No More Learning

(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.