Delphi Complete Works of George Eliot (Illustrated) (660 page)

Over a spot within the Moorish bounds,

Near where our camp lay, doubtless snatched you up,

When Zind, your nurse, as she confessed, was urged

By burning thirst to wander towards the stream,

And leave you on the sand some paces off

Playing with pebbles, while she dog-like lapped.

‘T was so I lost you, — never saw you more

Until to-day I saw you dancing ! Saw

The child of the Zincalo making sport

For those who spit upon her people’s name.

FEDALMA (vehemently).

It was not sport. What if the world looked on ? —

I danced for joy, — for lore of all the world.

But when you looked at me my joy was stabbed, —

Stabbed with your pain. I wondered....now I know....

It was my father’s pain.

(She pauses a moment with eyes bent downward, during which ZARCA

examines her face. Then she says quickly.)

How were you sure

At once I was your child ?

ZARCA.

O, I had witness strong

As any Cadi needs, before I saw you !

I fitted all my memories with the chat

Of one named Juan, — one whose rapid talk

Showers like the blossoms from a light-twigged shrub,

If you but coughed beside it. I learned all

The story of your Spanish nurture, — all

The promise of your fortune. When at last

I fronted you, my little maid full-grown,

Belief was turned to vision : then I saw

That she whom Spaniards called the bright Fedalma, —

The little red-frocked foundling three years old, —

Grown to such perfectness the Christian Duke

Had wooed her for his Duchess, — was the child,

Sole offspring of my flesh that Lambra bore

One hour before the Christian, hunting us,

Hurried her on to death. Therefore I sought you,

Therefore I am come — to claim my child,

Not from the Spaniard, not from him who robbed,

But from herself

(FEDALMA has gradually approached close to ZARCA, and with a low sob

sinks on her knees before him. He stoops to kiss her brow, and lays his

hands on her head.)

ZARCA (with solemn tenderness).

Then my child owns her father ?

FEDALMA.

Father ! yes.

I will eat dust before I will deny

The flesh I spring from.

ZARCA.

There my daughter spoke.

Away then with these rubies !

(He seizes the circlet of rubies and flings it on the ground.)

(FEDALMA, starting from the ground with strong emotion, shrinks

backward)

Such a crown

Is infamy on a Zincala’s brow.

It is her people’s blood, decking her shame.

FEDALMA (after a moment, slowly and distinctly, as if accepting a doom).

Then....I am....a Zincala ?

ZARCA.

Of a blood

Unmixed as virgin wine-juice.

FEDALMA.

Of a race

More outcast and despised than Moor or Jew ?

ZARCA.

Yes : wanderers whom no God took knowledge of

To give them laws, to fight for them, or blight

Another race to make them ampler room ;

A people with no home even in memory,

No dimmest lore of glorious ancestors

To make a common hearth for piety.

FEDALMA.

A race that lives on prey as foxes do

With stealthy, petty rapine : so despised,

It is not persecuted, only spurned,

Crushed underfoot, warred on by chance like rats,

Or swarming flies, or reptiles of the sea

Dragged in the net unsought, and flung far off

To perish as they may ?

ZARCA.

You paint as well.

So abject are the men whose blood we share ;

Untutored, unbefriended, unendowed ;

No favorites of heaven or of men.

Therefore I cling to them ! Therefore no lure

Shall draw me to disown them, or forsake

The meagre wandering herd that lows for help

And needs me for its guide, to seek my pasture

Among the well-fed beeves that grace at will.

Because our race has no great memories,

I will so live they shall remember me

For deeds of such divine beneficence

As rivers have, that teach men what is good

By blessing them. I have been schooled, — have caught

Lore from the Hebrew, deftness from the Moor, —

Know the rich heritage, the milder life,

Of nations fathered by a mighty Past ;

But were our race accursed (as they who make

Good luck a god count all unlucky men)

I would espouse their curse sooner than take

My gifts from brethren naked of all good,

And lend them to the rich for usury.

(FEDALMA again advances, and putting forth her right hand grasps

ZARCA’S left. He places

his other hand on her shoulder. They stand so, looking at each other.)

ZARCA.

And you, my child ? are you of other mind,

Choosing forgetfulness, hating the truth

That says you are akin to needy men ? —

Wishing your father were some Christian Duke,

Who could hang Gypsies when their task was done,

While you, his daughter, were not bound to care ?

FEDALMA (in a troubled eager voice).

No, I should always care — I cared for you —

For all, before I dreamed....

ZARCA.

Before you dreamed

You were born Zincala, — in the bonds

Of the Zincali’s faith.

FEDALMA (bitterly).

Zincali’s faith ?

Men say they have none.

ZARCA.

O, it is a faith

Taught by no priest, but by their beating hearts.

Faith to each other : the fidelity

Of fellow-wanderers in a desert place

Who share the same dire thirst, and therefore share

The scanty water : the fidelity

Of men whose pulses leap with kindred fire,

Who in the flash of eyes, the clasp of hands,

The speech that even in lying tells the truth

Of heritage inevitable as past deeds,

Nay, in the silent bodily presence feel

The mystic stirring of a common life

Which makes the many one : fidelity

To that deep consecrating oath our sponsor Fate

Made through our infant breath when we were born,

The fellow-heirs of that small island, Life,

Where we must dig and sow and reap with brothers.

Fear thou that oath, my daughter, — nay, not fear,

But love it ; for the sanctity of oaths

Lies not in lightning that avenges them,

But in the injury wrought by broken bonds

And in the garnered good of human trust.

And you have sworn, — even with your infant breath

You too were pledged....

FEDALMA.

(FEDALMA lets go ZARCA’S hand, and sinks backward on her knees, with

bent head, as if before some impending crushing weight).

What have I sworn ?

ZARCA.

To live the life of the Zicala’s child :

The child of him who, being chief, will be

The savior of his tribe, or if he fail

Will choose to fail rather than basely win

The prize of renegades. Nay — will not choose —

Is there a choice for strong souls to be weak ?

For men erect to crawl like hissing snakes ?

I choose not, — I am Zarca. Let him choose

Who halts and wavers, having appetite

To feed on garbage. You, my child, — do you

Still need to choose ?

FEDALMA (raising her head).

What is my task ?

ZARCA.

To be the angel of a homeless tribe :

To help me bless a race taught by no prophet

And make their name, now but a badge of scorn,