Delphi Complete Works of George Eliot (Illustrated) (661 page)

A glorious banner floating in their midst,

Stirring the air they breathe with impulses

Of generous pride, exalting fellowship

Until it soars to magnanimity.

I’ll guide my brethren forth to their new land,

Where they shall plant and sow and reap their own,

Serving each other’s needs, and so be spurred

To skill in all the arts that succor life ;

Where we may kindle our first altar-fire

From settled hearths, and call our Holy Place

The hearth that binds us in one family.

That land awaits them : they await their chief, —

Me who am prisoned. All depends on you.

FEDALMA (rising to her full height, and looking solemnly at ZARCA).

Father, your child is ready ! She will not

Forsake her kindred : she will brave all scorn

Sooner than scorn herself. Let Spaniards all,

Christians, Jews, Moors, shoot out the lip and say,

“ Lo, the first hero in a tribe of thieves. “

Is it not written so of them ? They, too,

Were slaves, lost, wandering, sunk beneath a curse,

Till Moses, Christ, and Mahomet were born,

Till beings lonely in their greatness lived,

And lived to save their people. Father, listen.

To-morrow the Duke weds me secretly :

But straight he will present me as his wife

To all his household, cavaliers and dames

And noble pages. Then I will declare

Before them all : “ I am his daughter, his,

The Gypsy’s, owner of this golden badge.”

Then I shall win your freedom ; then the Duke, —

Why, he will be your son ! — will send you forth

With, aid and honors. Then, before all eyes

I’ll clasp this badge on you, and lift my brow

For you to kiss it, saying by that sign,

“ I glory in my father. “ This, to-morrow.

ZARCA.

A woman’s dream, — who thinks by smiling well

To ripen figs in frost. What ! marry first,

And then proclaim your birth ? Enslave yourself

To use your freedom ? Share another’s name,

Then treat it as you will ? How will that tune

Ring in your bridegroom’s ears, — that sudden song

Of triumph in your Gypsy father?

FEDALMA (discouraged).

Nay,

I meant not so. We marry hastily —

Yet there is time — there will be : — in less space

Than he can take to look at me, I’ll speak

And tell him all. O, I am not afraid !

His love for me is stronger than all hate ;

Nay, stronger than my love, which cannot sway

Demons that haunt me, — tempt me to rebel.

Were he Fedalma and I Silva, he

Could love confession, prayers, and tonsured monks

If my soul craved them. He will never hate

The race that bore him what he loves the most.

I shall but do more strongly what I will.

Having his will to help me. And to-morrow,

Father, as surely as this heart shall beat.

You, every chained Zincalo, shall be free.

ZARCA (coming nearer to her, and laying his hand on her shoulder).

Too late, too poor a service that, my child !

Not so the woman who would save her tribe

Must help its heroes, — not by wordy breath,

By easy prayers strong in a lover’s ear.

By showering wreaths and sweets and wafted kisses,

And then, when all the smiling work is done,

Turning to rest upon her down again,

And whisper languid pity for her race

Upon the bosom of her alien spouse.

Not to such petty mercies as can fall

‘Twixt stitch and stitch of silken broidery work,

Such miracles of mitred saints who pause

Beneath their gilded canopy to heal

A man sun-stricken : not to such trim merit

As soils its dainty shoes for charity

And simpers meekly at the pious stain,

But never trod with naked bleeding feet

Where no man praised it, and where no Church blessed :

Not to such almsdeeds fit for holidays

Were you, my daughter, consecrated, — bound

By laws that, breaking, you will dip your bread

In murdered brother’s blood and call it sweet, —

When you were born in the Zincalo’s tent,

And lifted up in sight of all your tribe,

Who greeted you with shouts of loyal joy,

Sole offspring of the chief in whom they trust

As in the offt-tried never-failing flint

They strike their fire from. Other work is yours.

FEDALMA.

What work ? — what is it that you ask of me ?

ZARCA.

A work as pregnant as the act of men

Who set their ships aflame and spring to land,

A fatal deed....

FEDALMA.

Stay ! never utter it !

If it can part my lot from his whose love

Has chosen me. Talk not of oaths, of birth,

Of men as numerous as the dim white stars, —

As cold and distant, too, for my heart’s pulse.

No ills on earth, though you should count them up

With grains to make a mountain, can outweigh

For me, his ill who is my supreme love.

All sorrows else are but imagined flames,

Making me shudder at an unfelt smart,

But his imagined sorrow is a fire

That scorches me.

ZARCA.

I know, I know it well, —

The first young passionate wail of spirits called

To some great destiny. In vain, my daughter !

Lay the young eagle in what nest you will,

The cry and swoop of eagles overhead

Vibrate prophetic in its kindred frame,

And make it spread its wings and. poise itself

For the eagle’s flight. Hear what you have to do.

(FEDALMA breaks from him and stands half averted, as if she dreaded the

effect of his looks and words.)

My comrades even now file off their chains

In a low turret by the battlements,

Where we were locked with slight and sleepy guard, —

We who had files hid in our shaggy hair,

And possible ropes that waited but our will

In half our garments. O, the Moorish blood

Runs thick and warm to us, though thinned by chrism.

I found a friend among our jailers, — one

Who loves the Gypsy as the Moor’s ally.

I know the secrets of this fortress. Listen.

Hard by yon terrace is a narrow stair,

Cut in the living rock, and at one point

In its slow straggling course it branches off

Towards a low wooden door, that art has bossed

To such unevenness, it seems one piece

With the rough-hewn rock. Opened, it leads

Through a broad passage burrowed under-ground

A good half-mile out to the open plain :

Made for escape, in dire extremity

From siege or burning, of the house’s wealth

In women or in gold. To find that door

Needs one who knows the number of the steps

Just to the turning point ; to open it,

Needs one who knows the secret of the bolt.

You have that secret : you will ope that door,

And fly with us.

FEDALMA (receding a little, mid gathering herself up in an attitude of

resolve opposite to ZARCA).

No, I will never fly !

Never forsake that chief half of my soul

Where lies my love. I swear to set you free.

Ask for no more ; it is not possible.

Father, my soul is not too base to ring

At touch of your great thoughts ; nay, in my blood

There streams the sense unspeakable of kind,

As leopard feels at ease with leopard. But, —

Look at these hands ! You say when they were little

They played about the gold upon your neck.

I do believe it, few their tiny pulse

Made record of it in the inmost coil

Of growing memory. But see them now !

O they have made fresh record ; twined themselves

With other throbbing hands whose pulses feed

Not memories only but a blended life, —