The Siege of Numantia Page #14

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

								

      What ye must do, with honour to your names,
      When once your wealth is swallowed in the flames.
      Meanwhile to stay, but for a single hour,
      The hunger which devours us as its prey,
      Cause that these wretched Romans[11] in our power
      Be slain and quartered without more delay,
      And then distributed from hut to tower,
      To all both great and small, this very day.
      So shall our banquet through the country ring,
      A cruel, strange, and necessary thing!
      My friends, what think ye? Are ye all agreed?

CORABINO.

      For me, I hold myself as well content;
      So let us put in action with due speed
      This strange and just design with one consent.

THEOGENES.

      When ye have done what I have now decreed,
      I shall disclose the rest of my intent.
      So let us forth to do what all desire,
      And kindle up the rich consuming fire.

First Wife.

      With right good will we shall begin this day
      To gather up our jewels for the fire;
      And yield our lives, to use them as ye may,
      As ye have yielded to our joint desire.

LYRA.

      Quick, let us hasten all! Away, away,
      To burn our treasures, and our rich attire,
      Which might the Romans' hands make rich indeed,
      And fill to overflow their grasping greed.

            [Exeunt omnes, and as MORANDRO departs, he takes LYRA
                by the arm, and detains her.

MORANDRO.[12]

      Lyra, why so swiftly fly?
      Let me now enjoy the pleasure
      Which within my heart I'll treasure
      While I live, and when I die.
      Let mine eyes with rapture rest
      On thy beauty for a space;
      Since my fortune, void of grace,
      Turns my passion into jest.
      Thou, sweet Lyra, art the dream
      Ever to my fancy given,
      With such music sweet of heaven,
      That my pains like rapture seem.
      Why so sad, with thought o'ercast,
      Thou, my heart's delight and treasure?

LYRA.

      I am thinking how my pleasure
      And thine own are fading fast.
      Not the siege, and not the strife,
      Give it homicidal blows;
      For before the war shall close
      I shall end my hapless life.

MORANDRO.

      What, my love, what dost thou say?

LYRA.

      That this hunger gnaws me so,
      Dulls my strength and vital glow,
      And my life ebbs fast away.
      Canst thou bliss and marriage-bed
      Seek from one in such extreme?
      Much I fear it, 'tis no dream,
      One short hour, and I am dead.
      Yesterday my brother died,
      With the pangs of hunger worn;
      And my mother, left forlorn,
      Died of hunger by his side.
      If till now my health and life
      Have not yielded to its rigour,
      'Tis because my youthful vigour
      Kept the mast'ry in the strife.
      But these many days ago
      All the weary strife is o'er,
      I have strength and power no more
      To contend with such a foe.

MORANDRO.

      Lyra, dry thy saddened eyes,
      And let mine with tears of woe
      Like to mighty rivers flow,
      Swollen by thy griefs and sighs.
      Though this hunger, raging high,
      Grasp thee firm in deadly strife,
      While I have one spark of life,
      Thou shalt not of hunger die.
      In an instant will I flee,
      Leap the ditch, and break the wall,
      And will Death himself appal,
      Till he loose his grasp of thee.
      From the Romans' mouth, alone,
      If my vigour hath not fled,
      I will snatch the very bread,
      And will place it in thine own.
      With my arm, in deadly fight,
      From the jaws of Death I'll free thee
      For it kills me more to see thee,
      Lady dear, in such a plight.
      Bread to eat I'll bring to thee,
      Spite of all the Romans do,
      If my hands are strong and true,
      As of old they used to be.

LYRA.

      Thou dost speak like one distraught;
      But, Morandro, 'tis not just
      That I taste a single crust
      With thy fearful peril bought.
      Such a spoil, if gained by thee,
      Would be little to my mind;
      And more truly wilt thou find
      Loss to thee, than gain to me.
      In its freshness and its bloom
      Still enjoy thy youth divine;
      Better is thy life than mine,
      To avert the city's doom.
      Better will thine arm and blade
      Shield it in its evil hour,
      Than the weak and puny power
      Of a tender, saddened maid.
      Wert thou able to prolong
      This my life a single day,
      Hunger still would have its way,
      And the strife will not be long.

MORANDRO.

      Lyra, all thy words are vain,
      Nothing now my way can bar;
      Steadfast will, and lucky star
      Light my path and make it plain.
      Meanwhile pray the gods divine
      Now to bless my hardy toil,
      Bring me back with fitting spoil
      To assuage thy griefs and mine.

LYRA.

      O Morandro, sweet and good,
      Do not go; I am afraid,
      For I see the foeman's blade
      Stained and reddened with thy blood.
      O Morandro, dearest life,
      Do not make this journey sad;
      If the going-forth be bad,
      Worse the issue from the strife.
      If thine ardour I restrain,
      I have witness there in Heaven,
      That my heart with fear is riven,
      For my loss, and not my gain.
      But, dear friend, if it must be,
      If this venture must take place,
      Take as pledge this fond embrace,
      That my spirit goes with thee.

MORANDRO.

      Heaven, sweet Lyra, be thy guard!
      See, Leoncio comes to me.

LYRA.

      May'st thou be from danger free,
      And thy hopes be thy reward!

            [LEONCIO has been listening to all that passed between
                his friend MORANDRO and LYRA.

LEONCIO.

      Morandro, 'tis a fearful sacrifice
      To make for her; and well dost thou declare
      That lover's breast hath nought of cowardice.
      Though from thy manliness and valour rare
      Still more we hope to gain, yet much I fear
      That Fate unkind will prove a miser there.
      To Lyra's tale I gave a listening ear,
      And know her dire extreme and dismal plight,
      So foreign to the worth we all revere.
      I heard thee pledge thine honour and thy might
      To free her from her present strait, and brave
      The cruel Roman spears in reckless fight.
      In such an urgent case, dear friend, I crave
      To be thy comrade, for it is my due,
      And aid thee with the little strength I have.

MORANDRO.

      Half of my heart! O Friendship leal and true,
      Unsevered in the hardships of the fray,
      Or in the happiest days we ever knew!
      Enjoy sweet life, Leoncio, whilst thou may;
      Remain within the town, for I would spurn
      By act of mine thy blooming youth to slay.
      Alone I have to go, alone return,
      Beladen with the richest spoil and rare,
      Which constant faith and fervent love can earn.

LEONCIO.

      If so, Morandro, thou art well aware
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