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.
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