Le Cid

  LE CID

  * * *

  PIERRE CORNEILLE

  Translated by

  ROSCOE MONGAN

  *

  Le Cid

  From an 1896 edition

  ISBN 978-1-62011-073-7

  Duke Classics

  © 2012 Duke Classics and its licensors. All rights reserved.

  While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in this edition, Duke Classics does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. Duke Classics does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book.

  Contents

  *

  Preface

  Act the First

  Act the Second

  Act the Third

  Act the Fourth

  Act the Fifth

  Preface

  *

  Cid Campeador is the name given in histories, traditions and songs to the most celebrated of Spain's national heroes.

  His real name was Rodrigo or Ruy Diaz (i.e. "son of Diego"), a Castilian noble by birth. He was born at Burgos about the year 1040.

  There is so much of the mythical in the history of this personage that hypercritical writers, such as Masdeu, have doubted his existence; but recent researches have succeeded in separating the historical from the romantic.

  Under Sancho II, son of Ferdinand, he served as commander of the royal troops. In a war between the two brothers, Sancho II. and Alfonso VI. of Leon, due to some dishonorable stratagem on the part of Rodrigo, Sancho was victorious and his brother was forced to seek refuge with the Moorish King of Toledo.

  In 1072 Sancho was assassinated at the siege of Zamora, and as he left no heir the Castilians had to acknowledge Alfonso as King. Although Alfonso never forgave the Cid for having, as leader of the Castilians, compelled him to swear that he (the Cid) had no hand in the murder of his brother Sancho, as a conciliatory measure, he gave his cousin Ximena, daughter of the Count of Oviedo, to the Cid in marriage, but afterwards, in 1081, when he found himself firmly seated on the throne, yielding to his own feelings of resentment and incited by the Leonese nobles, he banished him from the kingdom.

  At the head of a large body of followers, the Cid joined the Moorish King of Saragossa, in whose service he fought against both Moslems and Christians. It was probably during this exile that he was first called the Cid, an Arabic title, which means the lord. He was very successful in all his battles.

  In conjunction with Mostain, grandson of Moctadir, he invaded Valencia in 1088, but afterwards carried on operations alone, and finally, after a long siege, made himself master of the city in June, 1094. He retained possession of Valencia for five years and reigned like an independent sovereign over one of the richest territories in the Peninsula, but died suddenly in 1099 of anger and grief on hearing that his relative, Alvar Fañez, had been vanquished and the army which he had sent to his assistance had been defeated.

  After the Cid's death his wife held Valencia till 1102, when she was obliged to yield to the Almoravides and fly to Castile, where she died in 1104. Her remains were placed by those of her lord in the monastery of San Pedro de Cardeña.

  Act the First

  *

  Scene I.—CHIMÈNE and ELVIRA.

  Chimène. Elvira, have you given me a really true report? Do you conceal nothing that my father has said?

  Elvira. All my feelings within me are still delighted with it. He esteems Rodrigo as much as you love him; and if I do not misread his mind, he will command you to respond to his passion.

  Chimène. Tell me then, I beseech you, a second time, what makes you believe that he approves of my choice; tell me anew what hope I ought to entertain from it. A discourse so charming cannot be too often heard; you cannot too forcibly promise to the fervor of our love the sweet liberty of manifesting itself to the light of day. What answer has he given regarding the secret suit which Don Sancho and Don Rodrigo are paying to you? Have you not too clearly shown the disparity between the two lovers which inclines me to the one side?

  Elvira. No; I have depicted your heart as filled with an indifference which elates not either of them nor destroys hope, and, without regarding them with too stern or too gentle an aspect, awaits the commands of a father to choose a spouse. This respect has delighted him—his lips and his countenance gave me at once a worthy testimony of it; and, since I must again tell you the tale, this is what he hastened to say to me of them and of you: 'She is in the right. Both are worthy of her; both are sprung from a noble, valiant, and faithful lineage; young but yet who show by their mien (lit. cause to easily be read in their eyes) the brilliant valor of their brave ancestors. Don Rodrigo, above all, has no feature in his face which is not the noble (lit. high) representative of a man of courage (lit. heart), and descends from a house so prolific in warriors, that they enter into life (lit. take birth there) in the midst of laurels. The valor of his father, in his time without an equal, as long as his strength endured, was considered a marvel; the furrows on his brow bear witness to (lit. have engraved his) exploits, and tell us still what he formerly was. I predict of the son what I have seen of the father, and my daughter, in one word, may love him and please me.' He was going to the council, the hour for which approaching, cut short this discourse, which he had scarcely commenced; but from these few words, I believe that his mind (lit. thoughts) is not quite decided between your two lovers. The king is going to appoint an instructor for his son, and it is he for whom an honor so great is designed. This choice is not doubtful, and his unexampled valor cannot tolerate that we should fear any competition. As his high exploits render him without an equal, in a hope so justifiable he will be without a rival; and since Don Rodrigo has persuaded his father, when going out from the council, to propose the affair. I leave you to judge whether he will seize this opportunity (lit. whether he will take his time well), and whether all your desires will soon be gratified.

  Chimène. It seems, however, that my agitated soul refuses this joy, and finds itself overwhelmed by it. One moment gives to fate different aspects, and in this great happiness I fear a great reverse.

  Elvira. You see this fear happily deceived.

  Chimène. Let us go, whatever it may be, to await the issue.

  Scene II.—The INFANTA, LEONORA, and a PAGE.

  Infanta (to Page). Page, go, tell Chimène from me, that to-day she is rather long in coming to see me, and that my friendship complains of her tardiness. (Exit Page.)

  Leonora. Dear lady, each day the same desire urges you, and at your interview with her, I see you every day ask her how her love proceeds.

  Infanta. It is not without reason. I have almost compelled her to receive the arrows with which her soul is wounded. She loves Rodrigo, and she holds him from my hand; and by means of me Don Rodrigo has conquered her disdain. Thus, having forged the chains of these lovers, I ought to take an interest in seeing their troubles at an end.

  Leonora. Dear lady, however, amidst their good fortune you exhibit a grief which proceeds to excess. Does this love, which fills them both with gladness, produce in this noble heart (of yours) profound sadness? And does this great interest which you take in them render you unhappy, whilst they are happy? But I proceed too far, and become indiscreet.

  Infanta. My sadness redoubles in keeping the secret. Listen, listen at length, how I have struggled; listen what assaults my constancy [lit. virtue or valor] yet braves. Love is a tyrant which spares no one. This young cavalier, this lover which I give [her]—I love him.

  Leonora. You love him!

  Infanta. Place your hand upon my heart, and feel (lit. see) how it throbs at the name of its conqueror! how it recognizes him!

/>   Leonora. Pardon me, dear lady, if I am wanting in respect in blaming this passion; a noble princess to so far forget herself as to admit in her heart a simple (or, humble) cavalier! And what would the King say?—what would Castile say? Do you still remember of whom you are the daughter?

  Infanta. I remember it so well, that I would shed my blood rather than degrade my rank. I might assuredly answer to thee, that, in noble souls, worth alone ought to arouse passions; and, if my love sought to excuse itself, a thousand famous examples might sanction it. But I will not follow these—where my honor is concerned, the captivation of my feelings does not abate my courage, and I say to myself always, that, being the daughter of a king, all other than a monarch is unworthy of me. When I saw that my heart could not protect itself, I myself gave away that which I did not dare to take; and I put, in place of my self, Chimène in its fetters, and I kindled their passions [lit. fires] in order to extinguish my own. Be then no longer surprised if my troubled soul with impatience awaits their bridal; thou seest that my happiness [lit. repose] this day depends upon it. If love lives by hope, it perishes with it; it is a fire which becomes extinguished for want of fuel; and, in spite of the severity of my sad lot, if Chimène ever has Rodrigo for a husband, my hope is dead and my spirit, is healed. Meanwhile, I endure an incredible torture; even up to this bridal. Rodrigo is dear to me; I strive to lose him, and I lose him with regret, and hence my secret anxiety derives its origin. I see with sorrow that love compels me to utter sighs for that [object] which [as a princess] I must disdain. I feel my spirit divided into two portions; if my courage is high, my heart is inflamed [with love]. This bridal is fatal to me, I fear it, and [yet] I desire it; I dare to hope from it only an incomplete joy; my honor and my love have for me such attractions, that I [shall] die whether it be accomplished, or whether it be not accomplished.

  Leonora. Dear lady, after that I have nothing more to say, except that, with you, I sigh for your misfortunes; I blamed you a short time since, now I pity you. But since in a misfortune (i.e. an ill-timed love) so sweet and so painful, your noble spirit (lit. virtue) contends against both its charm and its strength, and repulses its assault and regrets its allurements, it will restore calmness to your agitated feelings. Hope then every (good result) from it, and from the assistance of time; hope everything from heaven; it is too just (lit. it has too much justice) to leave virtue in such a long continued torture.

  Infanta. My sweetest hope is to lose hope.

  (The Page re-enters.)

  Page. By your commands, Chimène comes to see you.

  Infanta (to Leonora). Go and converse with her in that gallery (yonder).

  Leonora. Do you wish to continue in dreamland?

  Infanta. No, I wish, only, in spite of my grief, to compose myself (lit. to put my features a little more at leisure). I follow you.

  (Leonora goes out along with the Page.)

  Scene III.—The INFANTA (alone).

  Just heaven, from which I await my relief, put, at last, some limit to the misfortune which is overcoming (lit. possesses) me; secure my repose, secure my honor. In the happiness of others I seek my own. This bridal is equally important to three (parties); render its completion more prompt, or my soul more enduring. To unite these two lovers with a marriage-tie is to break all my chains and to end all my sorrows. But I tarry a little too long; let us go to meet Chimène, and, by conversation, to relieve our grief.

  Scene IV.—COUNT DE GORMAS and DON DIEGO (meeting).

  Count. At last you have gained it (or, prevailed), and the favor of a King raises you to a rank which was due only to myself; he makes you Governor of the Prince of Castile.

  Don Diego. This mark of distinction with which he distinguishes (lit. which he puts into) my family shows to all that he is just, and causes it to be sufficiently understood, that he knows how to recompense bygone services.

  Count. However great kings may be, they are only men (lit. they are that which we are); they can make mistakes like other men, and this choice serves as a proof to all courtiers that they know how to (or, can) badly recompense present services.

  Don Diego. Let us speak no more of a choice at which your mind becomes exasperated. Favor may have been able to do as much as merit; but we owe this respect to absolute power, to question nothing when a king has wished it. To the honor which he has done me add another—let us join by a sacred tie my house to yours. You have an only daughter, and I have an only son; their marriage may render us for ever more than friends. Grant us this favor, and accept, him as a son-in-law.

  Count. To higher alliances this precious son ought (or, is likely) to aspire; and the new splendor of your dignity ought to inflate his heart with another (higher) vanity. Exercise that (dignity), sir, and instruct the prince. Show him how it is necessary to rule a province: to make the people tremble everywhere under his law; to fill the good with love, and the wicked with terror. Add to these virtues those of a commander: show him how it is necessary to inure himself to fatigue; in the profession of a warrior (lit. of Mars) to render himself without an equal; to pass entire days and nights on horseback; to sleep all-armed: to storm a rampart, and to owe to himself alone the winning of a battle. Instruct him by example, and render him perfect, bringing your lessons to his notice by carrying them into effect.

  Don Diego. To instruct himself by example, in spite of your jealous feelings, he shall read only the history of my life. There, in a long succession of glorious deeds, he shall see how nations ought to be subdued; to attack a fortress, to marshal an army, and on great exploits to build his renown.

  Count. Living examples have a greater (lit. another) power. A prince, in a book, learns his duty but badly (or, imperfectly); and what, after all, has this great number of years done which one of my days cannot equal? If you have been valiant, I am so to-day, and this arm is the strongest support of the kingdom. Granada and Arragon tremble when this sword flashes; my name serves as a rampart to all Castile; without me you would soon pass under other laws, and you would soon have your enemies as (lit. for) kings. Each day, each moment, to increase my glory, adds laurels to laurels, victory to victory. The prince, by my side, would make the trial of his courage in the wars under the shadow of my arm; he would learn to conquer by seeing me do so; and, to prove speedily worthy of his high character, he would see—

  Don Diego. I know it; you serve the king well. I have seen you fight and command under me, when [old] age has caused its freezing currents to flow within my nerves [i.e. "when the frosts of old age had numbed my nerves"—Jules Bue], your unexampled [lit. rare] valor has worthily [lit. well] supplied my place; in fine, to spare unnecessary words, you are to-day what I used to be. You see, nevertheless, that in this rivalry a monarch places some distinction between us.

  Count. That prize which I deserved you have carried off.

  Don Diego. He who has gained that (advantage) over you has deserved it best.

  Count. He who can use it to the best advantage is the most worthy of it.

  Don Diego. To be refused that prize (lit. it) is not a good sign.

  Count. You have gained it by intrigue, being an old courtier.

  Don Diego. The brilliancy of my noble deeds was my only recommendation (lit. support).

  Count. Let us speak better of it (i.e. more plainly): the king does honor to your age.

  Don Diego. The king, when he does it (i.e. that honor), gives it (lit. measures it) to courage.

  Count. And for that reason this honor was due only to me (lit. my arm).

  Don Diego. He who has not been able to obtain it did not deserve it.

  Count. Did not deserve it? I!

  Don Diego. You.

  Count. Thy impudence, rash old man, shall have its recompense. (He gives him a slap on the face.) Don Diego (drawing his sword (lit. putting the sword in his hand)). Finish (this outrage), and take my life after such an insult, the first for which my race has ever had cause to blush (lit. has seen its brow grow red).

  Count. And
what do you think you can do, weak us you are (lit. with such feebleness)?

  Don Diego. Oh, heaven! my exhausted strength fails me in this necessity!

  Count. Thy sword is mine; but thou wouldst be too vain if this discreditable trophy had laden my hand (i.e. if I had carried away a trophy so discreditable). Farewell—adieu! Cause the prince to read, in spite of jealous feelings, for his instruction, the history of thy life. This just punishment of impertinent language will serve as no small embellishment for it.

  Scene V.—DON DIEGO.

  O rage! O despair! O inimical old age! Have I then lived so long only for this disgrace? And have I grown grey in warlike toils, only to see in one day so many of my laurels wither? Does my arm (i.e. my valor), which all Spain admires and looks up to (lit. with respect)—(does) my arm, which has so often saved this empire, and so often strengthened anew the throne of its king, now (lit. then) betray my cause, and do nothing for me? O cruel remembrance of my bygone glory! O work of a lifetime (lit. so many days) effaced in a day! new dignity fatal to my happiness! lofty precipice from which mine honor falls! must I see the count triumph over your splendor, and die without vengeance, or live in shame? Count, be now the instructor of my prince! This high rank becomes (lit. admits) no man without honor, and thy jealous pride, by this foul (lit. remarkable) insult, in spite of the choice of the king, has contrived (lit. has known how) to render me unworthy of it. And thou, glorious instrument of my exploits, but yet a useless ornament of an enfeebled body numbed by age (lit. all of ice), thou sword, hitherto to be feared, and which in this insult has served me for show, and not for defence, go, abandon henceforth the most dishonored (lit. the last) of his race; pass, to avenge me, into better hands!