The Siege of Numantia Page #10

The Siege of Numantia is a tragedy by Miguel de Cervantes set at the siege of Numantia. The play is divided into four acts. The dialogue is sometimes in tercets and sometimes in redondillas, but for the most part in octaves.

• History

								

                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.

      What died he of?

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?
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