Don Rodrigo. Let your majesty, sire, spare my modesty. On such an humble service your majesty (lit. it, referring to majesty) sets too high a value, and compels me to blush (for shame) before so great a King, at so little deserving the honor which I have received from him. I know too well (the gifts) that I owe to the welfare of your empire, both the blood which flows in my veins (lit. animates me) and the air which I breathe, and even though I should lose them in such a glorious cause (lit. for an object so worthy), I should only be doing the duty of a subject.
Don Fernando. All those whom that duty enlists in my service do not discharge it with the same courage, and when (i.e. unless) valor attains a high degree, it never produces such rare successes; allow us then to praise thee, and tell me more at length the true history of this victory.
Don Rodrigo. Sire, you are aware that in this urgent danger, which created in the city such a powerful alarm, a band of friends assembled at the house of my father prevailed on my spirit, still much agitated. But, sire, pardon my rashness if I dared to employ it without your authority; the danger was approaching; their (valiant) band was ready; by showing myself at the court I should have risked my life (lit. head), and, if I must lose it, it would have been far more delightful for me to depart from life while fighting for you.
Don Fernando. I pardon thy warmth in avenging the insult offered to thee, and the kingdom shielded (from danger) pleads (lit. speaks to me) in thy defence. Be assured that henceforth Chimène will speak in vain, and I shall listen to her no more except to comfort her; but continue.
Don Rodrigo. Under me, then, this band advances, and bears in its aspect a manly confidence. At setting out we were five hundred, but, by a speedy reinforcement, we saw ourselves (augmented to) three thousand on arriving at the port; so surely, on beholding us advance with such a (determined) aspect, did the most dismayed recover their courage. Of that brave host (lit. of it), as soon as we had arrived, I conceal two-thirds in the holds of the ships which were found there; the rest, whose numbers were increasing every hour, burning with impatience, remain around me; they lie down on the ground, and, without making any noise, they pass a considerable portion of so auspicious (lit. beautiful) a night. By my command the guard does the same, and keeping themselves, concealed aid my stratagem, and I boldly pretended to have received from you the order which they see me follow out, and which I issue to all. This dim light which falls from the stars, at last with the tide causes us to see thirty vessels (lit. sails); the wave (i.e. the water) swells beneath them, and, with a mutual effort, the Moors and the sea advance even to the port. We let them pass; all seems to them lulled in repose (lit. tranquil). No soldiers at the port, none on the walls of the city. Our deep silence deceiving their minds, they no longer dare to doubt that they had taken us by surprise. They land without fear, they cast anchor, they disembark and rush forward to deliver themselves into the hands which are awaiting them. Then we arise, and all at the same time utter towards heaven countless ringing cheers (of defiance). At these shouts our men from our ships answer (to the signal); they appear armed, the Moors are dismayed, terror seizes those who had scarcely disembarked, before fighting they consider themselves lost—they hastened to plunder and they meet with war. We press them hard on the water, we press them hard on the land, and we cause rivulets of their blood to run before any (of them) can resist or regain his position. But soon, in spite of us, their princes rally them, their courage revives, and their fears are forgotten. The disgrace of dying without having fought rallies their disordered ranks (lit. stops their disorder), and restores to them their valor. With firmly planted feet they draw their scimitars against us, and cause a fearful intermingling of our blood with theirs; and the land, and the wave, and the fleet, and the port are fields of carnage where death is triumphant. Oh! how many noble deeds, how many brilliant achievements, were performed unnoticed (lit. have remained without renown) in the midst of the gloom, in which each (warrior), sole witness of the brilliant strokes which he gave, could not discern to which side fortune inclined. I went in all directions to encourage our soldiers, to cause some to advance, and to support others, to marshal those who were coming up, to urge them forward in their turn, and I could not ascertain the result (of the conflict) until the break of day. But at last the bright dawn shows us our advantage. The Moor sees his loss and loses courage suddenly, and, seeing a reinforcement which had come to assist us, the ardor for conquest yields to the dread of death. They gain their ships, they cut their cables, they utter even to heaven terrific cries, they make their retreat in confusion and without reflecting whether their kings can escape with them. Their fright is too strong to admit of this duty. The incoming tide brought them here, the outgoing tide carries them away. Meanwhile their kings, combating amongst us, and a few of their (warriors) severely wounded by our blows, still fight valiantly and sell their lives dearly. I myself in vain urge them to surrender; scimitar in hand, they listen not to my entreaties, but seeing all their soldiers falling at their feet, and that henceforward alone they defend themselves in vain, they ask for the commander; I entitle myself as such, and they surrender. I sent you them both at the same time, and the combat ceased for want of combatants. It is in this manner that for your service—
Scene IV.—DON FERNANDO, DON DIEGO, DON RODRIGO, DON ARIAS, DON ALONZO, and DON SANCHO.
Don Alonzo. Sire, Chimène comes to demand justice from you.
Don Fernando. Vexatious news and unwelcome duty! Go (Rodrigo); I do not wish her to see thee. Instead of thanks I must drive thee away; but, before departing, come, let thy King embrace thee!
(Exit Don Rodrigo.)
Don Diego. Chimène pursues him, [yet] she wishes to save him.
Don Fernando. They say that she loves him, and I am going to prove it. Exhibit a more sorrowful countenance (lit. eye).
Scene V.—DON FERNANDO, DON DIEGO, DON ARIAS, DON SANCHO, DON ALONZO, CHIMÈNE, and ELVIRA.
Don Fernando. At last, be content, Chimène, success responds to your wishes. Although Rodrigo has gained the advantage over our enemies, he has died before our eyes of the wounds he has received; return thanks to that heaven which has avenged you. (To Don Diego.) See, how already her color is changed!
Don Diego. But see! she swoons, and in this swoon, sire, observe the effect of an overpowering (lit. perfect) love. Her grief has betrayed the secrets of her soul, and no longer permits you to doubt her passion.
Chimène. What, then! Is Rodrigo dead?
Don Fernando. No, no, he still lives (lit. he sees the day); and he still preserves for you an unalterable affection; calm this sorrow which takes such an interest in his favor.
Chimène. Sire, we swoon from joy, as well as from grief; an excess of pleasure renders us completely exhausted, and when it takes the mind by surprise, it overpowers the senses.
Don Fernando. Dost thou wish that in thy favor we should believe in impossibilities? Chimène, thy grief appeared too clearly visible.
Chimène. Well, sire! add this crown to my misfortune—call my swoon the effect of my grief; a justifiable dissatisfaction reduced me to that extremity; his death would have saved his head from my pursuit. If he had died of wounds received for the benefit of his country, my revenge would have been lost, and my designs betrayed; such a brilliant end (of his existence) would have been too injurious to me. I demand his death, but not a glorious one, not with a glory which raises him so high, not on an honorable death-bed, but upon a scaffold. Let him die for my father and not for his country; let his name be attainted and his memory blighted. To die for one's country is not a sorrowful doom; it is to immortalize one's self by a glorious death! I love then his victory, and I can do so without criminality; it (the victory) secures the kingdom and yields to me my victim. But ennobled, but illustrious amongst all warriors, the chief crowned with laurels instead of flowers—and to say in a word what I think—worthy of being sacrificed to the shade of my father. Alas! by what (vain) hope do I allow myself to be carried away? Rodrigo has not
hing to dread from me; what can tears which are despised avail against him? For him your whole empire is a sanctuary (lit. a place of freedom); there, under your power, everything is lawful for him; he triumphs over me as (well as) over his enemies; justice stifled in their blood that has been shed, serves as a new trophy for the crime of the conqueror. We increase its pomp, and contempt of the law causes us to follow his (triumphal) chariot between two kings.
Don Fernando. My daughter, these transports are too violent (lit. have too much violence). When justice is rendered, all is put in the scale. Thy father has been slain, he was the aggressor; and justice itself commands me (to have) mercy. Before accusing that (degree of clemency) which I show, consult well thine heart; Rodrigo is master of it; and thy love in secret returns thanks to thy King, whose favor preserves such a lover for thee.
Chimène. For me! my enemy! the object of my wrath! the author of my misfortunes? the slayer of my father! To my just pursuit (of vengeance) they pay so little attention, that they believe that they are conferring a favor on me by not listening to it. Since you refuse justice to my tears, sire, permit me to have recourse to arms; it is by that alone that he has been able to injure me, and it is by that (means) also that I ought to avenge myself. From all your knights I demand his head; yes, let one of them bring it to me, and I will be his prize; let them fight him, sire, and, the combat being finished, I (will) espouse the conqueror, if Rodrigo is slain (lit. punished). Under your authority, permit this to be made public.
Don Fernando. This ancient custom established in these places, under the guise of punishing an unjust affront, weakens a kingdom (by depriving it) of its best warriors; the deplorable success of this abuse (of power) often crushes the innocent and shields the guilty. From this (ordeal) I release Rodrigo; he is too precious to me to expose him to the (death) blows of capricious fate; and whatever (offence) a heart so magnanimous could commit, the Moors, in retreating, have carried away his crime.
Chimène. What, sire, for him alone you reverse the laws, which all the court has so often seen observed! What will your people think, and what will envy say, if he screens his life beneath your shield and he makes it a pretext not to appear (on a scene) where all men of honor seek a noble death? Such favors would too deeply tarnish his glory; let him enjoy (lit. taste) without shame (lit. blushing) the fruits of his victory. The count had audacity, he was able to punish him for it; he (i.e. Rodrigo) acted like a man of courage, and ought to maintain it (that character).
Don Fernando. Since you wish it, I grant that he shall do so; but a thousand others would take the place of a vanquished warrior, and the reward which Chimène has promised to the conqueror would render all my cavaliers his enemies; to oppose him alone to all would be too great an injustice; it is enough, he shall enter the lists once only. Choose who (what champion) you will, Chimène, and choose well; but after this combat ask nothing more.
Don Diego. Release not by that those whom his valor (lit. arm) terrifies; leave an open field which none will (dare to) enter. After what Rodrigo has shown us to-day, what courage sufficiently presumptuous would dare to contend with him? Who would risk his life against such an opponent? Who will be this valiant, or rather this rash individual?
Don Sancho. Open the lists, you see this assailant; I am this rash or rather this valiant (champion). Grant this favor to the zeal which urges me on; dear lady, you know what your promise is.
Don Fernando. Chimène, do you confide your quarrel to his hand?
Chimène. Sire, I have promised it.
Don Fernando. Be ready to-morrow.
Don Diego. No, sire, there is no need to defer the contest; a man is always ready when he possesses courage.
Don Fernando. (What!) To come forth from one battle and to (instantly) enter the lists (lit. to fight)?
Don Diego. Rodrigo has regained breath in relating to you this (i.e. the history of that battle).
Don Fernando. I desire that he should rest at least an hour or two; but, for fear that such a combat may be considered as a precedent, to testify to all that I permit, with regret, a sanguinary ordeal which has never pleased me, it shall not have the presence either of myself or of my court. (To Don Arias.) You alone shall judge of the valor of the combatants. Take care that both act like men of honor (lit. courage), and, the combat ended, bring the victor to me. Whoever he may be, the same reward is gained by his exertions; I desire with my own hand to present him to Chimène, and that, as a recompense, he may receive her plighted faith.
Chimène. What, sire! (would you) impose on me so stern a law?
Don Fernando. Thou complainest of it; but thy love, far from acknowledging thy complaint, if Rodrigo be the conqueror, without restraint accepts (the conditions). Cease to murmur against such a gentle decree; whichever of the two be the victor, I shall make him thy spouse.
Act the Fifth
*
Scene I.—DON RODRIGO and CHIMÈNE.
Chimène. What! Rodrigo! In broad daylight! Whence comes this audacity? Go, thou art ruining my honor; retire, I beseech thee.
Don Rodrigo. I go to die, dear lady, and I come to bid you in this place, before the mortal blow, a last adieu. This unchangeable love, which binds me beneath your laws, dares not to accept my death without paying to you homage for it.
Chimène. Thou art going to death!
Don Rodrigo. I speed to those happy moments which will deliver my life from your (feelings of) resentment.
Chimène. Thou art going to death! Is Don Sancho, then, so formidable, that he can inspire terror in this invincible heart? What has rendered thee so weak? or what renders him so strong? Does Rodrigo go to fight, and believe himself already slain (lit. dead)? He who has not feared the Moors nor my father, goes to fight Don Sancho, and already despairs? Thus, then, thy courage lowers itself in the (hour of) need.
Don Rodrigo. I speed (lit. I run) to my punishment, and not to the combat; and, since you seek my death, my faithful ardor will readily deprive me of the desire of defending my life. I have always the same courage, but I have not the (strong) arm, when it is needed, to preserve that which does not please you; and already this night would have been fatal to me, if I had fought for my own private wrong; but, defending my king, his people, and my country, by carelessly defending myself, I should have betrayed them. My high-born spirit does not hate life so much as to wish to depart from it by perfidy, now that it regards my interests only. You demand my death—I accept its decree. Your resentment chose the hand of another; I was unworthy (lit. I did not deserve) to die by yours. They shall not see me repel its blows; I owe more respect to him (the champion) who fights for you; and delighted to think that it is from you these (blows) proceed—since it is your honor that his arms sustain—I shall present to him my unprotected (or, defenceless) breast, worshipping through his hand thine that destroys me.
Chimène. If the just vehemence of a sad (sense of) duty, which causes me, in spite of myself, to follow after thy valiant life, prescribes to thy love a law so severe, that it surrenders thee without defence to him who combats for me, in this infatuation (lit. blindness), lose not the recollection, that, with thy life, thine honor is tarnished, and that, in whatever renown Rodrigo may have lived, when men shall know him to be dead, they will believe him conquered. Thine honor is dearer to thee than I am dear, since it steeps thine hands in the blood of my father, and causes thee to renounce, in spite of thy love, the sweet hope of gaining me. I see thee, however, pay such little regard to it (honor), that, without fighting, thou wishest to be overcome. What inconsistency (lit. unequality) mars thy valor! Why hast thou it (that valor) no more? or why didst thou possess it (formerly)? What! art thou valiant only to do me an injury? Unless it be to offend (or, injure) me, hast thou no courage at all? And dost thou treat my father with such rigor (i.e. so far disparage the memory of my father), that, after having conquered him, thou wilt endure a conqueror? Go! without wishing to die, leave me to pursue thee, and defend thine honor, if thou wilt no longer live.<
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Don Rodrigo. After the death of the count and the defeat of the Moors, will my renown still require other achievements? That (glory) may scorn the care of defending myself; it is known that my courage dares to attempt all, that my valor can accomplish all, and that, here below (lit. under the heavens), in comparison with mine honor, nothing is precious to me. No! no! in this combat, whatever thou may'st please to think, Rodrigo may die without risking his renown: without men daring to accuse him of having wanted spirit: without being considered as conquered, without enduring a conqueror. They will say only: "He adored Chimène; he would not live and merit her hatred; he yielded himself to the severity of his fate, which compelled his mistress to seek his death; she wished for his life (lit. head), and his magnanimous heart, had that been refused to her, would have considered it a crime. To avenge his honor, he lost his love; to avenge his mistress, he forsook life, preferring (whatever hope may have enslaved his soul) his honor to Chimène, and Chimène to his existence." Thus, then, you will see that my death in this conflict, far from obscuring my glory, will increase its value; and this honor will follow my voluntary death, that no other than myself could have satisfied you (for the death of your father).
Chimène. Since, to prevent thee from rushing to destruction, thy life and thine honor are [but] feeble inducements, if ever I loved thee, dear Rodrigo, in return [for that love], defend thyself now, to rescue me from Don Sancho. Fight, to release me from a compact which delivers me to the object of my aversion. Shall I say more to thee? Go, think of thy defence, to overcome my sense of duty, to impose on me silence; and if thou feelest thine heart still enamored for me, come forth, as a conqueror, from a combat of which Chimène is the reward. Adieu; this thoughtlessly uttered [lit. let slip] word causes me to blush for shame!
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