathers' graves are carved in, we will shed,
O Queen of Syphax! our last drop of blood
Ere have such shame to blush for.

Juba.
Light of Cirtha!
Ampsaga's waters shall run red that day
With the best blood of Masanissa's tribe,
Ere here he stand our master!

Mast.
When thou hear'st
The trampling of his horsemen in the land,
Then from thy towers look down, daughter of Carthage,
And see if these thy servants keep their oath.

Soph.
Warriors and friends, I thank you and believe you!
Nor think that I to Syphax will be wanting,
If the dark hour befall us. You shall never
Blush in your graves for me. Farewell! farewell!

All.
Farewell, O queen! We haste to die for thee.

[Exeunt omnes.

Scene III.

—A splendid apartment in the same palace. Sophonisba surrounded by her women.
Enter a Messenger, hastily.
Mess.
O Queen! Micipsa on the walls hath fallen!

Soph.
May the gods take his glorious soul to rest!
Our warriors do not yield?

Mess.
They and the chiefs
Still fight like genii, more than mortal men.

Soph.
May they come back for me to thank them!—Courage,
Daughters of Cirtha! Let us never shame
The hearts that die for us!

Enter another Messenger.
Mess.
Woe! woe! great queen!
Juba is slain! The enemy bursts on,
In still increasing numbers—and ours fall,
One after one, around Mastanabal.

Soph.
Oh, happier they that die than they that live!—
Once more, my friends, take courage! Let them find us,
Not with dishevelled locks, and tears, and outcries,
Defenceless though we be, courting their pity—
But ready each, with steadfast souls, for fate.—
Nay, your hands tremble—I will braid my hair.

One of the Women.
Alas, dear mistress, pardon! Let our hands,
For the last time, in robes of royalty
Array our queen.

Soph.
I thank you, O my friends!

Another.
O queen, and what shall be our fate?

Soph.
Poor child,
I know not! Yet we all would rather perish,
Would we not so, than live in Roman bondage?

Another.
O mistress, 'tis for thee, too, that we weep.
To think that such a beautiful young queen
Should come to such a fate!

Soph.
Weep not for me,
Weep for my captive husband, and the brave
That will return no more.

[Cries and confusion are heard in the streets below. A wounded Soldier rushes in.]
Sold.
O queen! O queen!
Mastanabal is fallen!—The gates are burst!—
The enemy is pouring through the town!—
Hark! hark! They are here already! Hear you not
Those galloping horse-hoofs? 'Tis the king himself.

[Shrieks and tumult heard in the palace.]
Wom.
O ye gods!—
Do you hear?—Do you hear?—That rush upon the stair!

Enter Masanissa.
Mas.
Ha, Sophonisba!

Soph.
Masanissa!

Mas.
Oh,
False bride, this is the triumph of my life!

Soph.
Where is my husband?

Mas.
He? What's that to me?
He stole thee from me, but I have thee back!
Captive, or dead, you'll never see him more!
Who wants him, think you, now? Will he save Carthage?

Soph.
Thou mayst insult me, for I stand defenceless.

Mas.
Insult thee! Oh, no, no! I come to save thee,
And, praised be all the gods, I am in time.
I have outstripped the Romans in the race,
And now let Lælius claim thee if he will!
But I have not a moment's space to lose—
I must away to Scipio's camp again,
Ere nightfall, and must marry thee to-day.

Soph.
Marry me, Masanissa!

Mas.
I have said it!
For thine own safety I must marry thee—

Soph.
'Tis worthy of thee thus to mock me.

Mas.
Hush!
Wed me thou must and shalt! But time is short,
And danger presses—I must make thee mine,
With such brief martial pomp as time allows;
Then back to Scipio,—but I first must wed thee.

Soph.
Thou wed me, Masanissa! Never! Never!

Mas.
Give me no more that answer, Sophonisba!
I loved thee from a boy!

Soph.
And, when a man,
Thou didst forsake me.

Mas.
Thou wert faithless first!
But come, thine answer! Wilt thou marry me?

Soph.
Thou hast mine answer—never!

Mas.
By the gods,
Why dost thou turn from me so scornfully?—
Go, then, and pace Rome-streets in chains, I say!
Go, walk before the chariot-wheels of Scipio!
For, by my soul, I swear I cannot save thee
From Scipio's Triumph, if thou wilt not wed me!
Lælius is here to claim thee—go with him!
Ha, how thou look'st!

Wom.
[rushing up.]
The queen! the queen has fainted!

Mas.
My love! my love! my bride! look up and live!

Soph.
Oh, I have borne much! Silently my heart
Has broken for my country, and my love—
But this I will not bear, this is too much!
O Masanissa, see to what thou hast brought
The creature thou didst love! Kill me at once,
For I am sickened at the light of day.

Mas.
Hush! hush! Thou driv'st me mad!—Oh, stop those tears!—
She weeps as she would never cease from weeping.

Soph.
If thou hast a man's heart, let not the hands
Of Roman soldiers, drunken with the blood
Of those that died for Carthage and for me,
Profane the form of her that was thy bride,
Dragging me through the jeering crowds of Rome
Before those hateful wheels! O Masanissa!
Let not this cheek, which never yet hath met
The gaze of Africa's own skies unveiled,
Be scorched with blushes by the eyes of thousands,
The eyes of men—of enemies—of Romans!

Mas.
No more! no more! Gods! Dost thou think I will
Let any Roman touch a hair of thine?

Soph.
Let me sit here. I shall not faint again.
Now look me in the face, and answer me.
Canst thou indeed, proud, self-willed as thou art—
Canst thou indeed not save me—me thy love—
From Roman bondage, if I will not wed thee?
Thou dar'st not, or thou wilt not, say thou canst,
Was it for this, thou left'st me in the bloom
Of girlhood, hope, and love? Was this the vision—
When in the glorious idleness of youth,
We loved to tell our daydreams to each other—
Was this the secret vision of thy soul?
Didst thou behold me then a slave in chains,
Bowed with the shame of Carthage and my own,
From street to street at my new masters' bidding
Walk, in broad daylight, slowly, step by step,
In time to those relentless wheels behind,
Through two long human walls windowed with eyes
That watch how oft my unaccustomed feet
On the rough pavement stumble, till at last
From the long agony they lead me back
To thank thee in my prison for that hour,
And count how many years of life are left,
To take a slave's bread from the hands of Rome?

Mas.
How dar'st thou stab my soul so, Sophonisba?
I will not bear it!

Soph.
Yet I swear to thee,
That I will never wed thee—no, nor yet
Walk before Scipio's chariot. I must die.

Mas.
Oh, madness, Sophonisba! merely madness!
What obstinate demon rules thy spirit?

Soph.
Hush!—
I married Syphax for my country's sake—
Nobly he did his part by her! Three times
He gathered up his nation's utmost strength,
To battle for her by my father's side,
And when, though vanquished, by a prompt submission
He might have saved his kingdom and himself,
Urged by my prayers and tears, still shared his fate.
And shall I now forsake this faithful friend,
In his own hall marry his conquering rival,
Triumph with him o'er Carthage, pray with him
For Rome's success? Now, even now—ere yet
The heroic corpses thou didst trample o'er
To reach my gates, are cold? No, never! never!
Thou canst not force me to it. Hear me out!

Mas.
Must I hear this? I'll tear him limb from limb!

Soph.
Be calm; for I have taken my resolve.
Cirtha is now thy city. Thou alone
Canst save these helpless creatures, and thou wilt.
Be just, be generous, be merciful
To thy fallen rival's people—and to him!

Mas.
Oh, yet take pity on thyself and me!
Let love be love! Why should the roar of war,
The wranglings and the rivalries of States,
Be heard within that green palm-shade of bliss
I'll keep fresh for thee in this world's hot desert!
Life is so beautiful, my Sophonisba!
Love is so mighty! E'en when most I thought
Ambition to the austere smiles of Rome
Had given my heart, I loved thee to its core.
And now to lose thee—no, 'tis death to dream it!
[He paces the room once, then returns to her.]
It must be now decided! Lælius there—
I here! This is the only moment left!
How shall I move thy soul's strange stoniness,
That seems the cold creation of a dream?
Break through the charm, and come to life again,
Thou cruel phantom! Oh, for one short moment,
Think of me once again, as once I was!
Let us for once again be boy and girl,
Deep in the fond familiar talk of old,
And then thy heart shall melt to me once more,
And thou in thy true home within these arms
Be, not Rome's slave, but Masanissa's queen!

Soph.
I have a better refuge. Hark, that noise!

Mas.
Ha, 'tis the Roman trumpets!
[The gallop of cavalry heard below. He rushes to the window.]
Lælius is come!
Fear not! fear not! He shall not set foot here.

[Exit.
One of the Women.
See, see! One reins his horse up at the gates,
And glances upwards with his eagle eyes.
That must be Lælius!

Another.
And King Masanissa—
See how he rushes forth to meet him!

Another.
Hearken!—
O Ashtaroth! How angry are their voices!
How stern the Roman looks! how fierce the king!

Others.
[surrounding Sophonisba.]
O mistress, mistress! Do not die and leave us!

Soph.
Kind friends, I shall not leave you unprotected,
For Masanissa will take pity on you.
Now grant my last request—give me one moment
Of silence to remember my past life,
And love me when I'm gone.

[She swallows poison.]
Re-enter Masanissa.
Mas.
Thou'rt safe from Lælius,
Safe for the moment, but—

Soph.
Yes, safe for ever.

Mas.
What's this? What mean'st thou?

Soph.
I have taken poison.

Mas.
It is a lie! a lie! Not even thou
Wouldst plunge in such a hell the man that loves thee!
How dar'st thou say so?

Soph.
I have spoken truth.
Oh, yet be calm—thou hast much to live for still.
Thy course is but begun, whilst mine is over.

Mas.
Inhuman heart! Revel in my despair!
O Sophonisba, thou didst never love me!

Soph.
I always loved thee.

Mas.
Oh, to hear this now,
When it is only torture! Nothing left me,
Save to sum up th'irrevocable past
In this last bitter kiss!—Have I no words,
My dying love! to tell thee how I love thee,
And groan for thy dear pardon?

Soph.
Masanissa!
Forget not my last prayer; protect all these.

Mas.
Whatever thou hast loved be dear to me
As my own soul!

Soph.
And Syphax—save his life.

Mas.
Curse him!—my rival to the very last!

Soph.
Give me thy promise.

Mas.
Yes, he shall be saved.

Soph.
Now will I think of thee as once thou wert!
Now let us once again be boy and girl;
All be forgotten but this blissful now!
I love thee, pity thee, and pardon thee.

Mas.
Oh, but my future! Cruel, cruel love!
Thou hast curst my life.

Soph.
Ah no, be happy still!
I could not live. True to my love I die,
And yet not false to Carthage, nor my fame.

[Dies. All the women raise loud cries of grief.]
Wom.
Our queen! our queen!—our hearts' beloved queen!
How shall we live without her!

Mas.
Silence!—Oh,
Love, brand this cruel picture on my soul,
In one brief moment for a whole life's torture!
O head thrown backward in a queenly sleep!
O lips half loosened from their bitter curve!
O brow that scorned me, half unbent with pity!
O heart that loved me, cold to me for ever!
O marble, senseless to despair's last kiss!
Lost, murdered, matchless loveliness, farewell!—
Take her! I'll never look upon her more.

[Rushes out.]