Scene III.—­CHIMENE and ELVIRA.

Chimene. At last I see myself free, and I can, without constraint, show thee the extent of my keen sorrows; I can give vent to my sad sighs; I can unbosom to thee my soul and all my griefs.  My father is dead, Elvira; and the first sword with which Rodrigo armed himself has cut his thread of life.  Weep, weep, mine eyes, and dissolve yourselves into tears!  The one half of my life [i.e.  Rodrigo] has laid the other [half, i.e. my father] in the grave, and compels me to revenge, after this fatal blow, that which I have no more [i.e. my father] on that which still remains to me [i.e.  Rodrigo].

Elvira. Calm yourself, dear lady.

Chimene. Ah! how unsuitably, in a misfortune so great, thou speakest of calmness.  By what means can my sorrow ever be appeased, if I cannot hate the hand which has caused it?  And what ought I to hope for but a never-ending anguish if I follow up a crime, still loving the criminal.

Elvira. He deprives you of a father, and you still love him?

Chimene. It is too little to say love, Elvira; I adore him!  My passion opposes itself to my resentment; in mine enemy I find my lover, and I feel that in spite of all my rage Rodrigo is still contending against my sire in my heart.  He attacks it, he besieges it; it yields, it defends itself; at one time strong, at one time weak, at another triumphant.  But in this severe struggle between wrath and love, he rends my heart without shaking my resolution, and although my love may have power over me, I do not consult it [or, hesitate] to follow my duty.  I speed on [lit. run] without halting [or, weighing the consequences] where my honor compels me.  Rodrigo is very dear to me; the interest I feel in him grieves me; my heart takes his part, but, in spite of its struggles, I know what I am [i.e. a daughter], and that my father is dead.

Elvira. Do you think of pursuing [or, persecuting] him?

Chimene. Ah! cruel thought! and cruel pursuit to which I see myself compelled.  I demand his head [or, life] and I dread to obtain it; my death will follow his, and [yet] I wish to punish him!

Elvira. Abandon, abandon, dear lady, a design so tragic, and do not impose on yourself such a tyrannical law.

Chimene. What! my father being dead and almost in my arms—­shall his blood cry for revenge and I not obtain it?  My heart, shamefully led away by other spells, would believe that it owed him only ineffectual tears.  And can I endure that an insidious love, beneath a dastardly apathy, should extinguish my resolution [lit. beneath a cowardly silence extinguish my honor]?

Elvira. Dear lady, believe me, you would be excusable in having less wrath against an object so beloved, against a lover so dear; you have done enough, you have seen the King; do not urge on the result [of that interview].  Do not persist in this morbid [lit. strange] humor.