What fierce conflicts [of feelings] I experience!  My love is engaged [lit. interests itself] against my own honor.  I must avenge a father and lose a mistress.  The one stimulates my courage, the other restrains my arm.  Reduced to the sad choice of either betraying my love or of living as a degraded [man], on both sides my situation is wretched [lit. evil is infinite].  O heaven, the strange pang [or, difficulty]!  Must I leave an insult unavenged?  Must I punish the father of Chimene?

Father, mistress, honor, love—­noble and severe restraint—­a bondage still to be beloved [lit. beloved tyranny], all my pleasures are dead, or my glory is sullied.  The one renders me unhappy; the other unworthy of life.  Dear and cruel hope of a soul noble but still enamored, worthy enemy of my greatest happiness, thou sword which causest my painful anxiety, hast thou been given to me to avenge my honor?  Hast thou been given to me to lose Chimene?

It is better to rush [lit. run] to death.  I owe [a duty] to my mistress as well as to my father.  I draw, in avenging myself, her hatred and her rage; I draw upon myself his [i.e. my father’s] contempt by not avenging myself.  To my sweetest hope the one [alternative] renders me unfaithful, and the other [alternative] renders me unworthy of her.  My misfortune increases by seeking a remedy [lit. by wishing to cure it].  All [supposed reliefs] redoubles my woes.  Come then, my soul [or, beloved sword], and, since I must die, let us die, at least, without offending Chimene!

To die without obtaining satisfaction!  To seek a death so fatal to my fame!  To endure that Spain should impute to my memory [the fact] of having badly maintained the honor of my house!  To respect a love of which my distracted soul already sees the certain loss.  Let us no more listen to this insidious thought, which serves only to pain me [or, contributes only to my painful position].  Come, mine arm [or, sword], let us save honor, at least, since, after all, we must lose Chimene.

Yes, my spirit was deceived.  I owe all to my father before my mistress.

Whether I die in the combat or die of sadness, I shall yield up my blood pure as I have received it.  I already accuse myself of too much negligence; let us haste to vengeance; and quite ashamed of having wavered so much, let us no more be in painful suspense, since to-day my father has been insulted, even though the offender is the father of Chimene.

ACT THE SECOND.

Scene I.—­COUNT DE GORMAS and DON ARIAS.

Count. I acknowledge, between ourselves, [that] my blood, a little too warm, became too excited at an expression, and has carried the matter too far [lit. too high], but, since it is done, the deed is without remedy.

Don Arias. To the wishes of the King let this proud spirit yield; he takes this much to heart, and his exasperated feelings [lit. heart] will act against you with full authority.  And, indeed, you have no available defence.  The [high] rank of the person offended, the greatness of the offence, demand duties and submissions which require more than ordinary reparation.