We have won, and
Spain is conquered,
thus Fate has ordained for Rome,
moreover, Egypt will be our slave.

To Tiberiolo and to Sesto
I offer equally the Mural Crown,
for I know that both were the first
to climb over the wall.

Lelio, the Roman Senate will
be informed of your great valour;
for such a sign of distinguished
military behaviour adorn your
brow with this golden crown.

Scipio, I give you thanks for the
gift and the merit, if I fulfilled
my duty, I only followed the
example of your great spirit.

Of so many eminent captives,
these I thought worthy of you,
they who bear exceptional beauty,
which sets the heart on fire.

(Ye gods! Such great beauty!)

Fair one, in your lovely breast do
not give room to idle fear; your fate
has fallen to a courteous victor.

Ah, my unhappy fate!

Your name?

Berenice.

Do not lament: in your fair face
you bear arms that have already
rendered the victor vanquished.

And you, who are you?

Saved from the rage of pillagers
by renowned Lelio, I am Armira.

To you, faithful General, I consign
these most precious prizes.

To you, Scipio, I confide my
honour; you who know all the
laws of virtue, you will protect it.

Banish, fair one, fear from your
breast, of your great beauty, of your
honour virtue will be a defence.

We have won:
moreover, Egypt will be our slave.

Oh, Lucejo!

And what name did you
pronounce with such sorrow?

Is that name perhaps
known to you?

Are you speaking of the noble
Prince of the Celtiberi?

Ah, how do you know him?

I was once a prisoner of the
king his father, and generously
he wished to set me free,
and bound my heart to him.

He was intended to be
my husband, but unfriendly fate’s
cruel fury

changed into harsh chains
the sweet bonds of
love; O beloved prince,
what will become of me, of you?

Do not give yourself over to sorrow.

I hope that the so generous
victor will set us free.

Unhappy husband!

You will have rooms in the
royal palace, fair noble ladies;
in delightful gardens you will
find rest from your sorrow.

Ah, what rest can
my torments have?

A dear lover, kind and faithful,
Love gave me, but an evil fate

then removed that beloved lover,
ever faithful, from my arms.

And now that I carry such pain
in my heart, without dying,

to my torment other
comfort no, there is none.

A dear lover, etc.

When I come to my longed-for
wedding to Berenice, my
idol, I find Carthage taken by
a sudden assault, and look
in vain for my love: I dress

as a Roman soldier: I come
to Scipio’s triumphal pomp,
and my fate was to see her,
O gods, but a prisoner. I
heard that Lelio is her guard:

into the royal gardens
I entered: aid, Love, the deception.

Oh, with what fixed looks
the victor admired her!

Ah, I will lose her for ever if she
does not escape. Aid me, Love!

Lamenting I fly, like that dove
which alone, alone goes looking
for his beloved, taken by the hunter.

And then the unhappy lover as a
prisoner rests by her side, but the
snare also attracts him because
he stays there with his love.

Lamenting, etc.

Oh, how many graces Love
mingled in that fair face!

But am I not already taken by the
sweet force of that celestial gaze?

My reputation is in danger,
and they will say…

My Lord, the two fair
prisoners praise your courtesy.

Lelio, towards fair Armira
I have too often seen
you turn your glances.

Why hide it? My heart sighs for her;
but you are the victor.

In beauty
Berenice seems far above her.

And yet my love is the subject of
the other; of all beauties the fairest
is the one which pleases us.

To you the protection of both I
have already given. A capital
crime will be the entry of
anyone else within these walls.
Armira will be yours.

Generous Scipio!
Here’s the fair one.

Armira, and why sad?

Oh, how many times have I come
to this pleasant grove
to enjoy myself!

Who would ever have believed
the delights changed into a prison?

From the moment you became my
prize, what could sadden you?

The thought that I am a slave.

But from the rigours of this harsh lot
you could be freed by…

Whom? Say.

Love.

She who is not free never moves
the chains from her feet to her heart.

Anyone who loves a fair one,
must give her freedom,
and then ask for her love.

She who is not free, etc.

Servitude is, in truth, unworthy
for a soul adorned with such fair
merits: when she is given into
my power, I shall resolve it.

Fair one, you have achieved
victory over the victor with your
beautiful eyes: that such a hero
loves you can be to your benefit.

How did you notice his love?

He gave me an order that
to all except us entry here
would be a capital offence.

And this is a sign of love?

I could tell you yet more: I
advise you to return the love
of the first among Romans.

And you are ungrateful.

What? Have you already forgotten
your friend Lucejo?

(Ah, what have I said?)

He should have come
here the same day that
unhappy Carthage fell.

Who knows? Perhaps he perished.

No, Berenice: hope for a better
outcome and console yourself.

Ah, who could ever escape, when
inexorable fate drives one to ruin.

No, do not be afraid of
uncertain sorrow, when hope

with sweet deceit can
soothe the longing heart.

Events change the good and
the bad: often one is with you,

then the other comes; you may
wish to fear, but don’t despair.

No, do not be afraid, etc.

Oh, luckless, luckless love!

Through fate, with Carthage my
joy perished, my hopes fell.

Who knows, who
knows if you will ever
see my love again, sorrowful eyes.

What unfortunate events
have always disappointed
the hopes, O gods, of my joys also!

Oh, luckless, luckless love.

Gentle breezes that sigh,
ah, fly to my lover,
then return to say where he is.

Gentle winds, if you find him,
return with greatest speed:

oh, wherever I am,
gentle breezes,
make him return with you to me.

Gentle breezes that sigh,
ah, fly to my lover,
then return to say where he is.

Soft breezes, stop.

Yes, in spite of cruel fate, my
beloved, in the end I come to you.

And what do I hear!
What do I see?

My Berenice.

O gods!
What rashness! How ill-advised!

This is how you
greet your spouse?

What troubles your fair heart?

Your danger.

The guards are deceived
by my false clothing.

Ah, if you’re discovered in these
false clothes, who will save
you from the wrath of Scipio?

Did you not want to see me?

Yes, I wanted to see you…

What more, my love?

But to see you return
as my liberator,
and not companion of my chains.

Leave, if you love me, and
with those of my father unite
your forces, and return in arms:

and if unjust fate also betrays your ardour, and my desires,

you will see that I have
a heart that was born if not to
rejoice with you, to die with you.

Tell me, dearest, tell me, “you
must die”, but, dearest, don’t
say to me, “leave far from me”.

Before seeing you, yes,
perhaps I could leave:

now that I see you, no, no,
neither my heart or my feet
wish or can leave.

Tell me, dearest, etc.

Ah, hide yourself: I see Scipio
not far off. Ah, I die with fear!

Don’t be afraid, comfort yourself.

If you love my life,
Prince, hide yourself.

I obey you.

Gods, conceal him! He’s coming.

What sudden terror grips my heart!

It is plain in my face: I
must pretend another reason.

May the gods protect Scipio…

Fair one, why are your
clear eyes troubled?

You don’t answer? Why? Perhaps
it is not right that I should know.

How could an unhappy slave ever
appear, if not always troubled?

Ah, brighten those clouded eyes.

Servitude will not be heavy for you.

Command the conqueror,
you who have such amorous
force in your beauty.

You speak to me
of unknown things.

Yet to a maiden of such lovely
appearance, is perhaps still
unknown the language of a lover?

(I can bear this no longer.)

Oh, heaven!

What trampling of feet?

What are you doing here, soldier?

Who are you? Answer.

I am a man, as you see me,
before another man: and if
between us there is a difference,
it is not merit, it is luck.

(Under Latin clothes
the speech is foreign.)

What do you want here?

(Ah, if he is discovered, O gods!)

I claim a greater right in her
than you.

Such audacity! Who are you?

I am…

Scipio, let me speak: and
what right have you over me?

I am…

You are either mad or reckless,
that with false pretences

lay snares for my honour, and seek
to take the prize from the conqueror.

Am I dreaming? Am I awake?

Go away, leave,
impudent, haughty, liar.

(Ah, aren’t my pains enough
already that other ones come
to make me unhappier.)

Be quiet, fly, don’t you hear me?

Protect me, defend me,
O courteous victor.

Go away, etc

(I’ve come in time;
now to save him.)

(It’s Lelio.)

Erennio, what are you
doing here? Go to the camp!

My Lord, this foolish soldier
has disturbed you.

Haven’t you obeyed me yet?

(I erred in my
exuberance.) I will obey.

From his accent I thought
him to be Spanish.

He served Publio your father,
and was taken prisoner,
and from the harsh tyranny lost

part of his senses, but he fears my
orders and is also full of valour.

Take great care of him,
Lelio, in his misfortune.

Truly, you have pity towards
a friend as much as valour
against the enemy.

Jealousy, have you deceived me?

My friend’s gratitude, oh, how
assiduous, made me escape!

But, who could bear to hear
words of love to his fair one?

It’s not a Spanish custom
to suffer a rival; but “liar!

impudent! go away! leave!”

were her heart’s thoughts,
or only pretence?

Ah, she certainly listened with too
much pleasure to his words of love.

Daughter of guilty fear, cold
poison of the enraptured breast,

O cruel jealousy, get out of
my heart, leave me in peace.

Ice and fire, rage and vexation,
doubtful faith, hidden deceit

you bring with you, and
thus at last you extinguish
the torch of life and love.

Daughter, etc.

By the conqueror’s permission
I have landed safely.

If the tutelar gods, who watch over
the defence of innocence, delivered
my daughter from the wrath of Mars,

the treasure we have brought
will make her ransom easy.

Send out industrious searchers
at once on her trail:

but until her discovery
keep quiet about our misfortune.
A Roman commander approaches.

To great Ernando, who rules
the two Balearic Islands,
Scipio sends greetings.

To the Roman proconsul I
yield glory and arms, I offer
tribute, and ask for friendship.

Ernando’s friendship is pleasing
to Scipio, but the greatest tribute,
indeed the sole one he seeks, is
for you to come to offer to Rome
and to him a heart full of friendship.

Such a brave arm, such a generous
heart will conquer the world.

And without the use of the sword,
fighting with his noble heart
all will yield to him.

Such a brave arm, etc.

All gathered anew in my throbbing
heart I have a trembling soul.

Would the gift of freedom,
fair prisoner, make you grateful?

It would make me more
a slave to the giver.

Hope, but first tell me
your true state: your noble features
breathe greatness.

I am daughter to Ernando,
king of the Balearic Islands.

And why are you in Carthage?

Prince Sitalce, who died in
the defence, was my mother’s
brother, and in his court I
lived for a long time, ah…

Ah, do not give yourself as the prey
of vain grief: death is inevitable.

You will be free,
but I ask freedom for freedom.

In his strongest chains
for you Love has already bound…

My Lord, stop there,
do not tell me that you are…

Hear me.

No, listen.

To the Prince of the Celtiberi,
who lived with us for a time, I
have already given my heart.

I cannot love again, if not…

(Cruel, cruel my fate!
Unhappy heart, you burst
with torment and rage.)

Think, fair one, of my hopes,
and do not beguile my entreaty.

(Ah, the heart fears too much,
and begins to despair.)

Think, etc.

Here, Prince, is the fair
cause of your sorrow.

You speak to her for me:
I do not have enough courage.

O gods! And this is Lucejo’s
flight? Ah, rash one! He
returns to disturb my heart.

(Yes, you’re telling me
the truth, jealousy.)

Lelio, have him fly from me.

And don’t you want…

I want him to leave,
and not come back.

He wants only…

He must have lost his reason,
who wants to lose his sight to
see the sunrise just one time.

Lelio, let’s go. I go to death.

To death! Ah, no. Lelio, stop him.

To death, deceiving siren,
what does it matter to
you? Love, sworn faith

are these? And what reason
can you give me, ingrate?

Alas! Scipio will come.

The new object of your love
will come.

Are you blind, and cannot see?

I see already in your faithless
eyes your deceiving heart.

You have changed your
love to vain ambition,
and mine has become rage.

Stay here with as much peace
as you have given me,
but let your false heart fear
weeping over the rival, or the lover,
or both together, at the last hour.

But no, I am resolved to leave.

I turn every thought to you…

Go, I’m not listening.

I leave, I fly; stay and
rejoice in your deceit, you’ll
be happy, haughty one, liar.

Unhappy I shall stay,
unhappy only through you.

Stay, ingrate, and
what can you say?

When, instead of escaping, you
wish to remain with the conqueror.

This is love? This is faith?

I leave, etc.

Follow him, General.
His agitated mind
will surely lead him into danger.

I’ll follow his path and
think of his escape.

Miserable Berenice!

Ah, I already foresee the end
of my most unhappy tragedy.

As one wave follows closely
another, pain upon pain
abounds, and at last drowns
the heart in a sea of woe.

And all my moments, oh,
how slowly, from sorrow
to sorrow go on to death.

As one wave, etc.

You pester too much.

When the power to set me free
is in your hands, then I’ll think
about returning your love.

And why not
promise me love now?

My affections would be
forced and less sure.

I fear that, flattering,
your insincere lips
will promise love only to deceive.

Yet although it’s false, the
flattery is so sweet that more
it beguiles me always to hope.

I fear, etc.

It benefits me to lead him on,
until the bad news of my slavery
reaches Indibile my father,

and he will send
such aid to restore my freedom.

Until then I will be content to keep
my foot, my heart in dear liberty.

A lover usually says
that he only wants to serve,
then becomes a tyrant.

Until then, etc.

Here I return, and here I want
to die first, than ever leave…

What do you want here?

I want everything
that my despair wants.

Who are you looking for?

Berenice.

Don’t you know yet
that Scipio adores her?

And do you think her Roman
lover finds it reciprocated?

And why should you care?
Do you still love her?

To my misfortune.

Do you not fear the anger
of the Roman conqueror?

A heart that is born to reign
does not know fear.

Tell me, who are you?

Of my affairs it is not
convenient to say more now.

You offend me: in token
of trust, take my hand.

O fair one, you comfort me.

“Fair one, you comfort me!”

Ah, traitor, unworthy!

O vain suspicion!

I suspect the truth. But
your decorum, Armira?

Don’t you correct his audacity?

I’ll leave you alone with this other
lover, since you are qualified to
teach me the laws of modesty.

And you try to disguise
lost faithfulness with
pretended jealousy?

Leave, traitor!

Do you dare so much again,
against my orders?

Scipio, luck gave her to you;
love gave her to me.

It is that foolish soldier.

I am Lucejo, Prince of the
Celtiberi: vile fear cannot
make me hide myself: I
tried to take away your prize,

if I could, by honourable flight, but
the cruel one did not listen to me.

You attempted, Prince, a
crime; you are now a prisoner.

(Ah, misery; I foresaw it.)

If you speak as a
Roman general, I yield.

But as my rival, I know you
have honour in your soul; and
as you have not conquered me,
I am not a prisoner; I will not
yield as long as I live, My love…

I must answer to the Senate
for my, for your life.

Desperation does not hear
you: draw your sword.

Gods, defend him! I faint… I die…

Take heed! Do not harm him.

Do not fear, Princess,
he shall be safe.

Relinquish, friend, your sword.

Adverse fate!

Lelio, kill me! I am desperate.

I yield to Rome, and I yield
to you: these I would say
if I had a Roman heart.

But in love, no, I do not yield to
you, I challenge you to arms.

And if you are my rival, you must
no longer be a general: honour
forbids you to deprive of liberty
whom you have not defeated.

I yield, etc

My Lord, I fear your fixed thoughts.

Yes, yes, Rome will
choose another husband
for you, more worthy of your merit.

Lucejo is born to rule.

One, however, deserves
to possess your charms:
one who gives commands to kings:
a Roman.

In a base heart ambition and
fortune always have force; not
in mine, which has only love.

The Senate’s decrees
have such force
that heads must bow, and obey.

None can be forced, who can die.

Do you so hate the Romans?

I admire their courage, I love
their noble hearts, and were
my faith and love not given to
another, yes, I could fall in love.

An unmoveable rock in the troubled
sea, the summit of a lofty mountain

in storming winds, are like
this loving heart’s affections.

My faith is already given: if another
deserved it, do not complain to
me, if fate made him miss the boat.

An unmoveable rock, etc

My unhappy affection!

Does honour close off every path
for my love?

Scipio, see Ernando here
for private audience,
according to your wishes.

I honour
the high presence of the conqueror.

Our friendship matches your
courtesy; accept, my Lord, my
hand as a token. Fortunate events
place your daughter in my power.

Lelio has already
told me: from your noble heart
I hope for her liberty.

Her beauty has conquered
my heart: in chaste bonds I
hope to obtain her from you.

Such great honour,
to my distress, has come too late.

I have promised her to Lucejo,
Prince of the Celtiberi.

But he is our prisoner.

While he lives
my word is irrevocable.

My life, my kingdom are yours, but
to keep them I would never give
up my honour. The pledge is done,

the memory of which my grateful
mind will have even to death.

Go now, and think about it.

I have already thought.

Human life would be guilt-ridden,
only brutal and empty
without the restraint of honour.

To give one’s word is to give one’s
faith; and the tongue which gave
it is the servant only of the heart.

Human life, etc.

Worthy friends of Rome
are these Spaniards.
The honour of Saguntum
flows in all their veins! Go now,

bring Lucejo here and Berenice,
and tell him that he must go as a
prisoner to Rome with the new day.

You have more
experience and judgement
for me to give advice. Your order
will be carried out immediately.

The power to do what you want,
to want what you can do
are in your hands, and
you don’t want to enjoy it?

The pleasures of life are but
moments, you desire… think…
and wait; they fly like the wind.

Who enjoys less, lives less. Virtue
is a nagging opinion by which
desire dies of thirst
while next to the spring.

Yes, I want… but…no…
come back to yourself.

You can decide not to use your
power, you can decide not to
wish, just because you can
possess that which you want.

That is a pleasure which
you do not have in
common with brutes and tyrants.

Your renowned virtue! But no.
You cannot do it just for renown.
To do true good is what a man
does, for his internal peace.

Oh, second thought, you are noble,
you bring back, I feel
it, my peace of mind.

In this place, Prince, where I
should render to you what you
gave to me, here I must give
you a harsh and mournful decree.

Gods! What could it be?

I have a soul that can bear
misfortunes: speak on.

Prince, you must, ah…

From a Roman, with so long
hesitation, to name death?

… go as a prisoner
to Rome tomorrow.

That is worse than death.

No do not go without me, my love.

Sorrow or this hand
will free my soul from its chains.

I will follow you as a naked ghost.

Oh, loyalty! O dearest!

I beg your forgiveness
for my blind jealousy.

Oh, how my troubles are paid
for! Ah, stay, ah, live, loving
and faithful to my memory
only, and then reserve, reserve
your life for a better fate.

My friend, one thing I ask of
you, one sole sign of infinite
gratitude, ah, get the conqueror
to change to death the harsh
sentence of my departure.

If brooks or leaves murmur,
little breezes whisper,
say that my sighs are those,

or my soul which comes,
my love, around you.

Whether Fate gives life or death,
they are both equal torment:
but I shall be consoled
thinking about your faithfulness.

If brooks, etc.

I can resist no longer.
My heart is breaking.

If Scipio can resist such tender
affection, such fair tears, he
does not have the Roman heart
to be called great and human.

Ah, Scipio, where are you?

Listen to my weeping: either give
me back my lover, or in his chains

place me too, yes,
ruthless one, come,
take your fill of my bitter tears.

(Softness of the heart,
I yield, I am defeated.)

You do not deserve my disdain,
but I cannot love you.

I alone am guilty; sentence of
death ah, let me hear from your lips.

Fair one, weep no more.
You will be happy.

The storm has ceased
and calm returned.

And in the rays of a friendly star
my love will glitter.

The storm, etc.

To the invincible Roman proconsul,
to great Scipio, and to the Capitol
I offer tribute and peace.

In the name of the Senate I
accept the gracious offer and
promise protection and friendship.

Although unequal to your great
merit, these treasures accept
also: the ransom price for my
daughter Berenice. O worthy one,

to whom all the world yields,
give me back the greatest comfort
of my life.

Let the fair one come.

O sweet daughter!

O beloved father!

You are free: but all the
treasures of the world are not
a fair price for you: I give you
to your dear father as a gift.

My heart is overwhelmed with joy.

Come to your father’s
loving embrace.

Courteous conqueror, I ask
you at least to accept our gifts
as a small sign of affection.

I accept the precious gifts: but
in your face I do not yet see your
happy soul shining, Berenice?

It is true.

Too timid, my soul yet fears.

Hope, do not sigh.
You will be happy.

Hope for joy, yes, I want in this
day only happiness and peace.

Mars will have rest, and Love
will happily light his torch.

Hope for joy, etc.

You are the daughter of
Indibile, such a great friend to
Rome? And whyever were you
silent to me about your birth?

It seemed to me your courteous
affection was sufficient protection.

In replying thus, you
show what you are.

Now live in full freedom, while I
remain in your chains.

Unlike Berenice, I have not
yet given my heart to another.

If to sincere fidelity you would
like to give the possession…

Love me, and hope.

The glory of vanquishing by war
and the sweet pleasure of love
are immortal prizes for my valour.

On a par with victory, a
reciprocated love is the summit
of joy, and is without equal.

The glory, etc.

Where to, beloved Prince?

To you, my love.

I see your noble
sword at your side.

Just now,
by Lelio’s hand, Scipio restored it
and invited me to meet him.

I hope for complete happiness
from such a generous heart.

O dearest, let him have the whole
world, let him make a free gift of
your heart, and the happiest am I.

I was also told, without
seeing you, to go to Scipio,
but Lelio, our friend, allowed
me to see you again first.

I go, filled with the
most joyful hope.

O faithful, O sweetest,
O my dearest love!

A fair night without stars,
a clear sun without rays
you will see, rather than my heart
without love and without you.

The sea will lack a shore,
the rivers will lack waves,
before I am lacking in faith.

A fair night, etc.

The dark veil of my suspicion
is rent, and as a cloud whose
gloomy breast bursts and is
scattered by the wind, I see the
serene sky appear more clearly.

As to its native grove
the bird that comes from the sea
hurries to arrive,

so my soul, naturally impatient,
flies to its dearest love.

No, she will not be cruel, I shall
find her faithful, my soul, yes, yes,

hurry before me
and rest on her fair breast.

As to its native wood, etc.

After having defeated the enemy
I want to be a stronger victor
over myself.

Let Lucejo come… Prince,
conquered from the first glances
I burnt with love for the fair one
you adore:

I found her to be yours:
I have defeated myself and
unharmed I yield her, since for
both of us the gift is worthy:

the price I ask of you is friendship
and fidelity to Scipio and to Rome.

Ernando, I accepted your
gifts, to have the power to
dispose of them: they must
follow fair Berenice into the
possession of her happy spouse.

Oh, generous heart!

Oh, rare virtue!

Oh, great heart without equal!

Oh, worthy
to be numbered among the gods!

In witness I call Jove and
the eternal gods, that I pledge
my life and my realm to Scipio
and to Rome in war and peace.

Let sorrows flee, let the
pleasures of fair fidelity come.

No more can cruel fear make
bitter the sweetness of love.

Let sorrows, etc.

Mars takes his rest, Love
lights the torch: let this be a
day of friendship and peace.

Victory, peace and love
make our joys complete.

And may Spain be proud
of such a conqueror.

Victory, etc.