Scipio. This hard and heavy task, the brunt of which Hath brought me stress and toil to such a pitch As quite unhinges my o'erburdened brain. A war so long,—in strange events so rich,— Wherein so many Romans have been slain, Who dares presume to bring it to a close? Who would not tremble to renew its woes? Jugurtha. Who, Scipio? Who can boast the great success, The untold valour, which in thee abound? The two combined are equal to the stress, Thine arms with glorious triumph shall be crowned. Scipio. The strength, inspired by prudent manliness, Will bring the loftiest summits to the ground; While brutal force, moved by a hand insane, Will change to rugged heaps the smoothest plain. 'Tis needful, then, and firstly, to repress The flagrant madness of our soldiery, Who, mindful not of glory and noblesse, In gross consuming lust do sunken lie. My sole desire is this, I wish no less, To raise our men from their debauchery; For if the friend will first amendment show, More quickly then will I subdue the foe. Marius! Enter Caius Marius. My Lord? Scipio. Let notice quick be sent, To all our warriors let the mandate run, That without sloth or hindrance to prevent, They all appear within this place as one; For I would make to them, with grave intent, A brief harangue. Caius Marius. At once it shall be done. Scipio. Go quickly, for 'tis well that all be told Our novel plans, although the means be old. [Exit Caius Marius. Jugurtha. Be sure, my Lord, there is no soldier here Who fears not, loves thee not beyond compare; And since thy valour, in its proud career, Extends from Southern seas to Northern Bear, Each man with daring heart, devoid of fear, Soon as he hears the martial trumpet blare, Will, in thy service, rush to deeds of glory, Outstripping far the fabled deeds of story. Scipio. Our first concern must be this rampant vice, Which like a canker spreads, to curb and tame; For should it run unfettered, in a trice We bid farewell to good repute and fame. This damage must be cured at any price; For should we fail to quench its blazing flame, Such vice alone would kindle fiercer war Than all the foemen of this land by far. [Behind, they publish the edict, having first beat the drum to assemble. Order of our General: Let the soldiers quartered here Presently in arms appear In the chief square, one and all. And if any man resist This our summons and decree, Let his name, as penalty, Be at once struck off the list. Jugurtha. No doubt, my Lord, but it is wise and sane To curb thine army with an iron bit, And hold the soldier back with tightened rein When he would plunge into the loathsome pit. Our army's force would be a thing in vain If right and virtue do not go with it; Although it march along in proud array, With thousand squadrons, and with banners gay. [At this point there enter as many soldiers as may be, and Caius Marius, armed in antique fashion, without arquebuses, and Scipio, ascending a small eminence on the stage, glances round at the soldiers and says: Scipio. By that proud gesture, by the lusty swell Of these rich trappings, with their martial sheen, My friends, for Romans I do know you well— Romans in build and gallant port, I mean; But by the tale these soft white fingers tell, And that rich bloom which on your cheeks is seen, Ye seem to have been reared at British fires, And drawn your parentage from Flemish sires. My friends, this wide-spread languor and decay, Which for yourselves hath borne such bitter fruit, Nerves up your fallen foes to sterner fray, And brings to nought your valour and repute. This city's walls, that stand as firm to-day As battled rock, are witnesses to boot How all your native strength hath turned to shame, And bears no stamp of Roman but the name. Seems it, my sons, a manly thing to own, That when the Roman name towers far and wide, Within the land of Spain yourselves alone Should humble it and level down its pride? What feebleness is this, so strangely grown? What feebleness? If I may now decide, It is a feebleness loose living breeds— The mortal enemy of manly deeds. Soft Venus ne'er with savage Mars did start A paction firm and stable at the core: She follows pleasures; he pursues the art That leads to hardships, and to fields of gore. So let the Cyprian goddess now depart, And let her son frequent this camp no more; For he whose life in revelling is spent Is badly lodged within a martial tent. Think ye, the battering-ram with iron head Will of itself break down the battled wall? Or crowds of armÈd men and armour dread Suffice alone the foemen to appal? If dauntless strength be not with prudence wed, Which plans with wisdom and provides for all, But little fruit will mighty squadrons yield, Or heaps of warlike stores upon the field. Let but the smallest army join as one In bonds of martial law, as strict as pure, Then will ye see it, radiant as the sun, March where it will to victory secure. But let an army manly courses shun, Were it a world itself in miniature, Soon will its mighty bulk be seen to reel Before the iron hand, and breast of steel. Ye well may be ashamed, ye men of might, To see how these few Spaniards, sore distressed, With haughty spirit, and to our despite, Defend with vigour their Numantian nest. Full sixteen years And still they struggle on, and well may jest At having conquered with ferocious hands, And kept at bay, our countless Roman bands. Self-conquered are ye; for beneath the sway Of base lascivious vice ye lose renown, And while with love and wine ye sport and play, Ye scarce have strength to take your armour down. Blush then with all your might, as well ye may, To see how this poor little Spanish town Bids bold defiance to the Roman host, And smites the hardest when beleaguered most. At every hazard let our camp be freed, And cleanly purged of that vile harlot race, Which are the root and cause, in very deed, Why ye have sunk into this foul disgrace. One drinking-cup, no more, is all ye need; And let your lecherous couches now give place To those wherein of yore ye slept so sound— The homely brushwood strewn upon the ground. Why should a soldier reek of odours sweet, When scent of pitch and resin is the best? Or why have kitchen-things to cook his meat, To give withal his squeamish stomach zest? The warrior, who descends to such a treat, Will hardly bear his buckler on the breast; For me all sweets and dainties I disdain, While in Numantia lives one son of Spain. Let not, my men, this stern and just decree Of mine appear to you as harshly meant; For in the end its profit ye will see When ye have followed it with good intent. 'Tis passing hard to do, I well agree, To give your habits now another bent; But if ye change them not, then look for war More terrible than this affront by far. From downy couches and from wine and play Laborious Mars is ever wont to fly; He seeks some other tools, some other way, Some other arms to raise his standard high. Not luck nor hazard here have any sway, Each man is master of his destiny; 'Tis sloth alone that evil fortune breeds, But patient toil to rule and empire leads. Though this I say, so sure am I withal That now at last ye'll act as Romans do, That I do hold as nought the armÈd wall Of these rude Spaniards, a rebellious crew. By this right hand I swear before you all, That if your hands be to your spirits true, Then mine with recompense will open wide, And this my tongue shall tell your deeds with pride. [The soldiers glance at one another, and make signs to one of them, Caius Marius, who replies for all, and thus says: Caius Marius. If thou hast marked, and with attentive eye, Illustrious Commander of this force, The upturned faces of the standers-by, While listening to thy brief and grave discourse, From some must thou have seen the colour fly, In others deepen, stung with quick remorse; Plain proof that fear and shame have both combined To trouble and perplex each soldier's mind. Shame—to behold the abject, low estate On which with self-abasement they must look, Without one plea defensive to abate The wholesome rigour of thy stern rebuke; Fear—at the dire results of crimes so great; And that vile sloth, whose sight they cannot brook, Affects them so, that they would rather die Than wallow longer in its misery. But place and time remaineth to them still To make some slight atonement for this wrong; And this is reason why such flagrant ill Doth twine around them with a bond less strong. So from to-day, with prompt and ready will, The very meanest of our warlike throng Will place without reserve, as is most meet, Their goods and life and honour at thy feet. Receive with right good-will, O master mine, This fitting gift their better minds supply, And think them Romans of the ancient line, In whom the manly spirit cannot die. My comrades, raise your right hands as a sign That ye approve this pledge as well as I. Soldiers. What thou hast said for us we all declare, And swear to keep our promise. All. Yes, we swear. Scipio. In such a pledge new confidence I find This war with greater vigour to pursue, While glowing ardour burns in every mind To change the old life and begin the new. Let not your promise whistle down the wind, But let your lances prove it to be true, For mine with truth and clearness shall be shown, To match the worth and value of your own. Soldier. Two Numantines accredited are here, With solemn message, Scipio, to thee. Scipio. What keeps them back? Why do they not appear? Soldier. They wait behind for thy permission free. Scipio. Be they ambassadors, their right is clear. Soldier. I judge them so. Scipio. Then let them come to me; 'Tis always good the enemy to know, Whether a true heart or a false he show. For Falsehood never cometh in such wise Enwrapped in Truth, that we may not descry Some little cranny in the close disguise, Through which to gaze upon the secret lie. To listen to the foe is always wise, We profit more than we can lose thereby; In things of war experience shows, in sooth, That what I say is well-established truth. Enter the Numantine Ambassadors, First and Second. First Ambassador. If, good my lord, thou grant us without fear To speak the message we have brought this day, Where now we stand, or to thy private ear, We shall deliver all we come to say. Scipio. Speak freely, then, I grant you audience here. First Ambassador. With this permission, in such courteous way Conceded to us by thy regal grace, I shall proceed to state our urgent case. Numantia, to whom my birth I owe, Hath sent me, noble general, to thee, As to the bravest Roman Scipio The night e'er covered, or the day can see; And begs of thee the friendly hand to show, In token that thou graciously agree To cease the struggle that hath raged so long, And caused to thee and her such cruel wrong. She says, that from the Roman Senate's law, And rule, she never would have turned aside, Had not some brutal Consuls, with their raw And ruthless hands, done outrage to her pride. With fiercer statutes than the world e'er saw, With greedy lust, extending far and wide, They placed upon our necks such grievous yoke, As might the meekest citizens provoke. Throughout the time, with such a lengthened bound, Wherein both sides have made such cruel sport, No brave commander have we ever found Whose kindness or whose favour we could court. But now, at length, that Fate hath brought it round To guide our vessel to so good a port, We joyfully haul in our warlike sails, Prepared for any treaty—that avails. Nor think, my lord, that it is fear alone Which makes us sue for peace at such an hour; By proofs unnumbered it is widely known That still Numantia wields an arm of power. It is thy worth and valour lure us on, And give assurance that our luck will tower Far higher than our highest hopes extend, To have thee for our master and our friend. On such an errand have we come to-day. My lord, make answer as it pleaseth thee. Scipio. Since but a late repentance ye display, Your friendship is of small account to me. Give, give anew the sturdy right arm play, For what mine own is worth I fain would see; Since in its might hath fortune deigned to place My added glory, and your fell disgrace. To sue for peace will hardly recompense The shameless doings of so many years. Let war and rapine come; and in defence Bring out anew your files of valiant spears Second Ambassador. Take heed, my lord; for this false confidence Brings in its train a thousand cheats and fears; And this bold arrogance which thou dost show But nerves our arms to strike a harder blow. Our plea for peace, on which thou now hast frowned, Although we urged it with the best intent, Will make our righteous cause be wide renowned, And Heaven itself will give its blest assent. Mark, ere thou treadest on Numantian ground, Oft wilt thou prove, and to thy heart's content, What bolts of wrath the insulted foe can send, Who wished to be thy vassal, and good friend. Scipio. Hast thou aught more to say? First Ambassador. No, we have more To do, since thou, my lord, will have it so. Thou hast refused the just peace we implore, And hast belied thy better self, I know; Soon wilt thou see the power we have in store, When thou hast showed us all thou hast to show, For prating peace away is easier far Than breaking through the serried ranks of war. Scipio. Thou speakest truth; and now to make it plain That I can treat in peace, in war command, Your proffered friendship I do now disdain; I here remain the sworn foe of your land, And so with this ye may return again. Second Ambassador. Meanst thou, my lord, on this resolve to stand? Scipio. Yes, I do mean it. Second Ambassador. Then, To arms! I say, And no Numantian voice will answer, Nay! [Exeunt the Ambassadors; and Quintus Fabius, brother of Scipio, says: Quintus Fabius. Methinks our indolence, which now is past, Hath made you bold within our midst to brawl; But now the wished-for time hath come at last, When ye will see our glory, and your fall. Scipio. Vain boasting, Fabius, is beneath the caste Of valiant men, with honour at their call; So calm thy threats, to good persuasion yield, And keep thy courage for the battle-field. Though, sooth, I do not mean that this proud foe Should meet us hand to hand in very deed. Some other way to conquest will I go, Which promises to bring me better speed. I mean to curb their pride, their wits o'erthrow, And on itself to let their fury feed; For with a deep wide ditch I'll gird them round, And hunger fierce will bear them to the ground. No longer shall this soil be coloured red With Roman blood. Sufficient for the State Is what these Spaniards have already shed In this long brutal war, and obstinate. Now bare your arms for other work instead,— This hard-bound earth to break and excavate; They serve us better, foul with dust and mud, Than when bedabbled with the foeman's blood. Let no one in the ranks this duty shun, But join in strife his neighbour to surpass. Let officer and private work as one, Without distinction, or respect of class. Myself will seize the spade, and when begun Will break the ground as deftly as the mass. Do all as I, and let what will befall, This scheme of mine will satisfy you all. Quintus Fabius. O valiant sir, my brother and my lord, In this we recognize thy prudent care, For it were folly, by the wise ignored, And rash display of valour, past compare, To face in arms the fury and the sword Of these wild rebels, frantic with despair; To shut them in will yield us better fruit, And wither all their courage at the root. 'Tis easy to surround the city quite, Save where the river shows an open line. Scipio. Now let us go, and straightway bring to light This little-used and novel plan of mine; Then to the Roman Senate in its might, (If Heaven's smiles but on our project shine,) Will complete Spain be subject, far and wide, By simple conquest of this people's pride.
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