Scene VIII.—­DON FERNANDO, DON DIEGO, CHIMENE, DON SANCHO, DON ARIAS, and DON ALONZO.

Chimene. Sire, sire, justice!

Don Diego. Ah, sire, hear us!

Chimene. I cast myself at your feet!

Don Diego. I embrace your knees!

Chimene. I demand justice.

Don Diego. Hear my defence.

Chimene. Punish the presumption of an audacious youth:  he has struck down the support of your sceptre—­he has slain my father!

Don Diego. He has avenged his own.

Chimene. To the blood of his subjects a king owes justice.

Don Diego. For just vengeance there is no punishment.

Don Fernando. Rise, both of you, and speak at leisure.  Chimene, I sympathize with your sorrow; with an equal grief I feel my own soul afflicted. (To Don Diego.) You shall speak afterwards; do not interrupt her complaint.

Chimene. Sire, my father is dead!  My eyes have seen his blood gush forth from his noble breast—­that blood which has so often secured your walls—­that blood which has so often won your battles—­that blood which, though all outpoured, still fumes with rage at seeing itself shed for any other than for you!  Rodrigo, before your very palace, has just dyed [lit. covered] the earth with that [blood] which in the midst of dangers war did not dare to shed!  Faint and pallid, I ran to the spot, and I found him bereft of life.  Pardon my grief, sire, but my voice fails me at this terrible recital; my tears and my sighs will better tell you the rest!

Don Fernando. Take courage, my daughter, and know that from to-day thy king will serve thee as a father instead of him.

Chimene. Sire, my anguish is attended with too much [unavailing] horror!  I found him, I have already said, bereft of life; his breast was pierced [lit. open], and his blood upon the [surrounding] dust dictated [lit. wrote] my duty; or rather his valor, reduced to this condition, spoke to me through his wound, and urged me to claim redress; and to make itself heard by the most just of kings, by these sad lips, it borrowed my voice.  Sire, do not permit that, under your sway, such license should reign before your [very] eyes; that the most valiant with impunity should be exposed to the thrusts of rashness; that a presumptuous youth should triumph over their glory, should imbrue himself with their blood, and scoff at their memory!  If the valiant warrior who has just been torn from you be not avenged, the ardor for serving you becomes extinguished.  In fine, my father is dead, and I demand vengeance more for your interest than for my consolation.  You are a loser in the death of a man of his position.  Avenge it by another’s, and [have] blood for blood!  Sacrifice [the victim] not to me, but to your crown, to your greatness, to yourself!  Sacrifice, I say, sire, to the good of the state, all those whom such a daring deed would inflate with pride.