Delphi Complete Works of George Eliot (Illustrated) (656 page)

Float in the larger meaning of your voice

As something dimmer.

(He is still trying in vain to fasten the second ear-ring, while she has

stooped again over the casket.)

FEDALMA (raising her head).

Ah ! your lordly hands

Will never fix that jewel. Let me try.

Women’s small finger-tips have eyes.

DON SILVA.

No, no !

I like the task, only you must be still.

(She stands perfectly still, clasping her hands together while he fastens the

second ear-ring. Suddenly a clanking noise is heard without.)

FEDALMA (starting with an expression of pain).

What is that sound ? — that jarring cruel sound ?

‘T is there, — outside.

(She tries to start away towards the window, but DON SILVA detains her.)

DON SILVA.

O heed it not, it comes

From workmen in the outer gallery.

FEDALMA.

It is the sound of fetters ; sound of work

Is not so dismal. Hark, they pass along !

I know it is those Gypsy prisoners.

I saw them, heard their chains. O horrible,

To be in chains ! Why, I with all my bliss

Have longed sometimes to fly and be at large ;

Have felt imprisoned in my luxury

With servants for my jailers. O my lord,

Do you not wish the world were different ?

DON SILVA.

It will be different when this war has ceased.

You, wedding me, will make it different,

Making one life more perfect.

FEDALMA.

That is true !

And I shall beg much kindness at your hands

For those who are less happy than ourselves. —

(Brightening.) O, I shall rule you ! ask for many things

Before the world, which you will not deny

For very pride, lest men should say, “ The Duke

Holds lightly by his Duchess ; he repents

His humble choice.”

(She breaks away from him and returns to the jewels, taking up a necklace,

and clasping it on her neck, while he takes a circlet of diamonds and rubies

and raises it towards her head as he speaks.)

DON SILVA.

Doubtless,I shall persist

In loving you, to disappoint the world ;

Out of pure obstinacy feel myself

Happiest of men. Now, take the coronet.

(He places the circlet on her head.)

The diamonds want more light. See, from this lamp

I can set tapers burning.

FEDALMA.

Tell me, now,

When all these cruel wars are at an end,

And when we go to Court at Cordova,

Or Seville, or Toledo, — wait awhile,

I must be farther off for you to see, —

(She retreats to a distance from him, and then advances slowly.)

Now think (I would the tapers gave more light !)

If when you show me at the tournaments

Among the other ladies, they will say,

“ Duke Silva is well matched. His bride was naught,

Was some poor foster-child, no man knows what ;

Yet is her carriage noble, all her robes

Are worn with grace : she might have been well born.”

Will they say so ? Think now we are at Court,

And all eyes bent on me.

DON SILVA.

Fear not, my Duchess !

Some knight who loves may say his lady-love

Is fairer, being fairest. None can say

Don Silva’s bride might better fit her rank.

You will make rank seem natural as kind,

As eagle’s plumage or the lion’s might.

A crown upon your brow would seem God-made.

FEDALMA.

Then I am glad ! I shall try on to-night

The other jewels, — have the tapers lit.

And see the diamonds sparkle.

(She goes to the casket again.)

Here is gold, —

A necklace of pure gold, — finely most finely wrought.

(She takes out a large, gold necklace and holds it up before her, then turns to

DON SILVA.)

But this is one that you have worn, my lord ?

DON SILVA.

No, love, I never wore it. Lay it down.

(He puts the necklace gently out of her hand, then joins both her hands and

holds them up between his own.)

You must not look at jewels any more,

But look at me.

FEDALMA (looking up at him).

0
            
you dear heaven !

1
            
should see naught if you were gone. ‘T is true

My mind is too much given to gauds, — to things

That fetter thought within this narrow space.

That comes of fear.

DON SILVA.

What fear?

FEDALMA.

Fear of myself.

For when I walk upon the battlements

And see the river travelling toward the plain.

The mountains screening all the world beyond,

A longing comes that haunts me in my dreams, —

Dreams where I seem to spring from off the walls,

And fly far, far away, until at last

I find myself alone among the rocks,

Remember then that I have left you, — try

To fly back to you, —

and my wings are gone !

DON SILVA.

A wicked dream ! If ever I left you,

Even in dreams, it was some demon dragged me,

And with fierce struggles I awaked myself.

FEDALMA.

It is a hateful dream, and when it comes, —

I mean, when in my waking hours there comes

That longing to be free, I am afraid :

I run down to my chamber, plait my hair,

Weave colors in it, lay out all my gauds,

And in my mind make new ones prettier.

You see I have two minds, and both are foolish.

Sometimes a torrent rushing through my soul

Escapes in wild strange wishes ; presently,

It dwindles to a little babbling rill

And plays among the pebbles and the flowers.

Inez will have it I lack broider,.

Says naught else gives content to noble maids.

But I have never broidered, — never will.

No, when 1 am a Duchess and a wife

I shall ride forth — may I not ? — by your side.

DON SILVA.

Yes, you shall ride upon a palfrey, black

To match Bavieca. Not Queen Isabel

Will be a sight more gladdening to men’s eyes

Than my dark queen Fedalma.

FEDALMA.

Ah, but you,

You are my king, and I shall tremble still

With some great fear that throbs within my love.

Does your love fear ?

DON SILVA.

Ah, yes ! all preciousness

To mortal hearts is guarded by a fear.

All love fears loss, and most that loss supreme,

Its own perfection, — seeing, feeling change

From high to lower, dearer to less dear.

Can love be careless? If we lost our love

What should we find ? — with this sweet Past torn off,

Our lives deep scarred just where their beauty lay ?

The best we found thenceforth were still a worse :

The only better is a Past that lives

On through an added Present, stretching still

In hope unchecked by shaming memories

To life’s last breath. And so I tremble too

Before my queen Fedalma.

FEDALMA.

That is just.

‘T were hard of Love to make us women fear

And leave you bold. Yet Love is not quite even.

For feeble creatures, little birds and fawns,

Are shaken more by fear, while large strong things

Can bear it stoutly. So we women still

Are not well dealt with. Yet would I choose to be

Fedalma loving Silva. You, my lord,

Hold the worse share, since you must love poor me.

But is it what we love, or how we love,

That makes true good ?