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 know 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.
Don Fernando. Don Sancho, be silent; and be warned that he who takes his part renders himself criminal.
Don Sancho. I obey, and am silent; but in pity, sire, [permit] two words in his defence.
Don Fernando. And what can you say?
Don Sancho. That a soul accustomed to noble actions cannot lower itself to apologies. It does not imagine any which can be expressed without shame; and it is that word alone that the Count resists. He finds in his duty a little too much severity, and he would obey you if he had less heart. Command that his arm, trained in war's dangers, repair this injury at the point of the sword: he will give satisfaction, sire; and, come what may, until he has been made aware of your decision, here am I to answer for him.
Don Fernando. You fail [lit. you are losing] in respect; but I pardon youth, and I excuse enthusiasm in a young, courageous heart. A king, whose prudence has better objects in view [than such quarrels], is more sparing of the blood of his subjects. I watch over mine; my [watchful] care protects them, as the head takes care of the limbs which serve it. Thus your reasoning is not reasoning for me. You speak as a soldier—I must act as a king; and whatever others may wish to say, or he may presume to think, the Count will not part with [lit. cannot lose] his glory by obeying me. Besides, the insult affects myself: he has dishonored him whom I have made the instructor of my son. To impugn my choice is to challenge me, and to make an attempt upon the supreme power. Let us speak of it no more. And now, ten vessels of our old enemies have been seen to hoist their flags; near the mouth of the river they have dared to appear.
Don Arias. The Moors have by force [of arms] learned to know you, and, so often vanquished, they have lost heart to risk their lives [lit. themselves] any more against so great a conqueror.
Don Fernando. They will never, without a certain amount of jealousy, behold my sceptre, in spite of them, ruling over Andalusia; and this country, so beautiful, which they too long enjoyed, is always regarded by them with an envious eye. This is the sole reason which has caused us, for the last ten years, to place the Castilian throne in Seville, in order to watch them more closely, and, by more prompt action, immediately to overthrow whatever [design] they might undertake.
Don Arias. They know, at the cost of their noblest leaders [lit. most worthy heads], how much your presence secures your conquests; you have nothing to fear.
Don Fernando. And nothing to neglect—too much confidence brings on danger; and you are not ignorant that, with very little difficulty, the rising tide brings them hither. However, I should be wrong to cause a panic in the hearts [of the citizens], the news being uncertain. The dismay which this useless alarm might produce in the night, which is approaching, might agitate the town too much. Cause the guards to be doubled on the walls and at the fort; for this evening that is sufficient.
Scene VII.—Don Fernando, Don Alonzo, Don Sancho, and Don Arias.
Don Alonzo. Sire, the Count is dead. Don Diego, by his son, has avenged his wrong.
Don Fernando. As soon as I knew of the insult I foresaw the vengeance, and from that moment I wished to avert this misfortune.
Don Alonzo. Chimène approaches to lay her grief at your feet [lit. brings to your knees her grief]; she comes all in tears to sue for justice from you.
Don Fernando. Much though my soul compassionates her sorrows, what the Count has done seems to have deserved this just punishment of his rashness. Yet, however just his penalty may be, I cannot lose such a warrior without regret. After long service rendered to my state, after his blood has been shed for me a thousand times, to whatever thoughts his [stubborn] pride compels me, his loss enfeebles me, and his death afflicts me.
Scene VIII.—Don Fernando, Don Diego, Chimène, Don Sancho, DON ARIAS, and Don Alonzo.
Chimène. Sire, sire, justice!
Don Diego. Ah, sire, hear us!
Chimène. I cast myself at your feet!
Don Diego. I embrace your knees!
Chimène. I demand justice.
Don Diego. Hear my defence.
Chimène. Punish the presumption of an audacious youth: he has struck down the support of your sceptre—he has slain my father!
Don Diego. He has avenged his own.
Chimène. To the blood of his subjects a king owes justice.
Don Diego. For just vengeance there is no punishment.
Don Fernando. Rise, both of you, and speak at leisure. Chimène, I sympathize with your sorrow; with an equal grief I feel my own soul afflicted. (To Don Diego.) You shall speak afterwards; do not interrupt her complaint.
Chimène. Sire, my father is dead! My eyes have seen his blood gush forth from his noble breast—that blood which has so often secured your walls—that blood which has so often won your battles—that blood which, though all outpoured, still fumes with rage at seeing itself shed for any other than for you! Rodrigo, before your very palace, has just dyed [lit. covered] the earth with that [blood] which in the midst of dangers war did not dare to shed! Faint and pallid, I ran to the spot, and I found him bereft of life. Pardon my grief, sire, but my voice fails me at this terrible recital; my tears and my sighs will better tell you the rest!
Don Fernando. Take courage, my daughter, and know that from to-day thy king will serve thee as a father instead of him.
Chimène. Sire, my anguish is attended with too much [unavailing] horror! I found him, I have already said, bereft of life; his breast was pierced [lit. open], and his blood upon the [surrounding] dust dictated [lit. wrote] my duty; or rather his valor, reduced to this condition, spoke to me through his wound, and urged me to claim redress; and to make itself heard by the most just of kings, by these sad lips, it borrowed my voice. Sire, do not permit that, under your sway, such license should reign before your [very] eyes; that the most valiant with impunity should be exposed to the thrusts of rashness; that a presumptuous youth should triumph over their glory, should imbrue himself with their blood, and scoff at their memory! If the valiant warrior who has just been torn from you be not avenged, the ardor for serving you becomes extinguished. In fine, my father is dead, and I demand vengeance more for your interest than for my consolation. You are a loser in the death of a man of his position. Avenge it by another's, and [have] blood for blood! Sacrifice [the victim] not to me, but to your crown, to your greatness, to yourself! Sacrifice, I say, sire, to the good of the state, all those whom such a daring deed would inflate with pride.
Don Fernando. Don Diego, reply.
Don Diego. How worthy of envy is he who, in losing [life's] vigor, loses life also! And how a long life brings to nobly minded men, at the close of their career, an unhappy destiny! I, whose long labors have gained such great renown—I, whom hitherto everywhere victory has followed—I see myself to-day, in consequence of having lived too long, receiving an insult, and living vanquished. That which never battle, siege, or ambuscade could [do]—that which Arragon or Granada never could [effect], nor all your enemies, nor all my jealous [rivals], the Count has done in your palace, almost before your eyes, [being] jealous of your choice, and proud of the advantage which the impotence of age gave him over me. Sire, thus these hairs, grown grey in harness [i.e. toils of war]—this blood, so often shed to serve you—this arm, formerly the terror of a hostile army, would have sunk into the grave, burdened with disgrace, if I had not begotten a son worthy of me, worthy of his country, and worthy of his king! He has lent me his hand—he has slain the Count—he has restored my honor—he has washed away my shame! If the displaying of courage and resentment, if the avenging of a blow deserves chastisement, upon me alone should fall the fury of the storm. When the arm has failed, the head is punished for it. Whether men call this a crime or not requires no discussion. Sire, I am the head, he is the arm only. If Chimène complains that he has slain her father, he never would have done that [deed] if I could have done it [myself]. Sacrifice, then, this head, which years will soon remove, and preserve for yourself the arm which can serve you. At the cost of my blood satisfy Chimène. I do not resist—I consent to my penalty, and, far from murmuring at a rigorous decree, dying without dishonor, I shall die without regret.
Don Fernando. The matter is of importance, and, calmly considered, it deserves to be debated in full council. Don Sancho, re-conduct Chimène to her abode. Don Diego shall have my palace and his word of honor as a prison. Bring his son here to me. I will do you justice.
Chimène. It is just, great king, that a murderer should die.
Don Fernando. Take rest, my daughter, and calm thy sorrows.
Chimène. To order me rest is to increase my misfortunes.