The Siege of Numantia Page #16

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

								

      I have more terror of the friend, I vow.

    Enter QUINTUS FABIUS, with sword unsheathed.

QUINTUS FABIUS.

      Calm, prudent general, thine angry mood,
      For this my blade doth know the cause right well,
      Which now hath cost thee many a soldier good,
      Of those who most in manliness excel.
      Two Numantines, with pride and daring rude,
      Whose deeds of courage my applause compel,
      O'erleaping the wide ditch and battled height,
      Have waged within thy camp a cruel fight.
      They sallied through our guards and pickets first,
      To face a thousand spears in open fray,
      And dealt their blows with such a fury curst,
      That to our very camp they hewed their way;
      Into Fabricius' tent with rage they burst,
      And made of strength and valour such display,
      That in an instant six stout men and true
      Were by their deadly steel pierced through and through.
      Ne'er did the burning bolt with speedier flight
      Cleave in its onward course the smitten air;
      Ne'er did the meteor, with its stream of light,
      More quickly pass athwart the heavens fair;
      Than passed these two, exulting in their might,
      Through middle of thy host, and soaked the bare
      Hard ground with Roman blood, which forth did stream
      Where'er their flashing swords were seen to gleam.
      With breast pierced through the bold Fabricius lay;
      Horatius fell with head cleft to the brain;
      Olmida lost his right arm in the fray,
      And little hope of life doth now remain;
      Our brave Estatius made a full display
      Of all his lithesome vigour, but in vain,
      For as he ran the Numantine to meet,
      His passage on to death was still more fleet.
      With speed of lightning, hurrying where they may,
      They ran from tent to tent, until they found
      Some scraps of biscuit, which they seized as prey.
      With fury, still unquenched, they turned them round;
      The one escaped by flight and got away,
      A thousand swords made t'other bite the ground;
      Whence I infer that hunger made them bold,
      And raised their daring to a pitch untold.

SCIPIO.

      If worn with hunger, shut in utterly,
      They show such daring and such martial ire,
      What would they not have done, remaining free,
      With all their strength and ardour still entire?
      Unvanquished now, yet vanquished shall ye be,
      For all your reckless fury will expire,
      When matched against our prudence and our skill,
      Which have the power to crush the proudest will.

            [Exeunt SCIPIO and his men, and presently they sound
                to arms in the town, and MORANDRO enters wounded
                and streaming with blood, with a little white
                basket on his left arm, containing a small piece of
                biscuit stained with blood, and says:

MORANDRO.

      Com'st them not, Leoncio, say?
      Friend, what hath befallen thee?
      If thou comest not with me,
      How can I without thee stay?
      Friend, where art thou, tell me, where?
      Dying? dead? Alas! to grieve me,
      Never, never wouldst thou leave me,
      It was I who left thee there!
      Can it be that thou art lost,
      All thy flesh in pieces torn,
      Tokens of the price forlorn
      Which this bread of mine hath cost?
      Why did not that fatal blow,
      Which hath laid thee with the dead,
      Rather fall upon my head,
      Take my life, and end my woe?
      But the Fates, in cruel mood,
      Would not have me thus to die;
      Gave me greater misery,
      Gave to thee the higher good!
      Thou wilt bear the palm for ever,
      Of the lealest, truest friend;
      And to thee my soul I'll send,
      To excuse my rash endeavour;
      Quickly, for a craving dread
      Lures me on my death to meet
      At my dearest Lyra's feet,
      Giving her this bitter bread;
      Bread, which from the foe was taken,--
      Taken? 'Tis more precious food,
      Purchased with the very blood
      Of two friends, by luck forsaken.

            [LYRA enters with some robes, which she is taking to
                be burned, and says:

LYRA.

      What is this mine eyes behold?

MORANDRO.

      Him, whom soon no more thou'lt see,
      For my pains are crushing me
      With a speed I cannot hold.
      Ended, Lyra, is the strife,
      And my promise kept have I,
      That thou shouldst not have to die
      While I have one spark of life.
      Even better might I say,
      That thou soon wilt come to know,
      How thy strength with food will grow,
      And my life will pass away.

LYRA.

      What say'st thou, Morandro dear?

MORANDRO.

      Lyra, thou wilt lose thy hunger
      While, by fate in cruel anger,
      Life I lose, and end it here.
      But my blood so freely poured,
      Mingled with the bread ye eat,
      Will, belovèd one and sweet,
      But a bitter meal afford.
      Here thou hast the bread well-guarded
      By full eighty thousand fiends;
      And which cost two faithful friends
      Life, and all they most regarded.
      Love, that so for thee hath bled,
      Well, my lady, may'st thou cherish;
      I, that love thee so, must perish,
      And Leoncio lieth dead.
      My affection pure and bright,
      Take it with thy hand of love,
      That is food all price above,
      And will give thee most delight.
      Since in hours of joy and dole
      Thou hast been my love, I vow,
      Take, O take my body now,
      As thou hast received my soul.

            [He falls dead, and LYRA gathers him in the folds of
                the robes.

LYRA.

      O Morandro, sweetest one,
      How art thou, what dost thou feel?
      How hath all thy strength of steel
      Passed away, and been undone?
      Woe is me, and is it true
      That my spouse is lying dead?
      O event of direst dread,
      That misfortune ever knew!
      Who hath made thee, sweetest friend,
      Having excellence supreme,
      Valiant lover to extreme,
      Luckless soldier at the end?
      Thou didst sally to the strife,
      Husband mine, in such a way,
      That to give my death delay
      Thou hast robbed me of my life!
      O thou bread, with blood bestained,
      Which for me was freely shed,
      I do not esteem thee bread,
      It is poison I have gained!
      To my mouth I'll carry thee,
      Not to give me nourishment,
      But to kiss, to my content,
      That dear blood which flowed for me!

            [At this point there enters a youth, speaking in an
                exhausted way, who is the brother of LYRA.

Brother.

      Lyra, sister, pained am I,
      For my sire is dead and gone,
      And my mother, left alone,
      Dieth now as I must die!
      Hunger fell hath laid them low;
      Sister mine, and hast thou bread?
      Bread, how slowly hast thou sped,
      For I cannot taste thee now!
      Hunger makes my throat to shrink
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