Interlocutors. Theogenes and Corabino, with four other Numantines, Governors of Numantia, Marquino, a wizard, and a Corpse which will appear in due time. They are seated in council, and the four nameless Numantines are distinguished by First, Second, Third, and Fourth. Theogenes. Ye valiant men, it seems to me this day
That every adverse fate and direful sign Conspire to crush us with their baleful sway, And cause our force and fury to decline. The Romans shut us in, do what we may, With cruel craft our strength to undermine. No vengeance comes to us by death in fight, Nor, save with wings, can we escape by flight, Not these alone would crush us to the ground, Who oft have suffered at our hands defeat; For Spaniards too, with them in paction bound, Would cut our throats with treachery complete. May Heaven such knavish villany confound! May lightning flashes wound their nimble feet, Who rush to give their friends a deadly blow, And lend their succour to our wily foe! See if ye cannot now devise some plan To mend our fortunes, and our city save; For this laborious siege, of lengthened span, Prepares for us a sure and certain grave. Across that fearful ditch no single man May seek the fortune that awaits the brave; Though valiant arms, at times, in close array Will sweep a thousand obstacles away. Corabino. I would that mighty Jove, in sovereign grace, Might grant our gallant youth this very day To meet the Roman army face to face, Where'er their arms might have the freest play. Not death itself, in such a happy case, Would keep their Spanish fortitude at bay; They'd hew a pathway, beat the foemen down, And succour bring to our Numantian town. But since we find ourselves in this sad state, Like women harboured and by force confined, Then let us do our utmost in the strait, And show a daring and determined mind; Let us invite our foes to test their fate By single combat; haply we shall find That, worn out by this siege and lengthened fray, They fain would end it in this simple way. But if this remedy should not succeed, And this our just demand should baffled be, One other plan may bring us better speed, Though more laborious, as it seems to me: That ditch and battled trench, which now impede Our passage to the foeman's camp ye see, By sudden night assault let us break through, And march for succour to good friends and true. First Numantine. Be it by ditch or death, we must, 'tis plain, Free passage force, if we would still survive; For death is most insufferable pain, If it should come when life is most alive. Death is the certain cure for woes that drain The strength of life, and on it grow and thrive; For death with honour is supremest bliss; No fate can be more excellent than this. Second Numantine. Can higher honour crown our latest years, If so our souls must from our bodies part, Than thus to rush upon the Roman spears, And dying, strike our foemen at the heart? Let him who will display the coward's fears, And stay within the city all apart; For me, at least, my life I'd rather yield, Within the ditch, or on the open field. Third Numantine. This cruel hunger, fearsome and malign, Which tracks our path, and goads us bitterly, Constrains me to consent to your design, However rash and hair-brained it may be. By death in fight this insult we decline; Who would not die of hunger come with me, To force the trenches, and with one accord Cut out a path to safety with the sword. Fourth Numantine. It seemeth good to me, before we dare The desperate act which promises relief, That we should summon from the rampart there Our haughty foe, and ask of him in brief: That he will grant an open field and fair To one Numantian, and one Roman chief, And that the death of either in the fight Shall end our quarrel and decide the right. These Romans are a people of such pride That they will sanction what we now propose; And if by this our challenge they abide, Then sure am I our griefs will have a close; For here sits Corabino at our side, Upon whose mighty valour I repose, That he alone, in open fight with three, Will from the Romans snatch the victory. 'Tis also fitting that Marquino here, Whose fame as sage diviner is so great, Should note what sign or planet in the sphere Forbodeth death to us, or glorious fate; And find some means perchance to make it clear, If we shall issue from our present strait, When once this doubtful cruel siege has passed, The victors or the vanquished at the last. Be it as well our first and chief concern To make to Jove a solemn sacrifice; It well may be that thereby we shall earn A boon still higher than the proffered price. If by such aid supernal we shall learn To staunch the wounds of our deep-rooted vice, Then haply may our rugged fates relent, And change to brighter fortune and content. There never lacketh opportunity to die, The desperate may have it when inclined; The fitting time and place are always nigh To show in dying the determined mind. But lest the passing hours in vain should fly, Say if ye now approve what I've designed, And if ye do not, then devise some plan Will better suit, and pleasure every man.
Marquino. There is good reason in thy sage advice; Its weighty counsel is approved by me; Prepare the offering and the sacrifice, And let the challenge quick delivered be. As for myself, I'll hasten in a trice To show my science in supreme degree; For one I'll drag from out the heart of Hell Our future, be it good or bad, to tell. Theogenes. I herewith offer me, if so indeed Ye can but trust my valour and my might, To sally forth, if it be so decreed, And be your champion in the single fight. Corabino. Thy valour rare deserves a better meed; We well may trust—it is thy patent right— Affairs by far more difficult and grave To him who is the bravest of the brave. And since the chiefest place is at thy call, Due to thy worth, by general assent, I, who esteem myself the least of all, Will act as herald of this tournament.
First Numantine. Then I, with all the people, great and small, Will do what gives to Jove the most content; For prayers and sacrifice have mighty sway, When purged and contrite hearts prepare the way. Second Numantine. Now let us go, with ready wills and free, To do as we have sworn, whate'er befall, Before pale hunger's gnawing misery Hath brought us to the last extreme of all. Third Numantine. If Heaven already hath pronounced decree That we are doomed in dire distress to fall, May Heaven revoke it now, and aid us soon, If our contrition meriteth the boon. Enter first two Numantine soldiers, Morandro and Leoncio. Leoncio. Where, Morandro, dost thou go? What strange errand hast thou got?
Morandro. If myself do know it not Just as little wilt thou know. Leoncio. Would that amorous whim of thine I could pluck from out thy pate! Morandro. Nay, my reason hath more weight Since I felt this flame of mine. Leoncio. 'Tis a fact, undoubted lore, That the love-devoted swain Hath, by reason of his pain, Weightier reason than before. Morandro. What thou speakest thus to me, Is it wit, or malice, friend? Leoncio. Thou my wit mayst apprehend, I, thy pure simplicity. Morandro. Am I simple, loving well?
Leoncio. Yes, if love will not allow For the whom, and when, and how; Ask thy reason, it will tell. Morandro. Who can bounds assign to love? Leoncio. Reason's self will show them thee. Morandro. Reasonable will they be, But of slender value prove. Leoncio. What of reason is there, pray, In the amorous endeavour? Morandro. Love 'gainst reason goeth never, Though it go some other way. Leoncio. Is it not beyond all reason, Gallant soldier as thou art, Thus to show a lover's heart, In this sad and straitened season? At a time when thou art bound Round the god of war to rally, Is it meet with love to dally, Scatt'ring thousand sweets around? See thy country in a stir, Enemies before, behind, And wilt thou, with troubled mind, Turn to love, and not to her? Morandro. Thus to hear thee idly speak, Makes my blood with fury dance. When did love, by any chance, Make the manly bosom weak? Do I leave my post to fly To my lady's side instead, Or lie sleeping on my bed, When my captain watches by? Hast thou seen me fail to move At the urgent call of duty, Lured away by wanton beauty, Or still less by honest love? If with truth thou canst not tell Any point wherein I fail, Wherefore thus against me rail, Just because I love so well? If I shun the circles bright, Brooding o'er my sad condition, Put thyself in my position, Thou wilt see that I have right. Know'st thou not how many years I was mad for Lyra's sake, Till at length the clouds did break, Scatt'ring all my doubts and fears? For her father gave consent That we twain should wedded be; And my Lyra's love for me, Mine for her, gave full content. But, alas! thou art aware How this brutal, cruel war Came our happiness to mar, Sunk my glory to despair. For our marriage may not be Till the din of war hath ceased; 'Tis no time to wed and feast Till this land of ours be free. Think what slender hope is here That my bliss will ever be, When our chance of victory Rests upon the foeman's spear! Here we are with ruin near us, Fosse and trench around us lying, All our men with hunger dying, And no thought of war to cheer us! Is it strange, that when I know All my hopes are but as wind, I should go with saddened mind, Just as now thou seest me go? Leoncio. O Morandro, calm thy breast; Let me see thine ancient glance; For by hidden ways, perchance, Help will reach us—and the best. Sovereign Jove will doubtless show To our brave Numantian folk How to burst this Roman yoke By some sharp and sudden blow. Then in calm and sweet repose Wilt thou seek thy wedded wife, And in love's endearing strife Soon forget thy present woes. For this day, by sage advice, Will Numantia, all astir, Unto Jove, the Thunderer, Make a solemn sacrifice. See what crowds of people hie With the victim and the fire! Mighty Jove, all-powerful sire, Look upon our misery! [There enter two Numantines, clad as ancient priests, leading in between them, fastened by the horns, a big lamb, crowned with olive or ivy and other flowers; also a page with a silver salver and a towel on his shoulder; another with a silver goblet filled with water; another with one filled with wine; another with a silver dish and a little incense; another with fire and wood; another who arranges a table with a coverlet, on which all the aforesaid articles are placed. There enter on the scene all those who have already appeared in the comedy in the dress of Numantines, the priests coming after; and one of them, letting go the lamb, thus says: First Priest. Most certain signs, foreboding woes unchecked, Have shown their evil forms across my way, And my hoar hairs are standing all erect. Second Priest. If my divinings lead me not astray, No good will issue from this enterprise. Alas, Numantia! Ah, luckless day!
First Priest. Let us, despite these mournful auguries, Perform our office with becoming speed. Second Priest. Bring hither, friends, this table, and likewise The incense, wine, and water which we need Arrange thereon. Now stand ye all apart; Repent ye of your every evil deed; The first and best oblation on your part Is that which heaven regards with chiefest grace, A chastened spirit and a guileless heart. First Priest. The fire upon the ground ye must not place. There comes a brazier to receive it now, For so our rites demand in such a case. Second Priest. Make clean your hands and necks, and keep your vow. First Priest. Bring water here! Is not the fire alight? One. No man can kindle it, my lords, I trow.
Second Priest. O Jove! Will adverse Fate, to our despite, Pursue us thus to ruin in its ire? What keeps the kindle-wood from taking light? One. It seems, my lord, there is some little fire. First Priest. Away with thee, thou lurid flame and spare! The sight of thee makes every hope expire. Mark how the thickening smoke is curling there, And to the western side directs its flight; While that pale flame which quivers in the air Darts to the east its points of yellow light; A luckless sign, which hastens to proclaim That total loss and ruin are in sight. Second Priest. Although our death may give the Romans fame, Their victory, methinks, to smoke will turn, Our death and glory change to vivid flame. First Priest. Since it is fitting, bring the hallowed urn, And quick bedew the sacred fire with wine; The incense also it behoves to burn. [They besprinkle the fire and its adjuncts with wine, and then place incense on the fire. Second Priest. Great Jupiter, direct thy force benign For good to sad Numantia in her woe, And turn to naught the stern opposing sign. First Priest. As burns the sacred incense in the glow, Forced into smoke by virtue of the fire, So exercise thy virtue on the foe, That all his wealth and glory, powerful Sire, May pass away in clouds of murky air, As thou canst do it, and as I desire. Second Priest. May Heaven restrain the foe with arm laid bare, As now we hold this victim firmly bound, And may he share the fate she hath to share! First Priest. Ill bodes the augury; no hope is found That our beleaguered town will e'er be free To burst the tightening bonds that gird her round. [Under the stage they make a noise with a barrel full of stones, and discharge a rocket. Second Priest. Didst thou not hear a noise, my friend, or see That flaming bolt which passed with angry flight, In speedy answer to thy prophecy? First Priest. I stand appalled; I quake with very fright; What fearful signs are hovering in the sky, Foreboding bitter end, disastrous fight! Seest not that troop of eagles fierce on high, Who fight these birds with cruel beak and bill, And round their quivering prey in circles fly! Second Priest. They use alone their strength and cruel will To drive these birds into some narrow spot, Then close them in with wily art and skill. First Priest. That omen I denounce; I like it not: Imperial eagles conquering as they go! Numantia falls,—it is her certain lot.
Second Priest. Eagles, the heralds of stupendous woe! Thine augury is true; it fits the case: Our hours are numbered,—it is time to go. First Priest. Not yet; the sacrifice must now take place Of this pure victim, destined to appease The deity who shows the fearful face. O mighty Pluto, thou whom Fate did please To grant a dwelling in the realms obscure, And rule the infernal hosts with thy decrees; As thou wouldst live in peace, and rest secure That she, of sacred Ceres daughter fair, Will greet thy love with an affection pure, Then listen to this wretched people's prayer; Do all that lies within thy proper sphere, And make their welfare thy peculiar care. Seal up that horrid cave profound and drear Whence sally forth the direful Sisters three, To do the damage we have cause to fear, For much they revel in our misery. [He takes some flocks of hair from the lamb and throws them into the air. So may the wind make all their projects vain, And as I now proceed to lave and stain This shining knife with that pure victim's gore, With guileless spirit and a purpose plain, So may Numantia's soil be sprinkled o'er With Roman blood; and may its reddened sands Serve also for their grave, as oft before. [Here enters from under the stage a demon, from the middle of his body upwards, who seizes the lamb and carries it behind. He presently returns again, and scatters and disperses the fire and all the sacrifices. But who hath snatched the victim from my hands? Ye holy gods, what means this fearful thing? What prodigies are raging in these lands? Can nothing move your hearts, or pity bring? Not the sad wailings of our wretched folk, Or sweetness of the holy songs we sing? Second Priest. These rather seem their anger to provoke, Else why these fearful signs of coming wrath That press us downward like a hateful yoke! Our schemes of life are but a passing breath; Our hardest labour ends in quick decay; The good of others hastens but our death. One of the People. Enough; since Heaven hath now decreed this day Our bitter end, its misery profound, Why need we more for pity's sake to pray? Another. Then let us wail with such a doleful sound Our woeful lot, that coming ages may Rehearse our hopeless valour round and round. And let Marquino make a full display Of all his lore; and tell the sum of fears And horrors springing from this fateful day, Which now hath turned our laughter into tears. [Exeunt omnes, save Morandro and Leoncio, who remain alone. Morandro. What, Leoncio, dost thou say? Shall my sorrows have their cure 'Neath these signs so good and sure, Which the Heavens now display? Shall I better fortune have, When the din of war is o'er? That will happen, not before, When this ground becomes my grave. Leoncio. To the gallant soldier, friend, Auguries can give no pain; Sturdy heart and steady brain Bring him fortune in the end. Passing phantoms vain and dim Cannot shake or do him harm; Courage high and manly arm Are the star and sign for him. But if thou wouldst still believe Such a palpable delusion, We shall have them in profusion, If my sight doth not deceive. For Marquino now will show All the best his lore can borrow, And the end of all our sorrow, Good or bad, we soon will know. Seems to me he comes this way; In what strange attire he sallies! Morandro. Who with ugly beings dallies Well may ugly be as they! Shall we follow him, or fly? Leoncio. Better far to follow now, For if fitting cause allow, We may serve him by-and-by. [Here enters Marquino, clad with a black robe of wide glazed buckram, and black flowing hair; his feet unshod, and at his girdle he must carry, so as to be seen, three phials full of water, one black, another tinged with saffron, the last clear; in the one hand a lance, black-lacquered, and in the other a book. Milvio accompanies him, and as they advance, Leoncio and Morandro stand at one side. Marquino. Where say'st thou, Milvio, lies the luckless youth? Milvio. Within this sepulchre interred he lies. Marquino. Thou know'st the spot; thou dost not err, in sooth? Milvio. No, for this stone, that stands before mine eyes, I left to mark the place where now doth dwell The lad we sepulchred with tears and sighs. Marquino.
Milvio. Of living not too well. For withering, wasting hunger laid him low, That cruel plague, the progeny of Hell. Marquino. It was no wound, so far as thou dost know, That pierced his heart and cut the vital thread, No cancer, nay, nor homicidal blow? I ask thee this, for to my science dread It matters that this body be complete, Entire in all its parts, from foot to head. Milvio. Three hours ago I paid him, as was meet, The last respects, and bore him to his tomb. He died of hunger; this I now repeat. Marquino. 'Tis well; the fitting season is in bloom, Announced before by each propitious sign, To summon from the nether realms of gloom The fallen spirits, fearsome and malign. Now to my verses give attentive ear: Fierce Pluto, thou, whom Fate hath called to reign Within the wide domain of darkness drear, Amongst the ministers of souls in pain, Cause that my wishes be respected here, However much they go against the grain; And in this dire extreme delay not long, Nor wait a second summons from my tongue. I wish that to the corpse, interred by us, The soul that gave it life thou shouldst restore. Though Charon yonder, fierce and rigorous, Should hold it fast upon the blackened shore; Though, in the triple throat of Cerberus The grim, it lies ensconced in anguish sore; Forth let it come to seek our world of light, Then quick return unto thy realms of night. Since come it must, let it instructed come, Anent the issue of this bloody fray. In no point let the wretched soul be dumb, Nor aught conceal, but in the plainest way, Without ambiguous phrase, rehearse the sum, Lest doubt and dim confusion win the day. Now send it forth. Why keep me waiting here, Or must I make my meaning still more clear? Ye faithless ones, why turn ye not the stone? Tell me, false ministers, what keeps ye back? How? Have ye not sufficient portents shown, That ye will aid me in the thing I lack? Say, have ye mischievous designs alone? Or wish ye I should put upon the track, This very moment, my enchanting arts, To soften down your fierce and stony hearts? Well then, ye rabble vile, with falsehood rife, Prepare yourselves for words of harder grain; Know that my voice hath power upon your life, To give you double fury, double pain! Tell me, thou traitor, husband of the wife Who six months yearly, to her sweetest gain, Remains without thee, cuckold as thou art, Why art thou dumb, when I speak out my heart? This iron point, bedewed with water clear Which never touched the ground in month of May, Will strike this stone, and straightway will appear The strength and potency of my assay. [With water of the clear phial he bathes the point of the lance, and then strikes the board; below, rockets are fired off, or a noise is made with the barrel of stones. Ye rabble, now it seems that ye have fear, And show by stunning proofs your fell dismay. What sounds are these, ye people vile and coarse? Ye come at last, although ye come by force. Lift up this stone, ye curs, whate'er betide, And show the body that lies buried here. What means this sluggishness? Where do ye hide? Why at my mandate do ye not appear? Ye infidels, ye put my threats aside, Because ye think ye have no more to fear; But this black water of the Stygian lake Will give your tardiness a speedy shake! Thou water, drawn upon a dismal night Of darkness dread, from out the fatal lake, By that dread power which doth with thee unite, Before which any other power must quake, Give forth thy diabolic strength aright! And him who first the Serpent's form did take I conjure, I constrain, beseech, command, To come with speedy wings at my demand! [He sprinkles the sepulchre with water, and it opens. Come forth, thou ill-starred youth, stay not behind, Return to see the sun, serene and blest! Forsake that realm, where thou shalt never find One single happy day of cloudless rest! And since thou canst, unbosom now thy mind, Of all that thou hast seen in its dark breast; I mean, regarding that which I demand, And more, if it concerns the case in hand. [The body comes forth in its shroud, with masked face, discoloured like a dead man's, and walks, dragging itself by little and little, and at length falls flat on the stage, without moving foot or hand, till its time comes. What! Dost not answer? Dost not live again, Or haply hast thou tasted death once more? Then will I quicken thee anew with pain, And for thy good the gift of speech restore. Since thou art one of us, do not disdain To speak and answer, as I now implore; If thou be dumb, then I'll use measures strong, To loosen thy most timid, worthless tongue. [He sprinkles the body with the yellow water, and whips it with a thong. Ye spirits vile, it worketh not, ye trust! But wait, for soon the enchanted water here Will show my will to be as strong and just As yours is treacherous and insincere. And though this flesh were turned to very dust, Yet being quickened by this lash austere, Which cuts with cruel rigour like a knife, It will regain a new though fleeting life. [At this point the body moves and shudders. Thou rebel soul, seek now the home again Thou leftest empty these few hours ago! The Body.[9] Restrain the fury of thy reckless pain; Suffice it, O Marquino, man of woe, What I do suffer in the realms obscure, Nor give me pangs more fearful to endure. Thou errest, if thou thinkest that I crave, For greater pleasure and for less dismay, This painful, pinched, and narrow life I have, Which even now is ebbing fast away. Nay, rather dost thou cause me dolour grave, Since Death a second time, with bitter sway, Will triumph over me in life and soul, And gain a double palm, beyond control. For he and others of the dismal band Who do thy bidding, subject to thy spell, Are raging round and round, and waiting stand, Till I shall finish what I have to tell: The woeful end, most terrible and grand, Of our Numantia, since I know it well: For she shall fall, and by the hands austere Of those who are to her most near and dear. The Romans ne'er shall victory obtain O'er proud Numantia; still less shall she A glorious triumph o'er her foemen gain; Twixt friends and foes, both brave to a degree, Think not that settled peace shall ever reign Where rage meets rage in strife eternally. The friendly hand, with homicidal knife, Will slay Numantia, and will give her life. [He hurls himself into the sepulchre, and says: I say no more, Marquino, time is fleet; The Fates will grant to me no more delay, And though my words may seem to thee deceit, Thou'lt find at last the truth of what I say. Marquino. O fearful signs! O misery complete! If such events, my friend, are on the way, Before I gaze on this my people's doom I'll end my wretched being in this tomb! [Marquino hurls himself into the sepulchre. Morandro. Say, Leoncio, am I right, Are not my forebodings true? That my hopes and pleasures too Change into the opposite? Who can Fate and Fortune brave? Shut and barred is every way, Save, and let Marquino say, Certain death and speedy grave. Leoncio. What are all these strange illusions? Terrors grim and phantasies. What are signs and witcheries? Diabolical delusions. Thinkest thou such things have worth? Slender knowledge dost thou show; Little care the dead below For the living here on earth. Milvio. Such a monstrous sacrifice Never had Marquino made, Could our fate have been delayed, Which he saw with prophet's eyes. Let us tell this tale of woe To the town whose end is near; But on such an errand drear Who will stir one step to go? End of Act II.
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