Delphi Complete Works of George Eliot (Illustrated) (648 page)

Or let it lie upon thee as a weight

To check light thinking of Fedalma.

LOPEZ.

I?

I think no harm of her ; I thank the saints

I wear a sword and peddle not in thinking.

‘T is Father Marcos says she’ll not confess

And loves not holy water ; says her blood

Is infidel ; says the Duke’s wedding her

Is union of light with darkness.

JUAN.

Tush !

[Now Juan — who by snatches touched his lute

With soft arpeggio, like a whispered dream

Of sleeping music, while he spoke of love, —

In jesting anger at the soldier’s talk

Thrummed loud and fast, then faster and more loud,

Till, as he answered, “Tush !” he struck a chord

Sudden as whip-crack close by Lopez’ ear.

Mine host and Blasco smiled, the mastiff barked,

Roldan looked up and Annibal looked down,

Cautiously neutral in so new a case ;

The boy raised longing, listening eyes that seemed

An exiled spirit’s waiting in strained hope

Of voices coming from the distant land.

But Lopez bore the assault like any rock :

That was not what he drew his sword at — he !

He spoke with neck erect.]

LOPEZ.

If that’s a hint

The company should ask thee for a song,

Sing, then !

HOST.

Ay, Juan, sing, and jar no more.

Something brand new. Thou’rt wont to make my ear

A test of novelties. Hast thou aught fresh ?

JUAN.

As fresh as rain-drops. Here’s a Cancion

Springs like a tiny mushroom delicate

Out of the priest’s foul scandal of Fedalma.

[He preluded with, questioning intervals,

Rising, then falling just a semitone,

In minor cadence, — sound with poised, wing

Hovering and quivering towards the needs fall.

Then in a voice that shook the willing air

With masculine vibration, sang this song.

Should I long that dark were fair ?

Say, O song!

Lacks my love aught, that I should long ?

Dark the night, with breath allflow’rs,

And tender broken voice that fills

With ravishment the listening hours :

Whisperings, wooings,

Liquid ripples and soft ring-dove cooings

In low-toned rhythm that love’s aching stills

Dark the night,

Yet is she bright,

For in her dark she brings the mystic star,

Trembling yet strong, as is the voice of love,

From some unknown afar.

O radiant Dark ! O darkly-fostered ray !

Thou hast a joy too deep for shallow Day.

While Juan sang, all round the tavern court

Gathered a constellation of black eyes.

Fat Lola leaned upon the balcony

With arms that might have pillowed Hercules

(Who built, ‘t is known, the mightiest Spanish towns) ;

Thin Alda’s face, sad as a wasted passion,

Leaned o’er the coral-biting baby’s ; ‘twixt the rails

The little Pepe showed his two black beads,

His flat-ringed hair and small Semitic nose

Complete and tiny as a new-born minnow ;

Patting his head and holding in her arms

The baby senior, stood Lorenzo’s wife

All negligent, her kerchief discomposed

By little clutches, woman’s coquetry

Quite turned to mother’s cards and sweet content.

These on the balcony, while at the door

Gazed the lank boys and lazy-shouldered men.

‘T is likely too the rats and insects peeped,

Being southern Spanish ready for a lounge.

The singer smiled, as doubtless Orpheus Smiled,

To see the animals, both great and small,

The mountainous elephant and scampering mouse,

Held by the ears in decent audience ;

Then, when mine host desired the strain once more

He fell to preluding with rhythmic change

Of notes recurrent, soft as pattering drops

That fall from, off the eaves in faery dance

When clouds are breaking ; till at measured pause

He struck, in rare responsive chords, a refrain.]

HOST.

Come, then, a gayer romaunt, if thou wilt :

I quarrel not with change. What say you, Captain?

LOPEZ.

All’s one to me. I note no change of tune,

Not I, save in the ring of horses’ hoofs,

Or in the drums and trumpets when they call

To action or retreat. I ne’er could see

The good of singing.

BLASCO.

Why it passes timer, —

Saves you from getting over-wise : that’s good.

For, look you, fools are merry here below,

Yet they will go to heaven all the same,

Having the sacraments ; and, look you, heaven

Is a long holiday, and solid men,

Used to much business, might be ill at ease

Not liking play. And so, in travelling,

I shape myself betimes to idleness

And take fools’ pleasures ...

HOST.

Hark, the song begins !

JUAN (sings).

Maiden, crowned with glossy blackness,

Lithe as panther forest-roaming,

Long-armed naiad, when she dances,

On a stream of ether floating, —

Bright, bright Fedalma !

Form all curves like softness drifted,

Wave-kissed marble roundly dimpling,

Far-off music slowly winged,

Gently rising, gently sinking, —

Bright, O bright Fedalma !

Pure as rain-tear on a rose-leaf,

Cloud high-born in noonday spotless,

Sudden perfect as the dew-bead,

Gem of earth and sky begotten, —

Bright, O bright Fedalma !

Beauty has no mortal father,

Holy light her form engendered

Out of tremor, yearning, gladness,

Presage sweet and joy remembered, —

Child of Light, Fedalma !

BLASCO.

Faith, a good song, sung to a stirring tune,

I like the words returning in a round ;

It gives a sort of sense. Another such !

ROLDAN (rising).

Sirs, you will hear my boy. ‘T is very hard

When gentles, sing for naught to all the town.

How can a poor man live ? And now ‘t is time

I go to the Pla9a — who will give me pence

When he can hear hidalgos and give naught ?

JUAN.

True, friend. Be pacified. I’ll sing no more.

Go thou, and we will follow. Never fear.

My voice is common as the ivy leaves,

Plucked in all seasons, — bears no price ; the boy’s

Is like the almond blossoms. Ah, he’s lame !

HOST.

Load him not heavily. Here, Pedro ! help.

Go with them to the Pla9a, take the hoops.

The sights will pay thee.

BLASCO.

I’ll be there anon,

And set the fashion with a good white coin.

But let us see as well as hear.

HOST.

Ay, prithee.

Some tricks, a dance.

BLASCO.

Yes, ‘t is more rational

ROLDAN (turning round with the bundle and monkey on his shoulders).

You shall see all, sirs. There’s no man in Spain

Knows his art better. I’ve a twinging knee

Oft hinders dancing, and the boy is lame.

But no man’s monkey has more tricks than mine.

[At this high praise the gloomy Annibal,

Mournful professor of high drollery,

Seemed to look gloomier, and the little troop

Went slowly out, escorted from the door

By all the idlers. From the balcony

Slowly subsided the black radiance

Of agate eyes, and broke in chattering sounds,

Coaxings and trampings, and the small hoarse squeak

Of Pepe’s reed. And our group talked again.]

HOST.

I’ll get this juggler, if he quits him well,

An audience here as choice as can be lured.

For me, when a poor devil does his best,

‘T is my delight to soothe his soul with praise.

What though the best be bad ? remains the good

Of throwing food to a lean hungry dog.

I’d give up the best jugglery in life

To see a miserable juggler pleased.

But that’s my humour. Crowds are malcontent,

And cruel as the Holy .... Shall we go ?

All of us now together ?

LOPEZ.

Well, not I.

I may be there anon, but first I go

To the lower prison. There is strict command

That all our gypsy prisoners shall to-night

Be lodged within the fort. They’ve forged enough

Of balls and bullets, — used up all the metal.

At morn to-morrow they must carry stones

Up the south tower. ‘T is a fine stalwart band,

Fit for the hardest tasks. Some say, the queen

Would have the Gypsies banished with the Jews.

Some say, ‘t were better harness them for work.

They’d feed on any filth and save the Spaniard.

Some say — but I must go. ‘T will soon be time

To head the escort. We shall meet again.

BLASCO.

Go sir, with God (exit Lopez). A very popular man,

And soldierly. But, for this banishment

Some men are hot on, it ill pleases me.

The Jews, now (sirs, if any Christian here

Had Jews, for ancestors, I blame him not ;

We cannot all be Goths of Aragon), —

Jews are not fit heaven, but on earth

They are most useful. ‘T is the same with mules,

Horses, or oxen, or with any pig

Except Saint Anthony’s. They are useful here

(The Jews, I mean) though they may go to hell.

And, look you, useful sins, — why Providence

Sends Jews to do ‘em, saving Christian souls.

The very Gypsies, curbed and harnessed well,

Would make draught cattle, feed on vermin too,

Cost less than grazing brutes, and turn bad food

To handsome carcasses ; sweat at the forge

For little wages, and well drilled and flogged

Might work like slaves, some Spaniards looking on.

I deal in plate, and am no priest to say

What God may mean, save when he means plain sense;

But when he sent the Gypsies wandering

In punishment because they sheltered not

Our Lady and Saint Joseph (and no doubt

Stole the small ass they fled with into Egypt),

Why send them here ? ‘T is plain he saw the use

They’d be to Spaniards. Shall we banish them,

And tell God we know better? ‘T is a sin.

They talk of vermin; but, sirs, vermin large

Were made to eat the small, or else to eat

The noxious rubbish, and picked Gypsy men

Might serve in war to climb, be killed, and fall,

To make an easy ladder. Once I saw

A Gypsy sorcerer, at a spring and grasp

Kill one who came to seize him : talk of strength !

Nay, Swiftness too, for while we crossed ourselves

He vanished like, — say, like ..

JUAN.

A swift black snake,

Or like a living arrow fledged with will.

BLASCO.

Why, did you see him, pray?

JUAN.

Not then, but now,

As painters see the many in the one.

We have a Gypsy in Bedmar whose frame

Nature compacted with such fine selection,

‘T would yield a dozen types : all Spanish knights,

From him who slew Rolando at the pass

Up to the mighty Cid ; all deities,

Thronging Olympus in fine attitudes ;

Or all hell’s heroes whom the poet saw

Tremble like lions, writhe like demigods.

HOST.

Pause not yet, Juan, — more hyperbole !

Shoot upward still and flare -in meteors

Before thou sink to earth in dull brown fact.

BLASCO.

Nay, give me fact, high shooting suits not me.

I never stare to look for soaring larks.

What is this Gypsy ?

HOST.

Chieftain of a band,

The Moor’s allies, whom full a month ago .

Our Duke surprised and brought as captives home.

He needed smiths, and doubtless the brave Moor

Has missed some useful scouts and archers too.