No More Learning

Chimene
What! And painted with Rodrigue's blood too?
How do you dare to meet my gaze, traitor,
After slaying one who was your better?
Speak now, Love, you have no more to fear:
Cease to hide, this satisfies my father;
A single blow brings honour now to me,
My soul to despair, my love to liberty.

Sanche
If you were calmer. . .

Chimene
Still you speak, what more,
Vile murderer of that hero I adore!
Go, you were treacherous; the valiant
Could never yield to such an assailant.
Hope for nothing here, you did not serve me!
You stole my life, in seeking to avenge me.

Sanche
This strange mistake, beyond comprehension. . .

Chimene
Is it to your boasting I must listen?
And hear you paint with endless insolence
His woe, my crime, and your brave defence?


Act V Scene VI (King, Diegue, Arias, Sanche, Alonso, Chimene, Elvire)

Chimene
Sire, there's no longer reason to conceal
What all my efforts were forced to reveal.
I loved: you know it; to avenge my father,
I was willing to condemn my lover:
Your Majesty, Sire, yourself could see
How my love was sacrificed to duty.
Rodrigue is dead, and his death changed me
To afflicted lover from implacable enemy.
Vengeance was owing to my father,
And now I owe tears to my lover.
Don Sanche caused me ill, in my defence,
And that ill-dealing arm I must recompense!
Sire, if compassion can sway a king,
I beg you to revoke your harsh ruling;
For what lost me my love, his victory,
I leave him my fortune; if he'll forgo me;
That I may weep in some sacred cloister,
To my last breath, for father and for lover.

Diegue
She still loves, Sire, and thinks it no crime
To confess a love so true, to you, at this time.

King
Chimene, you are wrong, your lover is not dead,
Sanche, the vanquished, spoke falsely instead.

Sanche
Her ardour deceived her, in spite of me:
I left the fight, Sire, to recount it swiftly.
The noble warrior, who has claimed her,
Said when he disarmed me: 'Have no fear.
I would rather leave the outcome uncertain,
Than shed blood placed at risk for Chimene;
But since duty summons me to the King
Go tell her for me of our undertaking,
Take your sword on behalf of the victor. '
Sire, I went: the blade itself deceived her;
She thought me the victor seeing me there,
And betrayed her love in her swift anger
With so much agitation and impatience,
I could not gain a moment's audience.
For myself, though conquered I'm content;
And despite my own amorous intent,
And infinite loss, I welcome my defeat,
Rendering a perfect love thus complete.

King
My daughter, be not ashamed of this love,
Nor seek the means its power to disprove;
An honourable shame urges you in vain;
Your duty is done, your honour true again;
Your father's satisfied, as his avenger
You have so often placed his life in danger.
Yet you see Heaven wishes something else.