Poets Translate Poets: A Hudson Review Anthology (11 page)

My life approves my sword’s initial blow.

But kindly don’t object if I reveal,

Despite your pleasure, what in turn I feel.

Let my despair speak out, which until now

Your joy did not permit me to avow.

I’m happy to have served you, Sir, but I

Am desolate at what I’ve lost thereby;

Avenging you, this arm deprived me of

My heart’s desire, and robbed me of her love.

Pray say no more; my happiness is lost.

I’ve paid my debt to you at cruel cost.

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d on di è gu e

Come, be exultant in your victory.

I gave you life; you saved my name for me.

I value honor more than the light of day,

And owe you, therefore, more than I could pay.

For brave hearts, though, amours aren’t worth a penny.

We’ve but one honor; mistresses are many.

Love’s a diversion; honor is our career.

d on rodr igu e

What are you saying?

d on di è gu e

What you need to hear.

d on rodr igu e

I’m the chief victim of my vengeance, Sir,

And now you’d have me break my faith to her!

Th

e craven warrior and the perjured swain

Are equally disgraceful, I maintain.

Don’t chide my faithfulness, but let me be

A knight who’s guiltless of inconstancy.

My bonds to her are far too strong to sever;

Th

ough I’ve no hope, I shall be hers forever,

And since I cannot leave nor win Chimène,

I seek my death, and shall be peaceful then.

d on di è gu e

It’s not yet time to seek your death. Tonight

Your King and country call on you to fi ght.

Th

e ships we feared have come upriver, and

Intend to sack the town and waste the land.

Floodtide and night will bring the Moorish power

Pi e r r e C or n e i l l e
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Soundlessly to our shore within an hour.

Th

e court’s in disarray; the people’s fears

Fill all the town with cries and wailing tears.

Amid that panic, there’s one cheerful sign;

I found at home fi ve hundred friends of mine

Who, hearing of the insult done me, came

With one accord to vindicate my name.

You have forestalled them, but their valor would

Be better used in spilling Moorish blood.

Go lead them now, as honor bids you do:

Th

ose noble warriors want no chief but you.

Go meet the ancient foe who’s drawing nigh,

And die then nobly, if you want to die.

Yes, seize some glorious moment, pay the price,

And win the King’s thanks for your sacrifi ce.

Or better still, return with laurelled brow,

Not just as the avenger you are now,

But with achievements so superlative

Th

at the King will pardon, and Chimène forgive.

If you love her still, the one way you can earn

Her heart’s by a victorious return.

But I waste time in telling you these things:

I hold you here, when I would give you wings.

Come, follow me, and show the King that you

Can serve him as the late Count used to do.

Act IV, Scene 1

c h i m è n e

It’s not a false report? You’re sure, Elvire?

e lv i r e

You’d not believe how all the people cheer

Th

e brave young hero whom they idolize,

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Praising his wondrous exploits to the skies.

He put the Moors to rout; if their attack

Was sudden, he more swift ly drove them back.

Th

ree hours of battle saw our men repel

Th

e foe, and seize two kings of theirs as well.

Our leader’s valor could not be withstood.

c h i m è n e

And ’twas Rodrigue who showed such hardihood?

e lv i r e

Both of those kings were captured through his pains;

He bested them, and put them both in chains.

c h i m è n e

Who gave you this extraordinary news?

e lv i r e

Th

e populace, which shouts his name, and views

Him as its cause and object of delight,

Its guardian angel and its perfect knight.

c h i m è n e

What does the King say of this brave report?

e lv i r e

Rodrigue does not yet dare appear at court;

Don Diègue, however, has rejoiced to bring

His son’s two royal captives to the King,

Entreating him to give, with gracious hand,

An audience to the savior of his land.

c h i m è n e

Rodrigue’s not wounded?

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e lv i r e

Not to my knowledge, no.

How pale you are! You mustn’t worry so.

c h i m è n e

What I must do is keep my rage awake.

Shall I slight my duty, fretting for his sake?

He’s praised, he’s lauded, and my heart assents!

My honor falters, and my wrath relents!

Be still, my heart, and don’t impede my ire:

Two kings he’s captured, but he killed my sire.

Th

ese mournful garments, which express my woe,

Are the fi rst results his bravery could show,

And though the world may laud his gallantry,

Here everything bespeaks his crime to me.

You gloomy things which fuel my laments,

Dark veils, dark dress, lugubrious ornaments,

Sad pomp which his fi rst victory requires,

Protect my just resolve from passion’s fi res;

And, lest my love should gain the upper hand,

Speak to my soul of duty’s grave command.

Arm me to face this hero without fear.

e lv i r e

Compose yourself. Th

e Princess, Madam, is here.

Act IV, Scene 2

i n fa n ta

I have not come to bring your woes relief;

My sighs shall mingle with your tears of grief.

c h i m è n e

My Lady: none but I should grieve today.

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Th

e danger that Rodrigue has driven away,

Th

e public weal which through his sword we keep,

Mean that I only have a right to weep.

He’s saved the city; he has served his King,

And I alone have grounds for sorrowing.

i n fa n ta

He has indeed done wondrous things, my dear.

c h i m è n e

Th

at vexing news has long since reached my ear,

And I am told that he’s as famous for

Bad luck in love as for success in war.

i n fa n ta

Why does it vex you, what the people say?

Th

is young Mars whom they praise was yesterday

Your all in all, your love, and when their voice

Acclaims his valor, they approve your choice.

c h i m è n e

Th

e people justly praise him, but for me

To hear their praises is an agony.

Th

ose high opinions are for me a cross.

Th

e more his fame, the bitterer my loss.

What pain it is to be enamored of him!

Th

e more I learn his worth, the more I love him:

My duty, nonetheless, is stronger still;

I seek his death with an unshaken will.

i n fa n ta

Your sense of duty, yesterday, was deemed

Heroic, dear, and all at court esteemed

Th

e self-control with which you rose above

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All other claims, and sacrifi ced your love.

But will you hear a faithful friend’s advice?

c h i m è n e

Th

at gracious gift you need not off er twice.

i n fa n ta

What made sense then does not make sense today.

Rodrigue is now our one support and stay,

Th

e people’s hope and pride and cynosure,

Castile’s great prop, the terror of the Moor.

Th

e King himself supports the public view

Th

at in Rodrigue your father lives anew.

What my opinion is, I’ll tell you straight:

Seeking his death, you seek to wreck the State.

Come! To avenge a father, is one free

To yield one’s homeland to the enemy?

Have you good reason to affl

ict us thus?

What have we done that you should punish us?

It’s not as if you were obliged to wed

Th

e man whose sword-thrust left your father dead.

Th

at’s understood. For our sake, dear, deprive

Him of your love, but leave the man alive.

c h i m è n e

Alas, I cannot do as you advise;

My furious duty will not compromise.

Th

ough I admire this hero, though I love him,

Th

ough King and people are adoring of him,

Th

ough valiant warriors guard him round about,

My cypresses will shade his laurels out.

i n fa n ta

It’s noble if, to avenge a father, we’re

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Compelled to seek the head of one so dear;

But it is nobler still if we forsake

Our private quarrels for the nation’s sake.

Take back your heart from him. If you can snuff

Th

at fl ame of love, ’twill punish him enough.

For your country’s good, then, do that noble thing.

Besides, what can you hope for from the King?

c h i m è n e

He may refuse me, but my pleas won’t cease.

i n fa n ta

My dear Chimène, I leave you now in peace;

Th

ink deeply, and consult your inmost voice.

c h i m è n e

Aft er my father’s death, I have no choice.

Act IV, Scene 3

d on f e r na n d

Brave scion of a family renowned

As bold protectors of their native ground,

A house whose gallant story is well known,

Whose gallantry is matched now by your own:

Your worth is greater than I can repay;

What thanks I’d off er you, your deeds outweigh.

Castile delivered from the savage Moors,

Th

e scepter steadied in my hand by yours,

Th

e enemy defeated long before

I could have roused our citizens for war—

Such exploits leave your King unable to

Imagine any way of thanking you.

But your two captive kings can fi ll that need.

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I heard them both describe you as their
Cid
:

Since, in their language,
Cid
’s the word for “lord,”

I give you that great title as reward.

Henceforward be the
Cid
; may that name make

Granada and Toledo cringe and shake,

And may it show to all my subjects here

Th

at I’m your debtor, and that I hold you dear.

d on rodr igu e

Your Majesty, don’t make too much, I pray,

Of the small service I performed today.

It makes me blush, Sire, that so great a King

Should do me honor for so slight a thing,

I owe to such a monarch, while he reigns,

Th

e air I breathe, the blood that’s in my veins,

And if it were my fate to lose them for

His sake, ’twould be my duty and no more.

d on f e r na n d

Not all of these who out of duty serve

My throne have shown such valor and such verve;

When courage isn’t wed to recklessness,

It can’t produce so splendid a success.

Th

en let yourself be praised; and furnish me

A full account, now, of your victory.

d on rodr igu e

Sire, when the rumored threat was drawing near

Th

e town, and all the streets were full of fear,

A band of friends at Father’s house appealed

To me to lead them, though my head still reeled . . .

Oh, Sire, forgive my rashness if I then,

Without your sanction, chose to lead those men.

Danger approached; resistance must be led;

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If I went near the court, I’d risk my head;

If I had to die, ’twas better in my view

To perish fi ghting for Seville and you.

d on f e r na n d

Your rash revenge I pardon and dispense;

Th

e State, defended, speaks in your defense.

Chimène, hereaft er, will accuse in vain;

I’ll hear her only to console her pain.

Speak on.

d on rodr igu e

Sire, under me those warriors now

Moved forward, stern resolve on every brow.

We were at fi rst fi ve hundred, but before

We reached the port we’d gained three thousand more,