No More Learning

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!
Their vileness matches, equally applies
To cowardly blades, and disloyal eyes.
To my loyal heart do no injury;
Let me be noble without perjury;
My bonds are far too strong to be broken;
Even without hope my faith's unshaken;
Unable to leave or possess Chimene,
The death I seek is my sweetest pain.

Diegue
This is no time for you to search for death.
Your prince your nation need your loyal breath.
The fleet we feared, entering the estuary,
Seeks to surprise the town, scorch the country.
The Moors sail silently, the tide and night
Will bring them to our walls before the light.
The Court's in chaos, the people terrified.
Shouts and tears alone flow from our side.
In this disaster, fate gave its decree,
I found five hundred friends attend on me,
Who, knowing the affront, with equal metal,
Came and offered to avenge my quarrel.
You forestalled them; but this valiant band
Is best deployed against the African.
March at their head, the post of honour;
Their noble troop asks for you as leader.
Go: halt the foe's first expense of breath,
If you wish to die, there lies noble death.
Seize this chance, since it is offered freely;
To your loss the king may owe his safety.
Yet rather return with laurel on your brow.
Let glory be more than mere vengeance now,
Carry it further, let valour influence
The king to pardon, and Chimene to silence;
If you love her, then return the victor,
The one way that is left to you to win her.
But time is too precious to be wasted thus;
I'll forgo speech, wishing you to leave us.
Come, follow me, go fight, and show your king
What he lost with the Count, you again bring.

End of Act III


Act IV Scene I (Chimene, Elvire)

Chimene
Are the rumours true, Elvire? Are you sure?

Elvire
You'd never believe how he's admired, or
How with one voice, they praise them so,
The glorious deeds of this young hero.
The Moors before him, in their shame, scatter;
Their landing's swift, their flight is swifter;
Three hours of battle gave our warriors
A total victory, two kings as prisoners.
Our leader's courage leapt all obstacles.

Chimene
And Rodrigue's arm performed these miracles?

Elvire
Through his efforts those two kings were won;
His hand conquered them, he was the one.

Chimene
From whom did you learn this latest news?

Elvire
From those who shout his praises, those who
Call him their joy's object and its author,
Their guardian angel and their liberator.

Chimene
And the King, how does he view such valour?

Elvire
Rodrigue has not yet dared to appear before
Him, but Don Diegue, in his son's name
Presented him with the captive kings in chains,
And has asked a favour of the noble prince,
To receive the warrior who saved a province.

Chimene
But is he wounded?

Elvire
Of that there's nothing.
You've changed colour! Collect your feelings.

Chimene
Then let me re-collect past wrath also:
Though loving, must I forget myself so?
He's praised, acclaimed: witness my consent!
My honour's mute, my duty impotent!
Silence, Love: oh, see my anger, rather:
Though he conquers kings, he killed a father;
This dress of black that reveals my pallor,
Was the first outcome of all his valour;
And whatever's said elsewhere, at this time,
Here everything speaks to me of his crime.
You that give such force to my resentments,
Veil, crepe, dress, you sorrowful ornaments,
Things that his first deed has forced on me,
Against my love now, sustain my glory,
And when that love exhibits all its power,
Speak then of my sad duty by the hour,
Fear nothing, be this conqueror's attacker.

Elvire
Compose yourself, here comes the Infanta.


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

Infanta
I come not to console you now; be clear,
Rather I come to mingle sigh with tear.

Chimene
You should rather take part in all this joy,
Blessing the grace the Heavens employ,
Madame, no one but me deserves to suffer.
Rodrigue has saved us all from great danger,
And kept the people safe, the nearest way,
Leaving me alone to weep, on this day:
He's saved the city: he has served his king;
Only to me his blade's a fatal thing.

Infanta
Chimene, it's true he's performed miracles.

Chimene
I've heard the painful news of these marvels.
And heard him proclaimed loudly everywhere,
As brave soldier, and unlucky lover.

Infanta
Why should this public notice so pain you?
This young Mars, they praise, once pleased you;
Possessed your soul; was subject to your law;
Praise his valour: honour your choice the more.

Chimene
Others can praise him with a true intent,
Praise of him to me is but more torment.
His greatness only adds to my sorrow,
Seeing his worth I see what I forgo.
Ah! Cruel vexation to a loving spirit!
I love the more, the more I know his merit:
Yet my duty ever is the stronger,
I'll seek his death though he is my lover.

Infanta
Yesterday, duty brought you great esteem;
Noble that struggle which you waged did seem,
So worthy of great hearts: our courtiers
Admired your courage, pitying the lovers.
Yet will you take a faithful friend's advice?

Chimene
Not to obey you would appear a vice.

Infanta
What was right then is not so today.
Rodrigue is now our sole support, I say,
Our hope, the man the people all adore,
Pillar of Castile, terror of the Moor.
Even the King agrees, the truth is plain,
That in Rodrigue your father lives again;
If you'd have me explain it in a breath,
You pursue public ruin through his death.
What? To avenge a father are we free
To deliver our country to the enemy?
Is your cause against us legitimate?
Are we part of his crime, to share his fate?
After all you are not obliged to marry
Him whom a father forces you to harry:
I'll help you quench your desire, this strife,
Erase your love, but leave us yet his life.

Chimene
Oh! I am not worthy of such kindness;
This duty that embitters is limitless.
Though I still feel love for the conqueror,
Though the King may flatter, crowds adore,
Though he's among others born to quarrel,
Beneath my cypress I'll go scorn his laurel.

Infanta
It is noble, to avenge a father,
Attacking, out of duty, one so dear;
But it's a deed of a higher order
To put the public good before a father.
Believe me, it's enough to quench your fires:
He's punished who loses what he desires.
Let the good of the country be your law:
Besides can the King now grant you more?

Chimene
Though he refuses, I will not stay silent.

Infanta
Think carefully, Chimene, of your intent.
Adieu: alone you may reflect at leisure.

Chimene
I've no choice, on the death of a father.


Act IV Scene III (The King, Diegue, Arias, Rodrigue, Sanche)

King
Noble heir of an illustrious family
Ever Castille's pillar and its glory,
Race of ancestors of signal valour,
Whom by these deeds of yours you honour,
My power to recompense you now is slight;
You show greater merit than I have might. . .
The country saved from a cruel enemy,
Your hand securing the sceptre firmly,
The Moors defeated, before our alarms
Secured the orders to repulse their arms,
These are exploits that deny your King
The means of just reward for anything.
But your two captive kings make recompense,
Both naming you their Cid in my presence.
Since Cid in their language is lord in ours,
I'll not begrudge you all such honours.
So, be the Cid: and let your name below
Strike with fear Granada and Toledo;
To all beneath my law now may it show,
What you are worth to me, and what I owe.

Rodrigue
May your Majesty, Sire, spare my blushes!
It takes too much account of meagre service,
And makes me now ashamed before the King,
Such great honour: so little meriting.
I know, to the security your realms give
I owe my heart's blood, the air I breathe;
And if I lose them for some noble object,
I'd simply be acting as a loyal subject.

King
Yet, all who in my service so engage
Do not acquit themselves with such courage;
And valour that is not born of excess
Seldom achieves comparable success.
Allow our praise then, tell the history
At greater length of all this victory.

Rodrigue
Sire, you know that finding pressing danger
Had filled the whole city with its terror,
A group of friends, my father assembled,
Solicited my help, though I was troubled. . .
Yet, Sire, you'll pardon my temerity
If I commanded without authority.
Peril approached: their arms were ready;
Appearing then at Court would be foolhardy.
And if I were to die, it seemed sweeter
To give my life fighting in your honour.

King
I pardon now the matter of your vengeance;
The State, defended, speaks in your defence.
Henceforth Chimene's plea will go no further.
I will only hear her to console her.
But go on.

Rodrigue
Under me the troop advanced,
Displaying all its manly confidence.
We were five hundred, but with swift support
Grew to three thousand as we reached the port,
So that seeing us marching to that stage,
Those most terrified found new courage!
Arriving, I hid quite two thirds of the men
In the holds of the vessels there, and then
The rest, whose numbers now increased hourly,
Devoured by impatience, gathering round me,
Lay down on the ground, where in silence
The best part of a fine night was spent.
At my command the guards did the same,
And, staying hidden, helped my stratagem;
Then I boldly feigned to owe to you
The orders they and I would then pursue.
The faint light cast from every distant star
Showed thirty ships now crossing the bar;
The waves swelled beneath, and their effort
Brought the tide-borne Moors within the port.
We let them pass; all appearing tranquil;
No soldiers at the port, the city still.
The calm we maintained deceived their eyes.
They, believing they'd achieved surprise,
Fearless, closed, anchored, disembarked,
And then they ran against us in the dark.
We leapt up on the instant, copious cries
Uttered by our troops, rose to the skies.
Others echoed from our anchored fleet;
Thus the Moors' amazement proved complete,
Terror seized them just as they were landing.
They knew defeat, prior to any fighting.
They thought to pillage, but met with slaughter.
We pressed them on land, and on the water,
And high their blood lifted like a fountain,
Before they could resist, re-group, again.
But soon, in spite of us, their princes rallied,
Their courage was revived, their terror fled:
The shame of dying, without act of war,
Quelling confusion renewed their valour.
They drew their scimitars against us swiftly;
Mingling our blood with theirs most horribly.
The river, fleet, the port, the shore, the main,
Were sites of conflict now, where death did reign.
O countless the brave acts, courageousness
Concealed itself from knowledge in the darkness,
Where each, the sole true witness of his blows,
Could not discern whose side fortune chose!
I rushed everywhere, encouraging our men,
Making these advance, supporting them.
Deploying new-comers, urging them on,
Nor could I judge the outcome till the dawn.
But, at last, light showed us our advantage;
The Moors faced defeat, and so lost courage:
And seeing our reinforcements on the way,
Fear of death destroyed their hopes with day.
The re-gained their ships, they cut the cables,
Their dreadful cries rose high above the gables,
They retreated then, without considering
The action their kings were undertaking.
Their terror was too great to think of duty;
The tide that brought them on now helped them flee;
Yet their kings were still engaged in battle,
Handfuls of their men, pierced by our metal,
Disputed valiantly, sold their lives dearly.
In vain I begged them to surrender to me:
Scimitars in hand they would not listen;
But seeing their men fall all around them,
And that they were fighting on unshielded,
They sought our chief: answering, they yielded,
I sent them to you, with due compliments;
The war then ceased through lack of combatants.
It was in this manner, in your service. . .


Act IV Scene IV (The King, Diegue, Arias, Rodrigue, Alonso, Sanche)

Alonso
Sire, Chimene is here, demanding justice.

King
Sad news, and an obsessive sense of duty!

(To Rodrigue)

Go, I will not pressure her unfairly.
In place of thanks, I'll drive you from this place:
But, ere you go, accept your King's embrace.

(Exit Rodrigue)

Diegue
Chimene pursues him, yet she would save him.

King
I'll test her now, since they say she loves him.
Adopt a sad expression.


Act IV Scene V (The King, Diegue, Arias, Alonso, Sanche, Chimene, Elvire)

King
Be content
Chimene, victory answers your intent:
Though Rodrigue overcame our enemies
He died before our eyes from wounds received.
Offer thanks to Heaven who has avenged you.

(To Don Diegue)

See how her face abruptly changes hue.

Diegue
Yes, see, she's fainting, and from perfect love,
In this swoon, Sire, see how her passions move.
Her grief betrays the secret of her soul,
And we may no longer doubt the tale that's told.

Chimene
What! Rodrigue is dead?

King
No, no, he lives,
And bears you yet his unchanging love:
Quiet this sorrow borne of your distress.

Chimene
Sire, one faints from joy as well as sadness:
Excess of happiness may bring on weakness,
Surprise the soul, and overcome the senses.

King
You wish us to believe the impossible?
Chimene, your grief was only too visible.

Chimene
Sire, make this the culmination to my woe
And call it grief then, if you wish it so.
A deep displeasure overcame my feelings;
His death destroyed the object I was seeking.
If he had died of wounds for his country
Vengeance was thwarted, and my plans awry:
So fine an end would only injure me
Who ask his death, but not a death in glory,
No great acclaim to raise him up on high,
On a scaffold, not in honour, he must die;
For my father not his country, diminished,
Let his name be sullied, memory tarnished.
To die for one's country is no sad fate;
Such a death sets one among the great.
I love his victory: for that's no sin.
The State, secure now, returns my victim.
Noble, then, famous among warriors,
A leader crowned with laurel not with flowers,
To say it in a word, I find him, his blade,
Worthy of sacrifice to my father's shade. . .
Such vain hopes I allowed myself to feel!
Rodrigue has naught to fear from my steel;
What use are my scorned tears against him?
Your whole empire now lies open to him;
There all's allowed him, beneath your sway;
He triumphs over me, as the Moors today.