Delphi Complete Works of George Eliot (Illustrated) (657 page)

DON SILVA.

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subtlety ! for me

‘T is what I love determines how I love.

The goddess with pure rites reveals herself

And makes pure worship.

FEDALMA.

Do you worship me ?

DON SILVA.

Ay, with that best of worship which adores

Goodness adorable.

FEDALMA (archly).

Goodness obedient,

Doing your will, devoutest worshipper ?

DON SILVA.

Yes, — listening to this prayer. This very night

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shall go forth. And you will rise with day

And wait for me ?

FEDALMA.

Yes.

DON SILVA.

I shall surely come.

And then we shall be married. Now I go

To audience fixed in Abderahman’s tower.

Farewell, love !

(They embrace.)

FEDALMA.

Some chill dread possesses me !

DON SILVA.

O, confidence has oft been evil augury,

So dread may hold a promise. Sweet, farewell !

I shall send tendance as I pass, to bear

This casket to your chamber. — One more kiss.

(Exit.)

FEDALMA (when DON SILVA is gone, returning to the casket, and looking

dreamily at the jewels).

Yes, now that good seems less impossible !

Now it seems true that I shall be his wife,

Be ever by his side, and make a part

In all his purposes....

These rubies greet me Duchess. How they glow !

Their prisoned souls are throbbing like my own.

Perchance they loved once, were ambitious, proud ;

Or do they only dream of wider life,

Ache from intenseness, yearn to burst the wall.

Compact of crystal splendour, and to flood

Some wider space with glory ? Poor, poor gems !

We must be patient in our prison-house.

And find our space in loving. Pray you, love me.

Let us be glad together. And you, gold, —

(She takes up the gold necklace.)

You wondrous necklace, — will you love me too,

And be my amulet to keep me safe

From eyes that hurt ?

(She Spreads out the necklace, — meaning to clasp it on her neck. Then

pauses, startled, holding it before her.)

Why, it is magical !

He says he never wore it, — yet these lines, —

Nay, if he had, I should remember well

‘T was he, no other. And these twisted lines, —

They seem to speak to me as writing would.

To bring a message from the dead, dead past

What is their secret ? Are they characters ?

I never learned them ; yet they stir some sense

That once I dreamed, — I have forgotten what.

Or was it life ? Perhaps I lived before

In some strange world where first my soul was shaped,

And all this passionate love, and joy, and pain,

That come, I know not whence, and sway my deeds,

Are dim yet mastering memories, blind yet strong,

That this world stirs within me ; as this chain

Stirs some strange certainty of visions gone,

And all my mind is as an eye that stares

Into the darkness painfully.

(While FEDALMA has been looking at the necklace, JUAN has entered, and

finding himself unobserved by her, says at last,)

Senora !

FEDALMA starts, and gathering the necklace together, turns round —

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Juan, it is you !

JUAN.

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met the Duke, —

Had waited long without, no matter why, —

And when he ordered one to wait on you

And carry forth a burden you would give,

I prayed for leave to be the servitor.

Don Silva owes me twenty granted wishes

That I have never tendered, lacking aught

That I could wish for and a Duke could grant ;

But this one wish to serve you, weighs as much

As twenty other longings.

FEDALMA (smiling).

That sounds well;

You turn your speeches prettily as songs.

But I will not forget the many days

You have neglected me. Your pupil learns

But little from you now. Her studies flag.

The Duke says, “That is idle Juan’s way:

Poets must rove, — are honey-sucking birds

And know not constancy.” Said he quite true?

JUAN.

O lady, constancy has kind and rank.

One man’s is lordly, plump, and bravely clad,

Holds its head high, and tells the world its name :

Another man’s is beggared, must go bare,

And shiver through the world, the jest of all,

But that it puts the motley on, and plays

Itself the jester. But I see you hold

The Gypsy’s necklace : it is quaintly wrought.

FEDALMA.

The Gypsy’s ? Do you know its history?

JUAN.

No further back than when I saw it taken

From off its wearer’s neck, — the Gypsy chiefs.

FEDALMA (eagerly).

What ! he who paused, at tolling of the bell,

Before me in the Pla9a ?

JUAN.

Yes, I saw

His look fixed on you.

FEDALMA.

Know you aught of him ?

JUAN.

Something and nothing, — as I know the sky,

Or some great story of the olden time

That hides a secret. I have oft talked with him.

He seems to say much, yet is but a wizard

Who draws down rain by sprinkling ; throws me out

Some pregnant text that urges comment ; casts

A sharp-hooked question, baited with such skill

It needs must the the answer.

FEDALMA.

It is hard

That such a man should be a prisoner, —

Be chained to work.

JUAN.

O, he is dangerous !

Granada with this Zarca for a king

Might still maim Christendom. He is of those

Who steal the keys from snoring Destiny

And make the prophets lie. A Gypsy, too,

Suckled by hunted beasts, whose mother-milk

Has filled his veins with hate.

FEDALMA.

I thought his eyes

Spoke not of hatred, — seemed to say he bore

The pain of those who never could be saved.

What if the Gypsies are but savage beasts

And must be hunted ? — let them be set free,

Have benefit of chase, or stand at bay

And fight for life and offspring. Prisoners !

O, they have made their fires beside the streams,

Their walls have been the rocks, the pillared pines,

Their roof the living sky that breathes with light :

They may well hate a cage, like strong-winged birds,

like me, who have no wings, but only wishes.

I will beseech the Duke to set them free.

JUAN.

Pardon me, lady, if i seem to warn,

Or try to play the sage. What if the Duke

Loved not to hear of Gypsies ? if their name

Were poisoned for him once, being used amiss?

I speak not as of fact. Our nimble souls

Can spin an insubstantial universe

Suiting our mood, and call it possible,

Sooner than see one grain with eye exact

And give strict record of it. Yet by chance

Our fancies may be truth and make us seers.

‘T is a rare teeming world, so harvest-full,

Even guessing ignorance may pluck some fruit.

Note what I say no further than will stead

The siege you lay. I would not seem to tell

Aught that the Duke may think and yet withhold :

It were a trespass in me.

FEDALMA.

Fear not, Juan.

Your words bring daylight with them when you speak.