No More Learning

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.

Chimene
Ah! Rodrigue! It's true, though your enemy,
I cannot blame you for fleeing infamy;
And, however strong my outburst of pain
I do not accuse you, I only weep again.
I know what honour, after such an outrage
Asks of the ardour of a man of courage:
You did a knight's duty, to my mind;
But also, in doing it, you taught me mine.
Your fateful valour teaches by victory,
It avenged your father, and his glory:
The same need is mine, to my horror,
Maintain my honour, avenge my father.
Alas! Your love for me is my despair.
If some other ill had slain my father there,
My soul would have found in seeing you
The one solace I might hope to view;
I would have felt the cure for grief and fears,
If your loving hand had dried my tears,
But I must lose one, having lost the other;
Quenching my love, a debt to my honour;
And this awful duty whose rule slays me,
Drives me to work your ruin swiftly.
Do not expect, despite all my affection,
Craven feelings aimed in your direction.
Though our love pleads now in your favour,
My soul must equal yours in honour:
Though offending me, you prove worthy too;
I must, by your death, prove worthy yet of you.

Rodrigue
No longer delay the claims of honour:
It asks my life, and I am in your power;
Sacrifice me to your noble vengeance.
The blow will be as sweet as the sentence.
If given my crime you await slow justice,
Honour and my punishment both languish.
I will die happy dying by a hand so pure.

Chimene
Go, I am not your executioner.
If you offer me your life, must I offend?
I must attack you, but you may defend;
It must fall to other hands than mine,
I may pursue, not punish the crime.

Rodrigue
Whatever our love pleads in my favour,
Your soul must equal mine in honour;
And to borrow others to avenge a father,
My Chimene, believe me, will not answer:
My hand alone avenged that first offence,
Your hand alone must now seek vengeance.

Chimene
Cruel! Why so obstinate in this matter?
You had no help, yet make me this offer!
I'll follow your example, I am brave too,
I'll not let my honour be shared with you.
My father and my honour will owe nothing
To your love, or your despair in dying.

Rodrigue
How harsh is honour! What then can I do
To win this grace ultimately from you?
In the name of a dead father, or our amity,
Punish by vengeance, or at least by pity.
Your unfortunate lover finds here less pain,
Death at your hand, than life with your disdain.

Chimene
Go, I do not disdain you.

Rodrigue
Then, you should.

Chimene
I cannot.

Rodrigue
Have you all blame and slander so forgot?
My crime once known, if you keep the flame,
What will envy and falsehood not proclaim!
Ensure their silence: cease this waste of breath,
Preserve your name and bring about my death.

Chimene
To let you live then is the best for me;
I would that the blackest voice of envy
Might praise me to the skies and pity too,
Knowing I love and must denounce you.
Go, no longer show to my flawed will
What I must lose, while I adore it still.
Hide your going in night's shadowy veil;
If you are seen, my honour you assail.
It will open my life to slander's offence
If anyone learns now of your presence.
Give no one cause to attack my virtue.

Rodrigue
Let me die!

Chimene
Go!

Rodrigue
What are you resigned to?

Chimene
Despite the sweet love that thwarts my anger,
I must do what I can to avenge my father;
And yet, despite that duty's cruel rigour,
My sole wish is to be denied the power.

Rodrigue
Miracle of love!

Chimene
Sea of pain, rather!

Rodrigue
What tears and woe come to us from a father!

Chimene
Rodrigue, who'd have thought?

Rodrigue
Chimene, who'd have said?

Chimene
That happiness so near, would fail instead?

Rodrigue
And that so close to harbour, from the blue
So swift a storm would break our barque in two?

Chimene
Ah! Fatal grief!

Rodrigue
Alas! Vain regret!

Chimene
I'll hear no more. Why are you here, yet?

Rodrigue
Adieu; a death in life remains to me,
Until your actions rob me of it wholly.

Chimene
If I should gain the verdict, then I swear
Not to survive you for a moment there.
Adieu; leave, and be careful no one sees.

Elvire
Madame, some trials that Heaven is pleased. . .

Chimene
Trouble me not, but leave me here to sigh
Silence I seek, and night, in which to cry.


Act III Scene V (Don Diegue)

Diegue
Never do we find perfect happiness:
Our sweetest days are tinged with sadness.
Always some fresh care, some event,
Troubles the purity of our content.
In the midst of pleasure my soul suffers:
I drown in joy, and tremble with my fears.
I have seen the corpse of my enemy
Yet cannot find the hand that avenged me.
In vain I labour, worry uselessly,
Aged as I am, search through the city:
What little my years have left me of vigour,
Consumes itself in seeking for the victor.
At every instant, through this night of sorrow,
I thought to clasp him, but clasped a shadow;
And my love, tricked by these deceptions,
Doubling my dread yields to new suspicions.
I can find no traces of his passage;
I fear the Count's friends and entourage;
Their numbers daze my mind and reason.
Rodrigue is dead, or languishing in prison.
Just Heavens! Am I deceived once more,
Or is this my last hope I stand before?
Without doubt it's he; my prayers are answered,
My fears are over now, my cares are ended.


Act III Scene VI (Don Diegue, Don Rodrigue)

Diegue
Rodrigue, Heaven sends you to me, my boy!

Rodrigue
Alas!

Diegue
Do not blend your sighs with my joy;
Let me take breath before I praise you.
My valour has no cause to disown you;
You've emulated it, your great daring
Shows our heroic race is still breathing.
You descend from them, you are my issue;
Your first sword-thrust equalled mine too;
And with fine ardour your lively youth
Attains my fame with this single proof.
Prop of my old age, crown of my delight,
Clasp what you've honoured, this head all white,
Come, kiss this cheek, and so kiss the place
Where the wrong fell your courage did efface.

Rodrigue
The honour is yours; I could do no less
Born of our race, nurtured at its breast.
I count myself happy if it brings delight,
My trial stroke pleasing him who gave me life;
But be not jealous, now, of joy's faction,
If I in turn choose to seek satisfaction.
Let my despair burst forth, at liberty,
Your speech has now too long restrained me.
I am not sorry to have served so nobly;
But return the good this blade stole from me.
My arm, to avenge you, raised against my love
Deprived me of my soul, by the strokes I wove.
Speak nothing more; through you I am dismayed:
What I owed you, I've generously paid.

Diegue
Bear more nobly this fruit of victory:
I gave you life and you return me glory;
Since dearer to me than life is honour,
So in return I owe you all the more.
Yet from a true heart drive all weaknesses,
We've but one honour, many mistresses!
Love is mere pleasure, honour is a duty.

Rodrigue
What's this you say?

Diegue
What you know, already.

Rodrigue
Offended honour takes its vengeance on me,
And, shame, you dare urge infidelity!