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.

_Chimène._ 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?

_Chimène._ 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?

_Chimène._ Ah! cruel thought! and cruel pursuit to which I see myself