No More Learning

Count
He who might train the prince is worthiest.

Diegue
And yet to be denied seems scarcely best.

Count
You won it by intrigue, an old 'king's man'.

Diegue
The noise of my great deeds proved partisan.

Count
Be clear, the king shows honour to your age.

Diegue
The king, if so, measures it by my courage.

Count
Therefore the honour should have come to me.

Diegue
He who could not obtain it is not worthy.

Count
Not merit it! I?

Diegue
You.

Count
Your impudence,
Rash old man, shall find its recompense.

(He strikes Don Diegue)

Diegue (drawing his sword)
Come take my life after such cruel offence,
First of my race to bear such impertinence.

Count
What in your weakness can you do, indeed?

Diegue
Oh God! My frail strength flees me in my need!

Count
Your sword is mine, and you no longer worthy
That my hand should bear this shameful trophy.
Adieu. Let the prince read, courting envy,
For his instruction, all your life history;
For your insolent speech this chastisement
Shall serve him for no small amusement.


Act I Scene IV (Don Diegue)

Diegue
O anger! O despair! O age my enemy!
Have I lived simply to know this infamy!
Am I thus whitened by the toil of battles
To witness in a day but withered laurels?
My arm that with respect all Spain admire,
My arm, that often saved that very empire,
So often affirmed the royalty of my king,
Now to betray my quarrel, leave me wanting?
O cruel memory to my past glory!
The work of many days so transitory!
New dignity now fatal in an hour!
Steep abyss where falls all my honour!
Must I see the Count debase my name,
Die without vengeance now, or live in shame?
Count, be the tutor to my prince this day;
Such rank is void when honour is away.
Your jealous pride, this insult signifies,
Despite the King's choice, that choice belies.
And you, of my victories, glorious instrument,
But a wintry body's useless ornament,
Blade, once feared, yet, facing this offence
Serving for decoration, not defence,
Go: leave now the very least of men,
Pass into better hands, take my revenge.


Act I Scene V (Don Diegue, Don Rodrigue)

Diegue
Rodrigue, are you brave?

Rodrigue
Any but my father
Might test it at this moment.

Diegue
Righteous anger!
Noble pride to all my grief is sweet!
I recognise my blood in you complete.
My youth lives again in your fine ardour.
Come son and blood, restore my honour;
Come, avenge me.

Rodrigue
For what?

Diegue
For an affront so cruel,
It strikes our honour a blow that's fatal:
For an insult! The wretch should have died;
But age robbed me of my noble pride;
And this blade my hand can scarcely bear,
I place in yours to punish and repair.
Oppose the arrogant and prove your courage:
Only blood may redeem this outrage;
Kill, or die. And then, not to mislead,
I give you an adversary to fear indeed.
I have seen him stained with blood and powder,
To a whole army bringing pain and terror.
I've seen a hundred fine squadrons shattered
By his valour, to the four winds scattered;
More than a brave soldier, a great captain,
He is. . .

Rodrigue
Ah, tell me.

Diegue
Father to Chimene.

Rodrigue
Her. . .

Diegue
Do not repeat it, I know your love.

Rodrigue
But the infamous shall not remain above.
The dearer he is, the greater the offence.
You know the reason, the sword is vengeance,
No more. Avenge yourself, and avenge me;
Show yourself, of this your father, worthy.
Bowed by the ills fate sends to mortal men,
I'll go lament them. Go, fly: take revenge.


Act I Scene VI (Don Rodrigue)

Rodrigue
Pierced to my heart's depths, suddenly,
By a stroke as unexpected as it's mortal,
Wretched avenger in a just quarrel,
Miserable object of unjust severity,
I am transfixed, and my stricken soul
Yields to the killing blow.
So close to seeing my love rewarded,
O God, the bitter pain!
By this affront my father's the offended,
And the offender is the father of Chimene!

What fierce conflict I feel!
My love takes sides against my honour:
I must avenge a father, lose a lover.
One stirs my wrath, the other one restrains me.
Forced to the sad choice of betraying Chimene,
Or living in infamy,
In both events my pain is infinite.
O God, fresh agony!
Can I let this offender go free?
Can I punish the father of Chimene?

Father, lover, honour, or beloved,
Noble and harsh constraint, sweet tyranny,
All my delight is dead, or honour dulled.
One makes me sad, the other unworthy.
Dear and cruel hope of a generous mind
In love, at the same time
Worthy foe of my greatest pleasure,
Blade that creates my pain,
Were you given me to retain my honour?
Were you given me to lose my Chimene?

Better not to have been born.
I owe as much to my lover as my father;
Avenging myself I earn her hate and anger;
By not taking revenge I earn his scorn.
One of my sweetest hope makes an end,
The other robs me of her hand.
My misfortune grows with the wish to cure it;
All things increase my pain.
Come, my soul; and since we must end it,
Let us die without offending Chimene.

Die without satisfaction!
Seek a death so fatal to my name!
Suffer Spain to denigrate my fame
For having failed the honour of my station!
Defend a love in which my dazed being
Sees but certain ruin!
Listen not to that seductive murmur,
That only swells my pain.
Come, my arm; at least save our honour,
Since after all we must lose Chimene.

Yes, my spirit was deceived,
I must defend my father before my lover:
Whether I die of combat or this torture,
I'll shed blood as pure as it was received.
I accuse myself already of negligence;
Let me now rush to vengeance;
Ashamed I am of having hesitated,
Let me end this pain,
For my father was the one offended,
Though the offender's father to Chimene.

End of Act I


Act II Scene I (Don Arias, The Count)

Count
Between us, I admit my anger was too harsh,
Stirred by a word, I carried things too far;
Yet the deed is done, there's no remedy.

Arias
Bend your pride to the king's authority:
He takes an interest, and his irritation
Will be displayed in no uncertain fashion.
Nor do you have a viable defence.
The man's rank, the magnitude of the offence,
Demand your concession and submission,
Beyond the customary reparation.

Count
The King may dispose of my life, as he will.


Arias
You are possessed by too much anger, still.
The King loves you yet: witness his dismay.
He has said: 'I wish it. ' Will you disobey?

Count
Sir, to defend all that I hold sublime,
Such minor disobedience is no crime;
However great it seems, you will allow
My service is such as to efface it now.

Arias
However great you are, you must accept
That a king owes nothing to his subject.
You deceive yourself, for you must know
Who serves his King but does his duty so.
You will lose, sir, by your false confidence.

Count
I will test your views by my experience.

Arias
You should dread the power of the King.

Count
One error cannot render me as nothing.
Let all his grandeur seek my punishment,
If I meet ruin, the State's is imminent.

Arias
What! You fear the sovereign power so little. . .

Count
Of a sceptre which would be but metal
Without me: he values my great renown,
My head in falling would dislodge his crown.

Arias
Allow your feelings to respond to reason.
Listen to good advice.

Count
I adopt my own.

Arias
What shall I tell him? I must bring him word.

Count
That I reject all shame, as you have heard.

Arias
Yet know that royal power is absolute.

Count
The die is cast, sir, I am resolute.

Arias
Adieu, since my effort here appears in vain.
For all your laurels, fear the god's disdain.

Count
I wait here without dread.

Arias
He will take action.

Count
Then Don Diegue will have satisfaction.

(Exit Don Arias)

I have no fear of death, or harassment.
My courage is above all punishment;
I can be forced by other men to suffer,
But not to live a life devoid of honour.


Act II Scene II (The Count, Don Rodrigue)

Rodrigue
A word with you, Count.

Count
Speak.

Rodrigue
Relieve my doubts.
You know of Don Diegue?

Count
Yes.

Rodrigue
Listen, now.
Do you know my father was the virtue,
The valour of his age, the power too?

Count
Perhaps.

Rodrigue
The ardour in my gaze you see,
Is of his blood, that too?

Count
What's that to me?

Rodrigue
Take four paces from here, and you will know.

Count
Presumptuous youth!

Rodrigue
Ah, have no fear, though.
Young I may be; but in the noble heart
Valour's no need of years, a thing apart.

Count
Against me, you'd measure your mettle,
You who have never even seen a battle?

Rodrigue
We never need testing twice, men like me,
Our trial strokes are masterstrokes, you see.

Count
Do you know who I am?

Rodrigue
Yes; another
At the mere sound of your name might quiver.
The laurels with which your head is wreathed
Might seem to give warning of my defeat.
I attack an arm that was made to conquer,
But given courage, I will find the power.
To vengeance, nothing proves impossible.
Your arm's unconquered, not invincible.

Count
That courage which shines out in your speech
And your eyes, each day, my eyes did reach;
Believing in you I saw Castile's honour,
My soul destined you for my daughter.
I know your love, and am pleased to see
All its force yield to the force of duty.
It has not weakened your noble ardour;
And your great virtue inspires my favour;
Wishing a perfect warrior for my son,
I made no error in thus choosing one.
But now my pity is involved, in truth,
I admire your courage, but regret your youth.
Do not attempt this fateful trial;
Spare my courage an unequal battle:
There is no honour for me in victory:
The lack of risk will deny me glory.
Men will know I conquered easily;
And only my regret would be left me.

Rodrigue
Your boldness is followed by ignoble pity:
You'll steal my honour yet fear to kill me!

Count
Withdraw from here.

Rodrigue
Come then, without speaking.

Count
So tired of life?

Rodrigue
So afraid of dying?

Count
Well, do your duty, the son proves lesser
Who seeks to outlast his father's honour.


Act II Scene III (The Infanta, Chimene, Leonor)

Infanta
Be calm, Chimene, calm your mind's disturbance,
Be steadfast in the face of this mischance,
You'll find fresh peace after this brief storm,
Over your joy light cloud has merely formed,
You will lose naught if joy must be deferred.

Chimene
My troubled mind dares hope for nothing there.
So swift a tempest stirring a calm sea
Threatens to bring on sure catastrophe:
I doubt it not, I perish in the harbour.
I loved, was loved, agreed were both our fathers;
I was telling you the delightful news
At the sad moment when they quarrelled too,
Which fatal telling, as soon as it was done,
Ruined all hope of its consummation.
Cursed ambition, detestable obsession
Whose tyranny sways the noblest of men!
Honour inimical to my dear prize,
You'll cost me yet a world of tears and sighs!

Infanta
In their quarrel you've naught to brood upon:
Born in a moment: in a moment gone.
It has caused too much stir to be allowed,
And already the King its end has vowed;
You know my soul, sensitive to your pain,
Will work to quench it at its source again.

Chimene
Vows and accommodations will do nothing:
Such mortal insults are unforgiving.
Force and prudence are invoked in vain;
The illness that seems cured appears again.
The hatred upon which the heart's intent,
Nourishes fires, hidden, yet more ardent.

Infanta
The sacred bond twixt Rodrigue and Chimene
Will quench the hatred between warring flames;
And we shall swiftly see your love the stronger:
Through a happy marriage, stifling all anger.

Chimene
I hope for it more than I expect it now;
Don Diegue is, like my father, too proud.
The tears I would retain, I feel them flow;
The past torments me, I fear the future so.

Infanta
Fear what? The failing powers of an old man?

Chimene
Rodrigue is brave.

Infanta
He is simply young.

Chimene
Such men are valorous in their first outing.

Infanta
In this, you have no need to fear a thing.
He is too much in love to court displeasure;
Two words from you will arrest his anger.

Chimene
If he disobeys, the increase to my pain!
And if he obeys, then what will others say?
Of such high blood, to suffer such outrage!
Yield or resist the flames that in us rage
My spirit must be ashamed or confused,
By respect, or a request justly refused.

Infanta
Chimene's a noble soul, and though distressed
She will not countenance a thought that's base;
But if, until that day the King shall proffer,
I make a prisoner of this perfect lover,
And thus prevent his outpouring of courage,
Will your loving spirit then take umbrage?

Chimene
Ah! Madame, then I'll have naught to fear.


Act II Scene IV (The Infanta, Chimene, Leonor, Page)

Infanta
Page, go find Rodrigue, and bring him here.

Page
The Count Gomes and he. . .

Chimene
My God! I tremble.

Infanta
Speak.

Page
Left the palace after their quarrel.

Chimene
Alone?

Page
Alone, yes, and arguing together.

Chimene
Surely they fight: it's useless to speak further.
Madame, forgive me this my promptitude.


Act II Scene V (The Infanta, Leonor)

Infanta
In my mind, alas, there's such inquietude!
I pity her pain, her lover enchants me;
Peace vanishes, and desire inflames me.
What separates Rodrigue from Chimene
At once rekindles all my hope and pain;
Their separation I regret: its treasure
Floods my charmed mind with secret pleasure.

Leonor
Is the lofty virtue reigning in your soul
So swift to pursue this ignoble goal?

Infanta
Not ignoble, now, since here within me,
Great and triumphant, it is judge and jury.
Show it respect, it proves itself so dear.
Despite virtue and myself, I hope and fear;
My fragile heart, by folly crazed almost,
Follows the lover whom Chimene has lost.

Leonor
Will you thus know the quenching of all courage,
Abandoning within you reason's usage?

Infanta
Ah! How weak is the effect of reason,
When the heart is touched by subtle poison!
And if the sufferer loves the malady,
There's scarcely call for any remedy!

Leonor
Your hope seduces, your malaise proves sweet;
Rodrigue's not great enough to clasp your feet.

Infanta
I know it well; though virtue seems to fade,
How love flatters the heart it does invade.
If Rodrigue should emerge as victor,
If that great soldier yields to his valour,
I may esteem him, love him without shame.
If he defeats the Count, there's endless fame.
I dare to imagine that his slightest deeds
Will bring entire kingdoms to their knees;
And then love's flattery persuades, I own,
That he shall occupy Grenada's throne,
The Moors defeated, trembling and adoring,
Aragon open to its conqueror, welcoming,
Portugal yielding, and his noble gaze
Bearing his destiny beyond the wave,
The blood of Africa drenching his laurels;
And everything writ of famous mortals
I'll expect of my Rodrigue in victory,
Making his love a subject for my glory.

Leonor
But Madame, how far your thoughts leap apace
From a duel which perhaps may not take place.

Infanta
Rodrigue the offended, the Count the offender;
What more is needed? They have left together.

Leonor
Well! Let them fight, as you wish: but then,
Will Rodrigue be as you've imagined him?

Infanta
What would you have? I'm mad, my mind strays;
You see with what ills love will fill my days.
Come to my room, console me within;
Don't leave me in the misery I'm in.


Act II Scene VI (King Ferdinand, Don Arias, Don Sanche)

King
The Count then is still proud, unreasonable!
Does he still think his error pardonable?

Arias
I addressed him from you, about the insult.
I did what I could, Sire, with no result.

King
Heavens! Is this how the presumptuous subject
Shows his consideration, and respect?
He scorns his king, insults Diegue, I see!
Before my court lays down the law to me!
Brave soldier and great general he may be,
But I've the means to lower pride so lofty;
Were he valour itself, the god of war,
He shall know the full weight of my law.
Despite the punishment for insolence,
I had at first voted for lenience;
But since he abuses it, go, today,
Whether he resists or not, lock him away.

Sanche
Time may make him less of a rebel;
He was still heated from his quarrel;
Sire, in the first glow of such anger
To calm so noble a heart takes longer.
He knows he's wrong, but his proud spirit
Won't let him confess his error, as yet.

King
Sanche, be silent now, and be advised
To take his part's a crime to my eyes.

Sanche
I obey and am silent: yet Sire, mercy,
One word in his defence.

King
What may that be?

Sanche
That a spirit accustomed to great action
Cannot bow readily in submission:
It cannot see what justifies such shame:
The word alone the Count resists, I say.
He found this duty too harsh, in truth,
If he had less heart, he'd bow to you.
Command his arm, strengthened in battle
To repair the injury and fight his duel;
He will give satisfaction; come what may,
He expects to hear, this answers him I say.

King
You lack respect; I'll allow for your age,
Excuse the ardour of your youthful courage.
A king, whose prudence has finer objects,
Takes care to save the blood of his subjects.
I guard my people, my thought preserves them,
As the head cares for the limbs its servants.
Thus your logic is not mine: however
I speak as a king, you as a soldier;
Whatever you say, whatever he believes,
No honour is lost in obeying me.
Then this insult touches me, the honour
Of one whom I have made my son's tutor;
To contest my choice, is to challenge me,
Make an assault upon the power supreme.
No more. Besides, we observe ten vessels
Of our old enemies, flaunting their banners;
They have dared to approach the river-course.

Arias
The Moors have learnt to know you by force.
Conquered so often now they will no more
Chance themselves against the conqueror.

King
Ever with envy they view the power
Of my sceptre over Andalusia.
This noble country, they long possessed,
With jealousy in their eyes they address.
That is why, according to my will,
Castile was ruled these ten years from Seville,
To be nearer them, and be the swifter
To oppose whatever threat they offer.

Arias
To the great cost of their leaders, and their fleet,
They know your presence assures their defeat.
There's naught to fear.

King
Neglect nothing, either.
Overconfidence attracts new danger.
You know yourself how easy it would be
For the flood tide to carry them to me.
Yet I'd be wrong, since all is uncertain,
In spreading fear in the hearts of men.
The panic that a vain alarm would bring,
In the darkness, would be a cruel thing:
Double the watch on the walls instead,
Guard the port, tonight.


Act II Scene VII (King Ferdinand, Don Sanche, Don Alonso)

Alonso
Sire, the Count is dead.
Don Diegue, through his son, takes his revenge.

King
On news of the insult, I foresaw its end;
Thus I wished to prevent this calamity.

Alonso
Chimene arrives, plunged in her misery;
Tearful she comes here, to plead for justice.

King
Though my heart sympathises with her grief,
The Count's deed merited this penalty,
One he had earned by his temerity.
Yet despite the justice of his fall,
I regret the loss of such a general.
After his lengthy service to the State,
After the blood he spilt for me of late,
Whatever sentiments his pride inflicts,
His loss enfeebles me, his death afflicts.


Act II Scene VIII (King Ferdinand, Don Diegue, Chimene, Don Sanche, Don Arias, Don Alonso)

Chimene
Sire, Sire, justice!

Diegue
Ah, Sire! Hear my pleas.

Chimene
I throw myself at your feet

Diegue
I clasp your knees.

Chimene
I demand justice.

Diegue
Hear my defence.

Chimene
The youth is rash, punish his insolence.
He has destroyed the pillar of your throne,
He has killed my father.

Diegue
He has avenged his own.

Chimene
His subjects' justice is a king's intent.

Diege
Just vengeance deserves no such punishment.

King
Rise both of you, and speak more calmly.
Chimene, I share in all your misery;
My soul is now marked by a like taint.

(To Don Diegue)

You may speak next, I sanction her complaint.

Chimene
Sire, my father is dead; and as he died
I saw the blood pour from his noble side;
That blood which often preserved your walls,
That blood which often won your royal wars,
That blood, which shed still smokes in anger,
At being lost, not for you but another.
What in the midst of flame war did not dare
To shed, Rodrigue has, on the courtyard stair.
I ran to the place, drained of strength and colour,
And found him lifeless. Forgive my pallor,
Sire, my voice fails me in this tale, oppressed;
My tears and sighs should rather speak the rest.

King
Courage, my child, and know this very day
Your king shall act the father in his place.

Chimene
Sire, honour too great attends my distress.
As I have said, I found him there, lifeless;
His side was pierced, and to rouse me truly
His blood in the dust inscribed my duty;
Or rather his valour, reduced to such a state,
Spoke to me through his wounds, urging haste;
And, to be heard by the most just of kings,
Lends me the voice of those sad openings.
Sire, do not permit such wilful licence
To rule where you reign so in eminence.
Or allow the bravest, with impunity,
To be exposed to the blows of temerity;
A bold youth to triumph over his glory,
Bathe in his blood, defy his memory.
So valiant a warrior snatched from you,
Un-avenged, kills the wish to serve you.
My father is dead, and I ask vengeance,
For your interest not mine in this instance,
You lose by a death one of noble breath;
Avenge it by another, death for death.
Slay him, not for me, but for your crown,
For your grandeur, for your own renown;
Slay him, I say, Sire, for the royal good,
A man so proud of spilling noble blood.

King
Diegue, reply.

Diegue
How enviable, yes,
On losing strength to swiftly meet with death,
See how old age prepares for noble spirits
After long careers, miserable exits!
I, whose great labours had acquired glory,
I, who was ever pursued by victory,
Find that having lived far too long
I must rest un-avenged for a wrong.
What combat, siege, ambush could not farther
Nor Aragon indeed, nor Grenada,
Neither your foes, nor yet the envious,
The Count has perpetrated on us,
Hating your choice, proud of the advantage
Granted him by my weakness at my age.
Sire, thus these hairs whitened in harness,
This blood of mine poured out in such excess,
This arm once dreaded by your enemies,
Would have perished, lost to infamy,
If I had not produced a worthy son,
Worthy of his land, and of your person.
He lent me strength, killed the Count this day;
Preserved my honour, washing shame away.
If to display courage in resentment,
If to avenge a wrong, earns punishment,
The tempest's wrath should fall on me instead:
When the arm errs, one punishes the head.
Whether you call our quarrel's cause a crime,
Sire, I am the head, he but an arm of mine.
Chimene complains he has killed her father,
Yet I'd have done so, if I'd been younger.
Take this head the years have aged: preserve
A younger arm which will remain to serve.
By shedding my blood, appease Chimene:
I'll not resist, I consent to every pain;
With no complaint of harshness, I'll yet
Die without dishonour, without regret.

King
The matter's vital, the case put well,
And it merits debate in open council.
Escort Chimene to her house, Don Sanche.
Your bounds are my court, your word, Diegue.
Bring me the son. I will mete out justice.

Chimene
It is just, great King, that a murderer perish.

King
Take some rest, my child, and calm your grief.

Chimene
To command I rest's to see my grief increase.

End of Act II

Act III Scene I (Rodrigue, Elvire)

Elvire
Why are you here, Rodrigue, you reprobate?

Rodrigue
Chasing the harsh course of my wretched fate.

Elvire
How can you find the audacity and pride
To show yourself here, where a light has died?
What! Are you here to sully the Count's name?
Did you not slay him?

Rodrigue
Alive, he brought me shame;
Honour demanded that expense of breath.

Elvire
But to take refuge in the house of death?
Does his murderer make this his sanctuary?

Rodrigue
Yet I only seek the judge's penalty.
Do not gaze at me in such surprise;
I seek death, having dealt it likewise,
My judge is my love, my judge Chimene,
I merit death for bringing her such pain,
And I come to receive, as sovereign good,
The sentence, from her lips, that seeks my blood.

Elvire
Rather flee her eyes, and flee her violence;
At her first transports, leave her presence.
Go: don't expose yourself to the tremor
That will fuel the first ardour of her anger.

Rodrigue
No, that dear object to whom I brought terror,
Cannot in punishing show too fierce an anger;
I'd evade a thousand deaths that threaten pain,
If I'd die the sooner by angering her again.

Elvire
Chimene is at the palace, bathed in tears,
She'll be accompanied when she appears.
Rodrigue, fly, I beg you, spare us worry.
What will they say if they see you with me?
Do you wish her named by some slanderer
As receiving the murderer of her father?
She returns; she comes, there, I see her:
Rodrigue, hide, for the sake of honour.


Act III Scene II (Don Sanche, Chimene, Elvire)

Sanche
Yes, Madame, you must have sacrifice:
Your anger's valid, your tears justified;
And I will not attempt, by vain oration,
To soften you, or give you consolation.
But if of serving you I'm capable,
Employ my blade to strike the culpable;
Employ my love to avenge this death:
My arm will be strong, should you say yes.

Chimene
Oh, woe!

Sanche
Pray you, accept my service.

Chimene
It would offend the King who promised justice.

Sanche
You know how justice moves, with what slowness,
How often the crime fails to meet redress;
That slow and doubtful course provokes more tears.
Allow a knight to avenge you, not the years:
His way is surer, swiftly it will punish.

Chimene
Such is my last recourse; if thus it finish,
And if for my plight you still feel pity,
You will be free to avenge my injury.

Sanche
It would be happiness if you'd consent;
Granting me hope, I take my leave, content.


Act III Scene III (Chimene, Elvire)

Chimene
At last I'm free, now without constraint,
I can reveal my grief, void of restraint;
I can grant passage to my woeful sighs;
Open my heart, give voice to my cries.
Elvire, my father's dead; and the first blade
With which Rodrigue fought, made him a shade.
Weep, weep, my eyes, dissolve in water!
Half of my life has entombed the other,
I must revenge myself, this fatal blow,
For one no more, on one still here below.

Elvire
Rest, Madame.

Chimene
Ah! Unfortunate at best
In the midst of such woe to talk of rest!
How will my sorrow ever now be lessened
If I cannot hate the cause, his fatal hand?
And what can I hope for, save pain eternal,
If I hate the crime, but love the criminal?

Elvire
He robs you of your father, yet you love him!

Chimene
Love is too slight, Elvire, I adore him;
My passion contends with my anger;
Deep in my enemy I find the lover;
I feel that despite resentment's dart,
Rodrigue still fights my father in my heart.
He attacks, presses on, yields, defends,
Now strong, now weak, again it ends:
Yet in this harsh struggle of the whole,
He tears apart my heart but not my soul;
And whatever power love has over me,
I shall not hesitate to do my duty;
I pass, unwavering, where honour leads,
Rodrigue is dear to me, his merit grieves;
My heart takes his part; yet, there's the head,
I know what I am, and that my father's dead.

Elvire
Will you pursue this?

Chimene
Ah! Cruel thought!
And cruel pursuit to which I'm forced!
I demand his head, and fear to win it:
My death will follow his, yet I must punish!

Elvire
Reject, Madame, so tragic a design;
Reject this law, tyrannical and blind.

Chimene
What! My father, in my arms there, dying,
His blood seeks vengeance, and I unhearing!
My heart, shamefully lost, it now appears,
Shall owe him only vain and useless tears!
And the power of a seductive lover
Stifle with craven silence all my honour!

Elvire
Madame, believe me, you'll be forgiven
If you show less ire against a loved one;
Against such a suitor, you've done enough,
You've seen the King; don't press too much,
Don't persist in this strange act of will.

Chimene
My honour's there, I must be avenged, still;
However we pride ourselves on love's merit,
Excuse is shameful to a noble spirit.

Elvire
But you love Rodrigue, he cannot offend.

Chimene
I know it.

Elvire
Well then, what do you intend?

Chimene
To preserve my honour and end my woe,
Pursue him, see him slain, and die also.


Act III Scene IV (Rodrigue, Chimene, Elvire)

Rodrigue
Ah! Without pursuit, without legal strife,
Yours is the honour of ending my life.

Chimene
Elvire, where are we, and what do I see?
Rodrigue in my house! Rodrigue before me!

Rodrigue
Spare not my blood; taste, with no resistance,
The sweetness of my death and your vengeance.

Chimene
Alas!

Rodrigue
Hear me.

Chimene
I die.

Rodrigue
But a moment.

Chimene
Go, let me die.

Rodrigue
Four words alone, relent;
Then, answer me only with this blade.

Chimene
What! Stained with his blood, the debt unpaid!

Rodrigue
My Chimene. . .

Chimene
Remove that hideous thing,
Reproachful of your crime and your being.

Rodrigue
Gaze on it rather to inflame your hate,
Increase your anger, and advance my fate.

Chimene
It's stained by his blood.

Rodrigue
Then plunge it into mine,
And the colour of his no longer find.

Chimene
Ah! How cruel to murder in a day
The father by steel, the child by its display!
Remove that thing, I cannot endure it:
You wish me to hear, yet kill me by it.

Rodrigue
I'll do as you wish, while still expecting
To end my wretched life at your asking;
You'll not extract, despite all my affection,
A coward's repentance for noble action.
The irreparable result of rash anger
Shamed me by dishonouring my father.
You know how a blow pains a noble heart.
I sought the author of it, for my part:
I found him, and avenged my father's honour;
If needed, I'd do the same once more.
Indeed, against my father and myself,
My love fought long in favour of yourself:
Judge of your power: despite the grave offence,
I hesitated whether to yet take vengeance.
Faced with your pain, or suffering the affront
I thought I might be too swift in the hunt,
I accused myself of a rush to violence;
Though your beauty might have swung the balance,
If I had not felt that this was also true:
Without my honour I'd not merit you;
That despite my place within your heart,
You'd hate my shame, if I took your part;
That hearing your love, answering its voice,
Would render me worthless, deny your choice.
I say it again, and, even though I sigh
Yet to my last sigh, I'll repeat that I
Have offended you, and yet I had to,
To wipe out my shame, and merit you;
But, satisfying honour and my father,
It is for your satisfaction I am here:
I am here to offer my life to you.
I did what I must: I do what I must do.
I know a father's death arms you against me;
I would not rob you of your enemy:
Sacrifice now to the blood of the dead
Him whose honour lay in its being shed.