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CORNEILLE— THE ClD page

Translated for this edition by Florence Kendrick Cooper . . i

MOLIERE — TARTUFFE

SCENE I Chimene, Elvire

CHIMENE. Tell me, Elvire, is this a true report ? In naught dost thou disguise my father's words? Elvire. My heart thrills with delight when I recall them. Your love for Roderick vies with his esteem ; Unless I read amiss his inmost soul, He will command that you return his love.

Chimene. Repeat, I pray, a second time the cause Why thou dost think that he approves my choice ; What hope he gives me, let me learn anew ; Such welcome news I could forever hear. Thou canst not with too sure a promise pledge The sunlight of his sanction to our love. What utterance gave he on the secret plot That Roderick and Sancho made with thee ? Hast thou not made too clear the differences Which draw me to my chosen Roderick's side ?

Elvire. No, an indifferent heart I pictured yours, That kindles not, nor blights, the hope of either, And, not too stern, nor yet too soft, but waits Your father's wish in choosing you a husband.

1 Copyright, 1901, by D. Appleton and Company. 13

14 CORNEILLE [Act I

This filial spirit charmed him, as his lips And every feature quick assurance gave. And since your heart demands his very words Repeated o'er and o'er — why, here they are :

" Wisely she waits my choice ; they both are worthy, Of noble blood, of faithful, valiant soul. Their youthful faces speak the unbroken line Of shining virtues handed proudly down. In Roderick's glance no slightest trace I see Of aught but courage high and stainless honour. Cradled amid war's trophies was this son, So many warriors has his house produced. A marvellous tale of valour and emprise, His father's glorious acts have long been told ; And the seamed brow that tells the flight of years Speaks clearer still his mighty deeds in arms. The son will prove full worthy of the sire ; 'Twould please me should he win my daughter's love."

Then to the council-chamber did he haste, Whose pressing hour an interruption made ; But from his hurried words I think 'tis clear He leans not strongly to the suit of either. The king must choose a tutor for his son, And this high service to your father gives; The choice is certain, and his valour rare Admits no fear of question or dispute ; His unmatched gifts ne'er meet a rival claim, Whether in royal court or honour's field. And since your Roderick has his father's word To press the marriage, at the council's close, Your heart may well assure you of his plea, And in a tender hope will rest content.

Chimtne. My troubled heart in hope finds little ease, But, burdened with sad doubt, asks certainty : Fate in a moment can reverse her will ; Even this happiness may mean a sorrow.

Elvirc. Nay, happily that fear shall be dispelled.

Chimhu. Away ! — to wait the issue, what it be.

Scene II] THE CID 15

The Infanta, Leonora, Page

Infanta. Page, quickly tell Chimene she stays too long Before her promised coming ; my affection Complains that she neglects the heart that loves her.

[Exit Page.

Leonora. Madam, some longing burns within your soul, For at each meeting anxiously you seek The daily progress of her lover's suit.

Infanta. Have I not reason ? Her young heart is pierced By darts myself did level at her breast. Her lover Roderick was my lover first, And 'tis to me she owes his passion deep ; Thus having forged these lovers' lasting chains, I yearn to see the end of all their pains.

Leonora. Madam, their dear delight in mutual love Finds, as I read your heart, no echo there. But sorrow weighs your spirit at their hopes. Can your great soul feel grief at others' joy ? Why should your love for them react in pain, And cause you suffering in their hour of rapture ? But, pardon, madam, I am over-bold.

Infanta. Concealment deepens sorrow, therefore hear What struggles my too-loving heart has borne ; Listen what fierce assault my courage braves. The tyrant Love spares neither high nor low ; This cavalier whose heart I've given away I love !

Leonora. You love him !

Infanta. Feel my bounding pulse !

Mark what its conqueror's name alone can do ; It knows its master.

Leonora. Madam, pardon me,

I would not fail in gentle courtesy, And rudely censure you for this affection. But for a royal princess so to stoop As to admit a simple cavalier Within her heart — what would your father say ?

16 CORNEILLE [Act I

What all Castile ? Yours is the blood of kings ! Have you remembered that ?

Infanta. So well, alas !

That I would ope these veins ere I would prove False to the sacred trust of rank and name. In noble souls, 'tis true, worth, worth alone Should kindle love's bright fires; and did I choose To justify my passion, many a one As high-born as myself could give me cause. But honour heeds not Love's excuses fond, And sense, surprised, makes not my courage less. The daughter of a king must mate with kings; No other hand than kingly sues for mine. To save my heart from well-nigh fatal stroke, With mine own hand I turned the steel away. I drew the bond that binds him to Chimene, And tuned their notes to love to still my own. No longer wonder that my harassed soul, With restless haste, will urge their nuptials on. Love lives on hope, and dies when hope is dead— A flame that needs perpetual renewal.

My heart has suffered much ; but if this tie Be consummated with no long delay, My hope is dead, my wounded spirit healed. But till that hour I'm rent with varying pangs; I will to lose, yet suffer in my loss ; The love I would resign I still would keep ; And thus the court that to Chimene he pays Excites the secret pain I can not hide. Love moves my sighs for one whose rank I scorn. My mind divided feels a double pang; My will is strong ; my heart is all aflame. I dare not hope from their united lives More than a mingled sense of joy and pain. Honour and Love war on this fatal field; Neither can wholly conquer, neither yield.

Leotwra. Madam, I blame not, but I pity you, And have no word to utter, save that I Sigh with your sighs and suffer in your grief.

Scene IV] THE CID if

But since your royal heart, unstained and strong,

Can front an ill so tempting and so sharp,

And bear it down, your noble spirit soon

Will know again its sweet serenity.

Time is the friend of Virtue ; with its aid

You will forget; and Heaven, whose God is just,

Will not forsake you in this trying hour.

Infanta. My surest hope is hope's own swift defeat.

Enter Page

Page. Chimene awaits your Highness at your wish.

Infanta. [To Leonora.] Go, entertain her in the gallery.

Leonora. Here, brooding o'er your sorrow, will you stay ?

Infanta. No, I but wish to hide my grief from her, And to assume a joy I scarce can feel ; I follow soon.

Infanta. [Alone.'] Just Heaven, whence I must hope alone for aid, Put to this bitter suffering an end ; Grant me repose; in honour's path be guide; In others' bliss my own I fain would seek. Three hearts are waiting for this marriage bond ; Oh, hasten it, or strengthen my weak soul ! The tie that makes these happy lovers one Will break my fetters and my anguish end. But I am lingering; I will seek Chimene ; Her gentle presence will assuage my pain.

SCENE IV The Count, Diegue Count. At last you win the prize ; the royal hand Uplifts you to a place where I should stand. You are to train the young prince of Castile.

Diegue. His justice and his gratitude the king Has blended in this honour to my house.

Count. Kings, howsoever great they be, are men, And, like us all, they ofttimes strangely err;

1 8 CORNEILLE [ACT I

All courtiers may, in this, a warning see That present service meets but poor reward.

Ditgue. No longer let us speak upon a theme So chafing to your spirit ; kindness may Have turned the balance quite as much as merit. But to a king whose power is absolute 'Tis due to take, nor question, what he wills. An added honour I would ask of you — The union of our houses and our names. You have a daughter, I an only son, Their marriage would forever make us one In more than friendship's bonds; this favour grant.

Count. To such alliance does this youth presume ? Will the new splendour of your office serve To puff his mind with swelling vanity ? Use your new dignity, direct the prince, Instruct him how a province should be ruled So all his subjects tremble 'neath his laws, And love and terror make his throne secure; To civic duties add a soldier's life — To laugh at hardship, ply the trade of Mars Undaunted and unequalled; pass long days And nights on horseback ; to sleep fully armed ; To force a stronghold, and, the battle won, To owe the glory to himself alone.

Instruct him by example ; his young eyes Must in yourself his perfect pattern see.

Dttgue. Your envious soul speaks in your sneering words; But, for example, he need only turn The pages of my life; therein he'll read, Through a long story of heroic acts, How to subdue the nations, storm a fort, Command an army, and to make a name Whose wide renown shall rest on mighty deeds.

Count, Living examples are the only guides; Not from a book a prince his lesson learns. Your boasted years a single day of mine Equals not only, but surpasses oft.

Valiant you have been ; I am valiant now !

Scene IV] THE CID 19

On my strong arm this kingdom rests secure ; When my sword flashes, Aragon retreats, Granada trembles ; by my name of might Castile is girdled round as by a wall. Without me you would pass 'neath other laws, And soon you'd have your enemies your kings. Each day, each flying hour, exalts my fame, Adds victory unto victory, praise to praise. Under the guarding shadow of my arm The prince should prove his mettle on the field, Should learn by seeing conquest how to conquer. In his young princehood he should early win The loftiest heights of courage ; he should see

Diegue. I know ! you serve the king, your master, well ; 'Neath my command I've often watched you fight ; And since the stiffening currents of old age Have chilled my powers, your prowess nobly shows — No more ; what I have been, you are to-day. 'Tis true, however, that when choice is due, Our monarch sees a difference 'twixt us still.

Count. Nay ! you have stolen what was mine by right !

Diegue. To win an honour is the proof of merit.

Count. He is most worthy who can use it best.

Diegue. To be refused it is poor proof of worth.

Count. You've used a courtier's wiles, and won by trick !

Diegue. My fame has been my only partisan.

Count. Admit the king but honours your old age.

Diegue. My years the king but measures by my deeds.

Count. If deeds are years, I'm elder far than you!

Diegue. Who not obtained this honour not deserved it.

Count. I not deserved it ? I ?

Diegue. Yes, you !

Count. Old man,

Thine insolence shall have its due reward. [Gives him a blow.

Diegue. [Drawing his sword.] Quick, run me through ! — the first of all my race To wear a flush of shame upon my brow.

Count. What dost thou hope thine impotence can do ?

Diegue. O God ! my worn-out strength at need forsakes me.

20 CORNEILLE [Act I

Count. Thy sword is mine, but thou wouldst be too vain If I should take this trophy of thy fall. Adieu ! Go read the prince, in spite of sneers, For his instruction, thy life's history. This chastisement of insolent discourse Will prove, methinks, no slight embellishment.

Diegue. Rage and despair ! age, my worst enemy ! Must my great life end with a foul disgrace ? Shall laurels gained with slowly whitening locks, In years of warlike toils, fade in a day ? And does the arm all Spain has wondered at, Whose might has often saved the king his throne, And kept the rod of empire in his grasp, Betray me now, and leave me unavenged ? O sad remembrance of my vanished glory ! O years of life undone in one short hour ! This new-won height is fatal to my fortune, A precipice from which my honour falls. Must the count's triumph add the final pang To death dishonourable, to life disgraced ? The office, Count, is thine; thine the high place Of tutor to my prince, for thine own hand, With envious insult, the king's choice reversed, And leaves me here with hope and honour gone. And thou, brave instrument of my exploits, But useless ornament of feeble age, Once terror of my enemies, but now A bauble, not a man's defence at need — My sword! — go, quit thy now dishonoured master; Pass, to avenge me, into worthier hands!

SCENE VI Diegue, Roderick Diegue. Hast thou a brave heart, Roderick ? Roderick. Any man

Except my father soon would prove it so.

Scene VII] THE CID 21

Diegue. O pleasing choler ! wrath that soothes my hurt ! My own blood speaks in this resentment swift, And in thy heat my youth comes back to me. My son, my scion, come, repair my wrong ; Avenge me instantly !

Roderick. For what ? for what ?

Diegue. For an affront so cruel, so unjust, 'Tis fatal to the honour of our house. A blow ! across my cheek ! his life had paid, Save that my nerveless arm betrayed my will. This sword, which I again can never wield, I pass to thee for vengeance to the death. Against this arrogance thy courage set ; Only in blood such stains are cleansed, and thou Must kill or die. This man, mine enemy, Whom thou must meet, is worthy of thy steel ; Begrimed with blood and dust, I've seen him hold An army terror-stricken at his will, And break a hundred squadrons by his charge ; And, to say all, more than a leader brave, More than a warrior great, he is — he is —

Roderick. In mercy speak !

Diegue. The father of Chimene !

Roderick. Chimene !

Diegue. Nay, answer not ; I know thy love ;

But who can live disgraced deserves not life. Is the offender dear, worse the offence. Thou know'st my wrong; its quittance lies with thee; I say no more ; avenge thyself and me ! Remember who thy father is — and was ! Weighed down with Fate's misfortunes heaped on me, I go to mourn them. Do thou fly to vengeance !

Roderick. My heart's o'erwhelmed with woe. A mortal stroke that mocks my tender trust Makes me avenger of a quarrel just,

And wretched victim of an unjust blow.

22 CORNEILLE [ACT I— SCENE VII

Though crushed in spirit, still my pride must cope

With that which slays my hope.

So near to love's fruition to be told —

O God, the strange, strange pain ! — My father has received an insult bold,

The offender is the father of Chimene.

'Mid conflicts wild I stand.

I lift my arm to strike my father's foe, But Love with mighty impulse urges " No ! "

Pride fires my heart, affection stays my hand ; I must be deaf to Passion's calls, or face A life of deep disgrace.

Whate'er I do, fierce anguish follows me —

God, the strange, strange pain !

Can an affront so base unpunished be ?

But can I fight the father of Chimene ?

To which allegiance give ? — To tender tyranny or noble bond ? — A tarnished name or loss of pleasures fond ?

Unworthy or unhappy must I live. [To his sword.] Thou dear, stern hope of souls high-born

and bold And fired with love untold, But enemy of my new dreams of bliss,

Sword, cause of all my pain, Was't given me to use for this, for this? —

To save my honour, but to lose Chimene ?

1 must seek death's dread bourne.

To weigh my duty and my love is vain.

If I avenge his death, her hate I gain,

If I no vengeance take, I win her scorn ; Unfaithful must I prove to hope most sweet, Or for that hope unmeet.

What heals my honour's wounds augments my grief,

And causes keener pain; Be strong, my soul ! Since death's my sole relief,

I'll die, nor lose the love of my Chimene.

Act II— Scene I] THE CID 23 What, die without redress ?

Seek death — so fatal to my future fame ? Endure that Spain shall heap on me the shame

Of one who failed in honour's sorest stress ? All for a love whose hope my frenzied heart Already sees depart ?

I'll list no longer to the subtle plea

Which but renews my pain ; Come, arm of mine, my choice turns now to thee,

Since naught, alas ! can give me back Chimene.

Yes, love my will misled.

My father — life and name to him I owe — Whether of grief or from a mortal blow

I die, my blood all pure and true I'll shed. Too long I've dallied with a purpose weak ; Now vengeance swift I seek.

The flush of shame mounts hotly to my brow,

That I can deem it pain To save my father's house. I haste e'en now

To seek — woe's me ! — the father of Chimene.

SCENE I Arias, The Count

COUNT. I grant you that my somewhat hasty blood Took fire too soon, and carried me too far ; But — what is done, is done : the blow was struck. Arias. To the king's will let your proud spirit yield. This moves him deeply, and his anger roused Will make you suffer penalty extreme.

No just defence can you before him plead ; The deed was gross, the aged victim great ; No common rule that serves 'twixt man and man Will meet the high demand exacted here.

Count. The king can use my life to suit his will.

Arias. You add the fault of anger to your deed. The king still loves you well ; appease his wrath ; You know his wish ; you will not disobey ?

Count. To disobey — a little — were no crime, Should it preserve the fame I most do prize. But were it such, forsooth, my valiant service More than suffices for o'erlooking it.

Alias. For deeds howe'er illustrious and high, A king can ne'er become a subject's debtor. Better than any other you should know Who serves his king well does his simple duty ; This haughty confidence will cost you dear.

Count, I will believe you when I pay the price.

Arias. You should respect your monarch's sovereign will.

Count. I can outlive a single day's displeasure. Let the whole state be armed to hurl me down — If I be made to suffer, Spain will fall !

Arias. What ! you, forsooth, defy the power supreme !

Count. Why should I fear a sceptred hand whose grasp Is weaker than my own ? He knows my use ; My head, in falling, will shake off his crown.

Arias. Let reason rule your action ; be advised.

Count. I wish no further counsel : all is said.

Arias. What message to your king shall I report ?

Count. That I shall ne'er consent to my disgrace.

Arias. Remember that you brave a tyrant's power.

Count. The die is cast and longer speech is vain.

Arias. Adieu, then, since I can not change your will. E'en on your laurelled head the bolt may strike!

Count. I wait it without fear.

Arias. 'Twill cast you down.

Count. Then old Diegue will be well satisfied. [Exit Arias. Who fears not death need surely not fear threats. My proud resolve yields not to weak disgrace; Though I be stripped of fortune, rank, and name, Myself alone can rob me of my honour.

Scene II] THE CID 25

SCENE II The Count, Roderick

Roderick. Grant me a word, Count.

Count. Speak.

Roderick. Dost know Diegue ?

Count. Yes.

Roderick. Listen, then, and let us softly speak. Dost also know that his now feeble arm Was once Spain's chiefest honour, valour, glory ?

Count. Perhaps !

Roderick. This fire enkindled in my eyes

Marks the same blood as his ; dost thou know that ?

Count. What matters that to me ?

Roderick. I'll teach you, Count,

At some four paces hence, what matters it.

Count. Presumptuous youth !

Roderick. Speak quietly, I pray.

My years are few, but, Count, in high-born souls, Valour and youth full oft united are.

Count. And thou wouldst stand 'gainst me ! thou vain, untried, Impudent upstart ? Cease thy boyish brag !

Roderick. The temper of my steel will not demand A second proof ; the first will be enough.

Count. Know'st thou to whom thou speakest ?

Roderick. I know well !

Another than I am would hear with dread The mention of thy name : thy crowns of palm Must mean to me, 'twould seem, the stroke of doom. |

But bold I meet thine all-victorious arm ; Where courage leads, there force will aye be found. A father's honour is a triple shield ; Invincible thou art not, though unconquered.

Count. Thy fearless words a fearless heart reveal. I've watched thy growing powers from day to day ; In thee the future glory of Castile I have believed to see, and proud of heart, Was laying in thine own my daughter's hand.

I know thy love, and charmed am I to learn

That duty is a dearer mistress still,

Nor soft emotions weaken warlike zeal.

Thy manly worth responds to my esteem ;

And wishing for my son a noble knight,

I did not err when I made choice of thee.

But pity stirs within me at thy words;

Such boldness ill befits thy youthful form;

Let not thy maiden effort be thy last ;

I can not fight a combat so unequal ;

A victory won without a peril braved

Is but inglorious triumph, and for me

Such contest is not fitting. None would dream

Thou couldst withstand an instant, and regret

At thy young, foolish death would e'er be mine.

Roderick. Thy pity more insults me than thy scorn ; Thou fear'st my arm, but dar'st attack my honour.

Count. Withdraw from here !

Roderick. Let us to deeds, not words !

Count. Art tired of life ?

Roderick. Dost thou, then, fear to die ?

Count. Come on ! Thou'rt right. I'll help thee do thy duty! 'Tis a base son survives a father's fame !

SCENE III The Infanta, Chimene, Leonora

Itifanta. Nay, do not weep ! allay thy grief, Chimene ! This sorrow should disclose thy spirit's strength. After this transient storm a calm will fall, And happiness, deferred and clouded now, Will brighter seem in contrast. Do not weep !

Chimene. My heart, worn out with trouble, has no hope. A storm so sudden and so terrible, To my poor bark brings direful threat of wreck. Ere I set sail upon my smiling sea, I perish in the harbour. I was loved By him I fondly loved; our sires approved;

Scene III] THE CID 27

But even while I told my charming story At that same moment was the quarrel on, Whose sad recital changed my tale to woe.

cursed ambition ! wrath's insanity !

Pride, to my dearest wishes pitiless, Whose tyranny the noblest nature rules ! In sighs and tears a heavy price I pay.

Infanta. Thy fears o'ercome thee; 'tis a hasty word; The quarrel of a moment dies as soon.

The king already seeks to make a peace ; And I, as well thou knowest, to dry thy tears And heal thy grief would try the impossible.

Chimene. No reconciliation can avail.

Such wounds are mortal and defy all art Of king or princess, of command or pleading. And though an outward show of peace be gained, The fires of hate, compressed within the heart, Burn fiercer, and will break at last in flame.

Infanta. When Love has bound Chimene and Roderick In sacred marriage, hatred will depart ; Their fathers will forget, and happiness Will silence discord in sweet harmony.

Chimene. I wish for such an end, but dare not hope. 'Tis a matched combat between two proud souls ; Neither will yield ; I know them ; I must weep ! The past I mourn, the future frightens me.

Infanta. What fearest thou ? an old man's feebleness ?

Chimene. Brave sires make braver sons ; Roderick is bold.

Infanta. He is too young.

Chimene. Such men are born high-hearted !

Infanta. Thou shouldst not fear his boldness overmuch ; He can not wound thee, whom he loves so well ; A word from thy sweet lips will check his wrath.

Chimene. How shall I speak it ? If he do not yield, 'Tis but an added burden to my heart ; And if he do, what will men say of him — His father's son, to see his father's fall, Nor lift an arm of vengeance ? In this strait

1 stand confused, nor know what I would choose —

His too weak love, or his too stern refusal.

Infanta. In thy high soul, Chimene, no thought can live Unworthy of thee; love but more exalts. But if, until this trouble be o'erpast, I make a prisoner of this gallant youth, Preventing thus the dread results you fear, Would it offend thy proud and loving heart ?

Chimene. Ah ! madam, then my cares are quieted.

The Infanta, Chimene, Leonora, the Page

Infanta. Page, summon Roderick hither; I would see him.

Page. He and the Count de Gormaz

Chimene. Heaven, oh, help me !

Infanta. What? Speak!

Page. Together they have left the palace. Chimene. Alone ?

Page. Yes, and they muttered angrily.

Chi?nene. They've come to blows ! all words are useless now ; Madam, forgive this haste — my heart will break !

SCENE V The Infanta, Leonora

Iiifanta. Alas ! that such inquietude is mine ; I weep her griefs, but Roderick still enthrals; My peace is gone ; my dying flame revives. The fate that parts Chimene from him she loves Renews alike my sorrow and my hope.

Their separation, cruel though it be, Excites a secret ecstasy in me.

Leonora. Surely, the noble virtue of your soul Yields not so soon to passion's baser thrall.

Infanta. Nay, do not name it thus, since in my heart, Strong and triumphant, it controls my will; Respect my love, for it is dear to me; My nobler pride forbids it — yet I hope. Ill-guarded 'gainst a madness so bewild'ring,

Scene V] THE CID

My heart flies to a love Chimene has lost.

Leonora. And thus your high resolve all-powerless fails ? And Reason lays her wonted sceptre down ?

Infanta. Ah ! Reason has a harsh and rude effect, When such sweet poison has inflamed the heart ; The patient loves his painful malady, Nor willingly accepts a healing draught.

Leonora. Be not beguiled by Love's seductions soft ; That Roderick is beneath you, all well know.

Infanta. Too well myself must know it, but my heart Hears subtle words which Love, the flatterer, speaks. If from this combat Roderick victor comes, And this great warrior falls beneath his blow, What other plea need Love, the pleader, use ? Who could withstand that conqueror's conqueror ! My fancy sets no bounds to his exploits ; Whole kingdoms soon would fall beneath his laws ; I see him on Granada's ancient throne ; The subject Moors with trembling do his will ; Proud Aragon acknowledges him king, And Portugal receives him, while the seas Bear his high destiny to other lands.

In Afric's blood his laurels shall be dyed, And all that e'er was said of greatest chief, I hear of Roderick, this victory won ; Then in his love my highest glory lies.

Leonora. Nay, madam, 'tis your fancy makes you dream Of conquests whose beginning may not chance.

Infanta. The count has done the deed — Roderick enraged — They have gone forth to combat — needs there more ?

Leonora. E'en should they fight — since you will have it so — Will Roderick prove the knight you picture him ?

Infanta. Nay, I am weak; my foolish mind runs wild ; Love spreads its snares for victims such as I. Come to my chamber ; there console my grief, Nor leave me till this troubled hour is o'er.

SCENE VI The King, Arias, Sancho

King. Pray, is this haughty count bereft of sense ? Dares he believe his crime can be o'erlooked ?

Arias. To him I have conveyed your strong desire ; Nothing I gained from long and earnest pleas.

King, Just Heaven ! a subject have I in my realm So rash that he will disregard my wish ? My oldest, foremost courtier he affronts, Then aims his boundless insolence at me! The law, in my own court, he would decree : Leader and warrior, great howe'er he be, I'll school his haughty soul with lesson hard. Were he the god of battles, valour's self, Obedience to his sovereign he shall pay. Although his act like chastisement deserved, It was my will to show him leniency.