Scene VI.—DON DIEGO and DON RODRIGO.
Don Diego. Rodrigo, hast thou courage (lit. a heart)?
Don Rodrigo. Any other than my father would have found that out instantly.
Don Diego. Welcome wrath! worthy resentment, most pleasing to my grief! I recognize my blood in this noble rage; my youth revives in this ardor so prompt. Come, my son, come, my blood, come to retrieve my shame—come to avenge me!
Don Rodrigo. Of what?
Don Diego. Of an insult so cruel that it deals a deadly stroke against the honor of us both—of a blow! The insolent [man] would have lost his life for it, but my age deceived my noble ambition; and this sword, which my arm can no longer wield, I give up to thine, to avenge and punish. Go against this presumptuous man, and prove thy valor: it is only in blood that one can wash away such an insult; die or slay. Moreover, not to deceive thee, I give thee to fight a formidable antagonist [lit. a man to be feared], I have seen him entirely covered with blood and dust, carrying everywhere dismay through an entire army. I have seen by his valor a hundred squadrons broken; and, to tell thee still something more—more than brave soldier, more than great leader, he is—
Don Rodrigo. Pray, finish.
Don Diego. The father of Chimène.
Don Rodrigo. The—
Don Diego. Do not reply; I know thy love. But he who lives dishonored is unworthy of life; the dearer the offender the greater the offence. In short, thou knowest the insult, and thou holdest [in thy grasp the means of] vengeance. I say no more to thee. Avenge me, avenge thyself! Show thyself a son worthy of a father such as I [am]. Overwhelmed by misfortunes to which destiny reduces me, I go to deplore them. Go, run, fly, and avenge us!
Scene VII.—DON RODRIGO.
Pierced even to the depth (or, bottom of the heart) by a blow unexpected as well as deadly, pitiable avenger of a just quarrel and unfortunate object of an unjust severity, I remain motionless, and my dejected soul yields to the blow which is slaying me. So near seeing my love requited! O heaven, the strange pang (or, difficulty)! In this insult my father is the person aggrieved, and the aggressor is the father of Chimène!
What fierce conflicts [of feelings] I experience! My love is engaged [lit. interests itself] against my own honor. I must avenge a father and lose a mistress. The one stimulates my courage, the other restrains my arm. Reduced to the sad choice of either betraying my love or of living as a degraded [man], on both sides my situation is wretched [lit. evil is infinite]. O heaven, the strange pang [or, difficulty]! Must I leave an insult unavenged? Must I punish the father of Chimène?
Father, mistress, honor, love—noble and severe restraint—a bondage still to be beloved (lit. beloved tyranny), all my pleasures are dead, or my glory is sullied. The one renders me unhappy; the other unworthy of life. Dear and cruel hope of a soul noble but still enamored, worthy enemy of my greatest happiness, thou sword which causest my painful anxiety, hast thou been given to me to avenge my honor? Hast thou been given to me to lose Chimène?
It is better to rush (lit. run) to death. I owe (a duty) to my mistress as well as to my father. I draw, in avenging myself, her hatred and her rage; I draw upon myself his (i.e. my father's) contempt by not avenging myself. To my sweetest hope the one (alternative) renders me unfaithful, and the other (alternative) renders me unworthy of her. My misfortune increases by seeking a remedy (lit. by wishing to cure it). All (supposed reliefs) redoubles my woes. Come then, my soul (or, beloved sword), and, since I must die, let us die, at least, without offending Chimène!
To die without obtaining satisfaction! To seek a death so fatal to my fame! To endure that Spain should impute to my memory (the fact) of having badly maintained the honor of my house! To respect a love of which my distracted soul already sees the certain loss. Let us no more listen to this insidious thought, which serves only to pain me (or, contributes only to my painful position). Come, mine arm (or, sword), let us save honor, at least, since, after all, we must lose Chimène.
Yes, my spirit was deceived. I owe all to my father before my mistress.
Whether I die in the combat or die of sadness, I shall yield up my blood pure as I have received it. I already accuse myself of too much negligence; let us haste to vengeance; and quite ashamed of having wavered so much, let us no more be in painful suspense, since to-day my father has been insulted, even though the offender is the father of Chimène.
Act the Second
*
Scene I.—COUNT DE GORMAS and DON ARIAS.
Count. I acknowledge, between ourselves, (that) my blood, a little too warm, became too excited at an expression, and has carried the matter too far (lit. too high), but, since it is done, the deed is without remedy.
Don Arias. To the wishes of the King let this proud spirit yield; he takes this much to heart, and his exasperated feelings (lit. heart) will act against you with full authority. And, indeed, you have no available defence. The (high) rank of the person offended, the greatness of the offence, demand duties and submissions which require more than ordinary reparation.
Count. The King can, at his pleasure, dispose of my life.
Don Arias. Your fault is followed by too much excitement. The King still loves you; appease his wrath. He has said, "I desire it!"—will you disobey?
Count. Sir, to preserve all that esteem which I retain (or, (other reading), to preserve my glory and my esteem) to disobey in a slight degree is not so great a crime, and, however great that (offence) may be, my immediate services are more than sufficient to cancel it.
Don Arias. Although one perform glorious and important deeds, a King is never beholden to his subject. You flatter yourself much, and you ought to know that he who serves his King well only does his duty. You will ruin yourself, sir, by this confidence.
Count. I shall not believe you until I have experience of it (lit. until after experience of it).
Don Arias. You ought to dread the power of a King.
Count. One day alone does not destroy a man such as I. Let all his greatness arm itself for my punishment; all the state shall perish, if I must perish.
Don Arias. What! do you fear so little sovereign power—?
Count. (The sovereign power) of a sceptre which, without me, would fall from his hand. He himself has too much interest in my person, and my head in falling would cause his crown to fall.
Don Arias. Permit reason to bring back your senses. Take good advice.
Count. The advice (or, counsel) with regard to it is (already) taken.
Don Arias. What shall I say, after all? I am obliged to give him an account (of this interview).
Count. [Say] that I can never consent to my own dishonor.
Don Arias. But think that kings will be absolute.
Count. The die is cast, sir. Let us speak of the matter no more.
Don Arias. Adieu, then, sir, since in vain I try to persuade you. Notwithstanding (lit. with) all your laurels, still dread the thunderbolt.
Count. I shall await it without fear.
Don Arias. But not without effect.
Count. We shall see by that Don Diego satisfied. (Exit Don Arias.) (Alone) He who fears not death fears not threats. I have a heart superior to the greatest misfortunes (lit. above the proudest misfortunes); and men may reduce me to live without happiness, but they cannot compel me to live without honor.
Scene II.—The COUNT and DON RODRIGO.
Don Rodrigo. Here, count, a word or two.
Count. Speak.
Don Rodrigo. Relieve me from a doubt. Dost thou know Don Diego well?
Count. Yes.
Don Rodrigo. Let us speak [in] low [tones]; listen. Dost thou know that this old man was the very [essence of] virtue, valor, and honor in his time? Dost thou know it?
Count. Perhaps so.
Don Rodrigo. This fire which I carry in mine eyes, knowest thou that this is his blood? Dost thou know it?
Count. What matters it to me?
Don Rodrigo. Four paces hence I shall cause thee to k
now it.
Count. Presumptuous youth!
Don Rodrigo. Speak without exciting thyself. I am young, it is true; but in souls nobly born valor does not depend upon age (lit. wait for the number of years).
Count. To measure thyself with me! Who (or, what) has rendered thee so presumptuous—thou, whom men have never seen with a sword (lit. arms) in thine hand?
Don Rodrigo. Men like me do not cause themselves to be known at a second trial, and they wish (to perform) masterly strokes for their first attempt.
Count. Dost thou know well who I am?
Don Rodrigo. Yes! Any other man except myself, at the mere mention of thy name, might tremble with terror. The laurels with which I see thine head so covered seem to bear written (upon them) the prediction of my fall. I attack, like a rash man, an arm always victorious; but by courage I shall overcome you (lit. I shall have too much strength in possessing sufficient courage). To him who avenges his father nothing is impossible. Thine arm is unconquered, but not invincible.
Count. This noble courage which appears in the language you hold has shown itself each day by your eyes; and, believing that I saw in you the honor of Castile, my soul with pleasure was destining for you my daughter. I know thy passion, and I am delighted to see that all its impulses yield to thy duty; that they have not weakened this magnanimous ardor; that thy proud manliness merits my esteem; and that, desiring as a son-in-law an accomplished cavalier, I was not deceived in the choice which I had made. But I feel that for thee my compassion is touched. I admire thy courage, and I pity thy youth. Seek not to make thy first attempt (or, maiden-stroke) fatal. Release my valor from an unequal conflict; too little honor for me would attend this victory. In conquering without danger we triumph without glory. Men would always believe that thou wert overpowered without an effort, and I should have only regret for thy death.
Don Rodrigo. Thy presumption is followed by a despicable (lit. unworthy) pity! The man who dares to deprive me of honor, fears to deprive me of life!
Count. Withdraw from this place.
Don Rodrigo. Let us proceed without further parley.
Count. Art thou so tired of life?
Don Rodrigo. Hast thou such a dread of death?
Count. Come, thou art doing thy duty, and the son becomes degenerate who survives for one instant the honor of his father.
Scene III.—The INFANTA, CHIMÈNE and LEONORA.
Infanta. Soothe, my Chimène, soothe thy grief; summon up thy firmness in this sudden misfortune. Thou shalt see a calm again after this short-lived (lit. feeble) storm. Thy happiness is overcast (lit. covered) only by a slight cloud, and thou hast lost nothing in seeing it (i.e. thine happiness) delayed.
Chimène. My heart, overwhelmed with sorrows, dares to hope for nothing; a storm so sudden, which agitates a calm at sea, conveys to us a threat of an inevitable (lit. certain) shipwreck. I cannot doubt it: I am being shipwrecked (lit. I am perishing), even in harbor. I was loving, I was beloved, and our fathers were consenting (lit. in harmony), and I was recounting to you the delightful intelligence of this at the fatal moment when this quarrel originated, the fatal recital of which, as soon as it has been given to you, has ruined the effect of such a dear (lit. sweet) expectation. Accursed ambition! hateful madness! whose tyranny the most generous souls are suffering. O (sense of) honor!-merciless to my dearest desires, how many tears and sighs art thou going to cost me?
Infanta. Thou hast, in their quarrel, no reason to be alarmed; one moment has created it, one moment will extinguish it. It has made too much noise not to be settled amicably, since already the king wishes to reconcile them; and thou knowest that my zeal (lit. soul), keenly alive to thy sorrows, will do its utmost (lit. impossibilities) to dry up their source.
Chimène. Reconciliations are not effected in such a feud (or, in this manner); such deadly insults are not (easily) repaired; in vain one uses (lit. causes to act) force or prudence. If the evil be cured, it is (cured) only in appearance; the hatred which hearts preserve within feeds fires hidden, but so much the more ardent.
Infanta. The sacred tie which will unite Don Rodrigo and Chimène will dispel the hatred of their hostile sires, and we shall soon see the stronger (feeling), love, by a happy bridal, extinguish this discord.
Chimène. I desire it may be so, more than I expect it. Don Diego is too proud, and I know my father. I feel tears flow, which I wish to restrain; the past afflicts me, and I fear the future.
Infanta. What dost thou fear? Is it the impotent weakness of an old man?
Chimène. Rodrigo has courage.
Infanta. He is too young.
Chimène. Courageous men become so (i.e. courageous) at once.
Infanta. You ought not, however, to dread him much. He is too much enamored to wish to displease you, and two words from thy lips would arrest his rage.
Chimène. If he does not obey me, what a consummation of my sorrow! And, if he can obey me, what will men say of him? being of such noble birth, to endure such an insult! Whether he yields to, or resists the passion which binds him to me, my mind can not be otherwise than either ashamed of his too great deference, or shocked at a just refusal.
Infanta. Chimène has a proud soul, and, though deeply interested, she cannot endure one base (lit. low) thought. But, if up to the day of reconciliation I make this model lover my prisoner, and I thus prevent the effect of his courage, will thine enamored soul take no umbrage at it?
Chimène. Ah! dear lady, in that case I have no more anxiety.
Scene IV.—The INFANTA, CHIMÈNE, LEONORA, and a PAGE.
Infanta. Page, seek Rodrigo, and bring him hither.
Page. The Count de Gormas and he—
Chimène. Good heavens! I tremble!
Infanta. Speak.
Page. From this palace have gone out together.
Chimène. Alone?
Page. Alone, and they seemed in low tones to be wrangling with each other.
Chimène. Without doubt they are fighting; there is no further need of speaking. Madame, forgive my haste (in thus departing). (Exeunt Chimène and Page.)
Scene V.—The INFANTA and LEONORA.
Infanta. Alas! what uneasiness I feel in my mind! I weep for her sorrows, (yet still) her lover enthralls me; my calmness forsakes me, and my passion revives. That which is going to separate Rodrigo from Chimène rekindles at once my hope and my pain; and their separation, which I see with regret, infuses a secret pleasure in mine enamored soul.
Leonora. This noble pride which reigns in your soul, does it so soon surrender to this unworthy passion?
Infanta. Call it not unworthy, since, seated in my heart, proud and triumphant, it asserts its sway (lit. law) over me. Treat it with respect, since it is so dear to me. My pride struggles against it, but, in spite of myself—I hope; and my heart, imperfectly shielded against such a vain expectation, flies after a lover whom Chimène has lost.
Leonora. Do you thus let this noble resolution give way (lit. fall)? And does reason in your mind thus lose its influence?
Infanta. Ah! with how little effect do we listen to reason when the heart is assailed by a poison so delicious, and when the sick man loves his malady! We can hardly endure that any remedy should be applied to it.
Leonora. Your hope beguiles you, your malady is pleasant to you; but, in fact, this Rodrigo is unworthy of you.
Infanta. I know it only too well; but if my pride yields, learn how love flatters a heart which it possesses. If Rodrigo once (or, only) comes forth from the combat as a conqueror, if this great warrior falls beneath his valor, I may consider him worthy of me, and I may love him without shame. What may he not do, if he can conquer the Count? I dare to imagine that, as the least of his exploits, entire kingdoms will fall beneath his laws; and my fond love is already persuaded that I behold him seated on the throne of Granada, the vanquished Moors trembling while paying him homage; Arragon receiving this new conqueror, Portugal surrendering, and his victorious battles (lit. noble days) advancing his proud
destinies beyond the seas, laving his laurels with the blood of Africans! In fine, all that is told of the most distinguished warriors I expect from Rodrigo after this victory, and I make my love for him the theme of my glory.
Leonora. But, madam, see how far you carry his exploits (lit. arm) in consequence of a combat which, perhaps, has no reality!
Infanta. Rodrigo has been insulted; the Count has committed the outrage; they have gone out together. Is there need of more?
Leonora. Ah, well! they will fight, since you will have it so; but will Rodrigo go so far as you are going?
Infanta. Bear with me (lit. what do you mean)? I am mad, and my mind wanders; thou seest by that what evils this love prepares for me. Come into my private apartment to console my anxieties, and do not desert me in the trouble I am in (at present).
Scene VI.—DON FERNANDO (the King), DON ARIAS, DON SANCHO, and DON ALONZO.
Don Fernando. The Count is, then, so presumptuous and so little accessible to reason? Does he still dare to believe his offence pardonable?
Don Arias. Sire, in your name I have long conversed with him. I have done my utmost, and I have obtained nothing.
Don Fernando. Just heavens! Thus, then, a rash subject has so little respect and anxiety to please me! He insults Don Diego, and despises his King! He gives laws to me in the midst of my court! Brave warrior though he be, great general though he be, I am well able (lit. I shall know well how) to tame such a haughty spirit! Were he incarnate valor (lit. valor itself), and the god of combats, he shall see what it is not to obey! Whatever punishment such insolence may have deserved, I wished at first to treat it (or, him) without violence; but, since he abuses my leniency, go instantly (lit. this very day), and, whether he resists or not, secure his person. (Exit Don Alonzo.)
Don Sancho. Perhaps a little time will render him less rebellious; they came upon him still boiling with rage, on account of his quarrel. Sire, in the heat of a first impulse, so noble a heart yields with difficulty. He sees that he has done wrong, but a soul so lofty is not so soon induced to acknowledge its fault.
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