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Handy Literal Translations
CORNEILLE'S
THE CID
A Literal Translation, by
ROSCOE MONGAN
1896, BY HINDS & NOBLE
HINDS, NOBLE & ELDREDGE, Publishers,
31-33-35 West Fifteenth Street, New York City
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.
THE CID.
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!
Scene VI.--DON DIEGO and DON RODRIGO.
_Don Diego._ Rodrigo, hast thou courage [_lit._ a heart]?
_Don Rodrigo._ Any other than my father would have found that out
instantly.
_Don Diego._ Welcome wrath! worthy resentment, most pleasing to my
grief! I recognize my blood in this noble rage; my youth revives in this
ardor so prompt. Come, my son, come, my blood, come to retrieve my
shame--come to avenge me!
_Don Rodrigo._ Of what?
_Don Diego._ Of an insult so cruel that it deals a deadly stroke
against the honor of us both--of a blow! The insolent [man] would have
lost his life for it, but my age deceived my noble ambition; and this
sword, which my arm can no longer wield, I give up to thine, to avenge
and punish. Go against this presumptuous man, and prove thy valor: it is
only in blood that one can wash away such an insult; die or slay.
Moreover, not to deceive thee, I give thee to fight a formidable
antagonist [_lit._ a man to be feared], I have seen him entirely covered
with blood and dust, carrying everywhere dismay through an entire army.
I have seen by his valor a hundred squadrons broken; and, to tell thee
still something more--more than brave soldier, more than great leader,
he is----
_Don Rodrigo._ Pray, finish.
_Don Diego._ The father of Chimène.
_Don Rodrigo._ The----
_Don Diego._ Do not reply; I know thy love. But he who lives dishonored
is unworthy of life; the dearer the offender the greater the offence. In
short, thou knowest the insult, and thou holdest [in thy grasp the means
of] vengeance. I say no more to thee. Avenge me, avenge thyself! Show
thyself a son worthy of a father such as I [am]. Overwhelmed by
misfortunes to which destiny reduces me, I go to deplore them. Go, run,
fly, and avenge us!
Scene VII.--DON RODRIGO.
Pierced even to the depth [_or,_ bottom of the heart] by a blow
unexpected as well as deadly, pitiable avenger of a just quarrel and
unfortunate object of an unjust severity, I remain motionless, and my
dejected soul yields to the blow which is slaying me. So near seeing my
love requited! O heaven, the strange pang [_or,_ difficulty]! In this
insult my father is the person aggrieved, and the aggressor is the
father of Chimène!
What fierce conflicts [of feelings] I experience! My love is engaged
[_lit._ interests itself] against my own honor. I must avenge a father
and lose a mistress. The one stimulates my courage, the other restrains
my arm. Reduced to the sad choice of either betraying my love or of
living as a degraded [man], on both sides my situation is wretched
[_lit._ evil is infinite]. O heaven, the strange pang [_or,_
difficulty]! Must I leave an insult unavenged? Must I punish the father
of Chimène?
Father, mistress, honor, love--noble and severe restraint--a bondage
still to be beloved [_lit._ beloved tyranny], all my pleasures are dead,
or my glory is sullied. The one renders me unhappy; the other unworthy
of life. Dear and cruel hope of a soul noble but still enamored, worthy
enemy of my greatest happiness, thou sword which causest my painful
anxiety, hast thou been given to me to avenge my honor? Hast thou been
given to me to lose Chimène?
It is better to rush [_lit._ run] to death. I owe [a duty] to my
mistress as well as to my father. I draw, in avenging myself, her hatred
and her rage; I draw upon myself his [i.e. my father's] contempt by
not avenging myself. To my sweetest hope the one [alternative] renders
me unfaithful, and the other [alternative] renders me unworthy of her.
My misfortune increases by seeking a remedy [_lit._ by wishing to cure
it]. All [supposed reliefs] redoubles my woes. Come then, my soul [or,
beloved sword], and, since I must die, let us die, at least, without
offending Chimène!
To die without obtaining satisfaction! To seek a death so fatal to my
fame! To endure that Spain should impute to my memory [the fact] of
having badly maintained the honor of my house! To respect a love of
which my distracted soul already sees the certain loss. Let us no more
listen to this insidious thought, which serves only to pain me [_or,_
contributes only to my painful position]. Come, mine arm [_or,_ sword],
let us save honor, at least, since, after all, we must lose Chimène.
Yes, my spirit was deceived. I owe all to my father before my mistress.
Whether I die in the combat or die of sadness, I shall yield up my blood
pure as I have received it. I already accuse myself of too much
negligence; let us haste to vengeance; and quite ashamed of having
wavered so much, let us no more be in painful suspense, since to-day my
father has been insulted, even though the offender is the father of
Chimène.
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.