No More Learning

Stained with his blood, the debt unpaid!

Rodrigue
My Chimene. . .

Chimene
Remove that hideous thing,
Reproachful of your crime and your being.

Rodrigue
Gaze on it rather to inflame your hate,
Increase your anger, and advance my fate.

Chimene
It's stained by his blood.

Rodrigue
Then plunge it into mine,
And the colour of his no longer find.

Chimene
Ah! How cruel to murder in a day
The father by steel, the child by its display!
Remove that thing, I cannot endure it:
You wish me to hear, yet kill me by it.

Rodrigue
I'll do as you wish, while still expecting
To end my wretched life at your asking;
You'll not extract, despite all my affection,
A coward's repentance for noble action.
The irreparable result of rash anger
Shamed me by dishonouring my father.
You know how a blow pains a noble heart.
I sought the author of it, for my part:
I found him, and avenged my father's honour;
If needed, I'd do the same once more.
Indeed, against my father and myself,
My love fought long in favour of yourself:
Judge of your power: despite the grave offence,
I hesitated whether to yet take vengeance.
Faced with your pain, or suffering the affront
I thought I might be too swift in the hunt,
I accused myself of a rush to violence;
Though your beauty might have swung the balance,
If I had not felt that this was also true:
Without my honour I'd not merit you;
That despite my place within your heart,
You'd hate my shame, if I took your part;
That hearing your love, answering its voice,
Would render me worthless, deny your choice.
I say it again, and, even though I sigh
Yet to my last sigh, I'll repeat that I
Have offended you, and yet I had to,
To wipe out my shame, and merit you;
But, satisfying honour and my father,
It is for your satisfaction I am here:
I am here to offer my life to you.
I did what I must: I do what I must do.
I know a father's death arms you against me;
I would not rob you of your enemy:
Sacrifice now to the blood of the dead
Him whose honour lay in its being shed.

Chimene
Ah! Rodrigue! It's true, though your enemy,
I cannot blame you for fleeing infamy;
And, however strong my outburst of pain
I do not accuse you, I only weep again.
I know what honour, after such an outrage
Asks of the ardour of a man of courage:
You did a knight's duty, to my mind;
But also, in doing it, you taught me mine.
Your fateful valour teaches by victory,
It avenged your father, and his glory:
The same need is mine, to my horror,
Maintain my honour, avenge my father.
Alas! Your love for me is my despair.
If some other ill had slain my father there,
My soul would have found in seeing you
The one solace I might hope to view;
I would have felt the cure for grief and fears,
If your loving hand had dried my tears,
But I must lose one, having lost the other;
Quenching my love, a debt to my honour;
And this awful duty whose rule slays me,
Drives me to work your ruin swiftly.
Do not expect, despite all my affection,
Craven feelings aimed in your direction.
Though our love pleads now in your favour,
My soul must equal yours in honour:
Though offending me, you prove worthy too;
I must, by your death, prove worthy yet of you.

Rodrigue
No longer delay the claims of honour:
It asks my life, and I am in your power;
Sacrifice me to your noble vengeance.