No More Learning

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.
His enemies' spilt blood drowns out justice,
As a new trophy for his crimes does service;
We swell the pomp, and scornful of the law,
Follow his chariot, with two kings before.

King
Daughter, your words show too much violence.
In rendering justice, set all in the balance:
Your father died, yet he was the aggressor;
Justice itself commands me to be fairer.
Before you accuse my judgement further
Consult your heart: Rodrigue is its master.
Love, in secret, thanks your King moreover,
For the favour that grants you such a lover.

Chimene
Grants me! My foe! Object of my anger!
Source of my woes! Murderer of my father!
To my just cause you give so little weight,
You will not even hear the wrongs I state!
Since you refuse justice to all my claims,
Sire, let me have my recourse to weapons;
That's how he perpetrated his offence,
And that is how I now seek vengeance.
I ask his head of all your warriors, now;
Let one bring it, I'll be his prize, I vow.
Let combat begin, Sire, combat finished,
I'll wed the man, if Rodrigue is punished.
Let them proclaim this on your authority.

King
This custom here, of ancient pedigree,
As means to punish an unjust assault,
Robs the State of its finest men, the fault
This sad abuse creates if it finds success
Protects the criminal, attacks the guiltless.
I exempt Rodrigue: he's far too valuable
To expose to such a fate, unjust and fickle;
Whatever blood that noble heart has spilt,
The Moors in fleeing bore away his guilt.

Diegue
What, Sire! For him alone you change the law
That has been countless times observed at court?
What will your people, what will envy say,
If your protection cloaks him every way,
Preventing him from seeking to appear,
Where a noble death is sought by honour?
Such a favour tarnishes his glory:
Let him not blush now for his victory.
The Count was rash; Rodrigue replied though:
Played the brave man's part, and still must do so.

King
Since you wish it, I will grant permission:
But thousands will view it as their mission,
The prize Chimene would award their blows
Would make of all my warriors his foes.
For him to face them all would be unjust,
He should face only one man, if he must.
Choose whom you wish, and choose well, Chimene;
But after this ask me naught again.

Diegue
Excuse none of all those he terrifies;
Leave the field open, see, no man applies.
After what Rodrigue has said today,
Who is brave enough to make a play?
Who would take on such an adversary?
Who would show such courage or temerity?

Sanche
Open the lists: you'll bring on his assailant;
I am that man, so rash, or rather valiant,
Favour my ardour's urging now in this.
Madame, you must remember your promise.

King
Chimene, will you place your cause in his hand?

Chimene
I promised.

King
Tomorrow then, understand.

Diegue
No, Sire, now: there must be no more delay.
A brave man should be ready come what may.

King
To win a war, then duel immediately!

Diegue
Rodrigue has rested while he told his story.

King
He shall rest some hours more before they fight;
And for fear such combat be seen as right,
To show you all I allow with some regret
This blood-stained process that has never yet
Pleased me: the court and I will be absent.

(To Arias)

You alone will judge them competent.
See to it that both act honourably,
Once over, bring the conqueror to me.
Either will earn the same prize for his pains;
I'll with my own hand give him to Chimene,
And he will receive her hand as his reward.

Chimene
What! Sire, to impose so harsh a law!

King
Yet Love, far from registering this protest,
If Rodrigue wins, true justice will attest.
Cease to murmur against laws so sweet;
Whoever wins, will yet fall at your feet.

End of Act IV

Act V Scene I (Rodrigue, Chimene)

Chimene
Rodrigue, and here! Whence your audacity?
Go, you harm my honour now; please leave me.

Rodrigue
I go to die, Madame, yet come to you,
Before my death, to say a last adieu.
Eternal love that binds me to your laws
Accepts my life in homage thus to yours.

Chimene
You go to die!

Rodrigue
I haste towards that hour
That yields my being to your vengeful power.

Chimene
You go to die! Has Sanche's blade such art
It works on your indomitable heart?
What makes you so weak, and him so strong?
Rodrigue, about to fight, sings his swan-song!
He who feared not my father, or the Moors,
Off to fight Sanche, thinks it a lost cause!
In time of need your courage is all spent?

Rodrigue
I go not to a duel, but punishment;
My faithful ardour deprives me of desire
To defend myself, since you light the pyre.
My heart's the same; my arm loses strength
When it seeks to protect what you condemn;
Last night would have yet proved fatal
If I'd fought only in my own quarrel;
But defending my people, king and country,
Only a traitor would have dared fight badly.
My heart does not detest life so utterly
As to wish to lose it through disloyalty.
Now fighting solely in my own cause,
You ask my death and I accept your laws.
Vengeance chooses another hand's force
(I was not worthy of dying at yours):
None will see me resist what must ensue;
I owe respect to one who fights for you,
I will yield him my naked chest bravely,
Adoring your hand, in that which slays me.

Chimene
If the force of justice and sad duty
Urging me on, pursuing victory,
Prescribes for you so harsh a law
It renders you defenceless, all the more
Be mindful in that act of blindness
That your honour is at stake, no less
Than your life, and your living glory
If you die, will be one more past story.
Your honour's dearer to you than I am,
Since with a father's blood it stained your hand,
And made you renounce, despite your passion
Your sweetest hope, that of my possession:
Yet I see you treat it now so lightly,
That you would be vanquished easily.
Your honour's plagued by inconsistency.
Why is it now not as it seemed to be?
Is your sole virtue committing outrage?
Except for insults, do you lack courage?
Did you show such harshness to my father
That conquered you might know your conqueror?
Go, without seeking death: let me pursue you,
Defend your honour, though you've no wish to.

Rodrigue
After the Count's death, the Moors defeat,
Is this honour of mine not yet replete?
It should disdain the need for self-defence;
They know my courage dares all attempts,
My valour is high, and beneath the heavens
As for my honour, nothing is more precious.
No, no, think as you wish, in this story
Rodrigue may die without losing glory,
Without being accused of lacking honour,
Unconquered, free of any conqueror.
They'll merely say: 'He adored Chimene;
He wished to die and not endure the pain
Of her hatred, bowed to that destiny
That of a lover made an enemy.
She sought his life, and yet his noble heart
Could not deny her justice, for his part.
So he lost his love, to save his honour
So he lost his life, to save his lover's,
Preferring (to hopes of making her his wife)
His honour to Chimene, Chimene to life. '
And so you will see my death in this duel,
Far from quenching glory, will give it fuel;
And this honour will flow from willing death,
Your need for recompense ends with my breath.

Chimene
Since life and honour then prove far too weak
To stop you hastening to your death, Rodrigue,
If ever I loved you, take revenge on me,
Defend yourself, from Don Sanche so wrest me.
Fight to free me from the harsh condition
That yields me to an object of aversion.
Must I say more? Go: think of your defence,
To tax my duty, impose my silence.
And if you feel your love is still alive,
Emerge as the victor, with Chimene your prize.
Adieu: these last words make me blush with shame.

Rodrigue
Is there a sword that can defy my claim?
Navarese, Moors, Castilians, appear,
All Spain's men of valour now stand here;
Join together so, create an army,
To fight this one man roused so utterly:
Unite your force against a hope so sweet;
You'll prove too few now to deny it me.


Act V Scene II (Infanta)

Shall I hear you again, high blood of ours,
That makes a crime of my love?
Shall I hear you, love, whose tender powers
Make my generous heart against it move?
Poor Princess, to which of the two
Must you devote these hours?
Rodrigue your valour proves worthy of me;
But you're no king's son, despite victory.

Implacable fate, whose harshness parts
My honour from my desire,
Is it written my choice, counter my heart,
Must quench forever my loving fire?
Heavens! What sighs aspire
To rise from my loving heart,
If it must endlessly grieve and suffer
Not quench its love, nor accept its lover!

Yet it's too harsh, and my reason's stunned
By my scorn for such a lover:
Though birth reserves me for kings alone,
Rodrigue I'll bow to your law with honour.
Over two kings the victor,
How then could you lack a crown?
Does the title of Cid, your recent gain,
Not clearly show over whom you'll reign?

He's worthy of me, but made for Chimene;
The gift I gave proves my ruin.
Her father's death brings them, I maintain,
So little hatred, sad she pursues him.
I must hope no harm's ensuing,
From his crime, or from my pain,
Since, to punish, destiny agrees
That love live on so, between enemies.


Act V Scene III (Infanta, Leonor)

Infanta
Why here, Leonor?

Leonor
To rejoice, Lady,
At this repose your soul finds, finally.

Infanta
Whence should such peace arise to quench my pain?

Leonor
If love lives on hope, and dies with it again,
Rodrigue can no longer quench your courage.
You know the duel that Chimene would stage;
Since he will die, or else they will be wed,
Your heart is freed, as your hope is dead.

Infanta
Oh! Far from that!

Leonor
To what can you pretend?

Infanta
Rather, from what shall I myself defend?
If Rodrigue duels accepting such conditions,
I have many means to alter their intentions.
Love, sweet author of my cruel anguish,
Shows lovers' minds many an artifice.

Leonor
What can you work, if a father's merit
Rouses no discord between their spirits?
For Chimene shows readily by her action,
That hate no longer fuels his prosecution.
She's granted combat, and for combatant
Accepted the first offer made that instant.
She'd no recourse to that nobility,
Who by their exploits won themselves glory.
Don Sanche suits her choice, and he'll suffice
Since this duel will be the first he fights;
His lack of experience pleases her;
Since he lacks renown she lacks all fear;
And her calm reveals to us readily
She seeks a duel to discharge her duty,
One that will give Rodrigue swift victory,
And render him no more her enemy.

Infanta
I have seen all this, my heart however,
As Chimene's, adores this conqueror.
A sorry lover, how can I be resigned?

Leonor
By keeping your noble rank in mind;
Heaven owes you a king, you love a subject!

Infanta
My inclination has changed its object.
I no longer love Rodrigue the gentleman;
No my love names him to another plan;
If I love, I love he who wrought fine things,
The valorous Cid who has mastered kings.
Yet I'll draw back, not from fear of blame,
But so as not to harm their loving flame;
And when to oblige me he is crowned,
The gift I gave shall never be disowned.
Since his victory in this duel is certain,
Let me grant him to Chimene again.
And you who know my suffering spirit,
Will see me end this thing as I began it.


Act V Scene IV (Chimene, Elvire)

Chimene
Elvire, how I suffer! Pity me here!
I have no hope, and everything to fear;
No prayer escapes to which I can consent;
Of every wish I form I soon repent.
Two rivals now will duel for me as prize:
Yet the happiest end will fuel my sighs;
Whatever fate determines in my honour
I fail my father, or I lose my lover.

Elvire
One way or the other, you're satisfied,
You are avenged, or Rodrigue has not died;
And whatever destiny ordains for you
You've honour, glory and a husband too.

Chimene
What! The object of my hate, or anger!
Rodrigue's killer or that of my father!
In either case they will make me wed
One stained with the blood of my dear dead;
Against that fate I'll fight with every breath:
I fear the quarrel's ending worse than death.
Flee, Love and Vengeance, that so trouble me,
The price too great of your sweet victory;
And you, prime mover of my destiny,
In this duel, let none have mastery,
Let there be no loser and no winner.

Elvire
Then you'll be hurt in too harsh a manner.
This duel will yield you yet more distress,
If you're forced to seek justice afresh,
Ever to nourish your noble anger,
And still seek the death of your lover.
Madame, better that his rare valour now,
Gains your silence, as it crowns his brow,
That this duel should stifle all your sighs,
And the King your heart's hope yet realise.

Chimene
You think if he's the victor I'll surrender?
My duty is too great, my loss is greater;
This duel, and the wishes of the King,
Will never bind me with their law-making.
He may conquer Sanche with little pain,
But not that honour sacred to Chimene.
Whatever the King may grant the victor
He makes a greater enemy of my honour.

Elvire
Beware lest Heaven punishes your pride
And sees you avenged, though he has died.
What! You would deny the joy and sense
Of keeping an honourable silence?
What does duty then expect or hope for?
Will your lover's death bring back your father?
Is one disaster not enough for you?
Must loss bring loss, grief bring grief, too?
Come, with such capricious obstinacy,
You merit neither love nor destiny;
Heaven's just anger will see you wed
To Don Sanche when Rodrigue is dead.