Delphi Complete Works of George Eliot (Illustrated) (676 page)

The sky would rain down roses, as they rain

From off the shaken bush. Why will it not ?

Then all the valley would be pink and white

And soft to tread on. They would fall as light

As feathers, smelling sweet ; and it would be

Like sleeping and yet waking, all at once !

Over the sea, Queen, where we soon shall go,

Will it rain roses ?

FEDALMA.

No, my prattler, no !

It never will rain roses : when we want

To have more roses we must plant more trees.

But you want nothing, little one, — the world

Just suits you as it suits the tawny squirrels.

Come, you want nothing.

HINDA.

Yes, I want more berries, —

Red ones, — to wind about my neck and arms

When I am married, — on my ankles too

I want to wind red berries, and on my head.

FEDALMA.

Who is it you are fond of ? Tell me, now.

HINDA.

O Queen, yon know ! It could be no one else

But Ismael. He catches birds, — no end !

Knows where the speckled fish are, scales the rocks,

And sings and dances with me when I like.

How should I marry and not marry him ?

FEDALMA.

Should you have loved him, had he been a Moor,

Or white Castilian ?

HINDA (starting to her feet, then kneeling again).

Are you angry, Queen ?

Say why you will think shame of your poor Hinda ?

She’d sooner be a rat and hang on thorns

To parch until the wind had scattered her,

Than be an outcast, spit at by her tribe.

FEDALMA.

Hinda, I know you are a good Zincala.

But would you part from Ismael ? leave him now

If your chief bade you, — said it was for good

To all your tribe that you must part from him ?

HINDA (giving a sharp cry).

Ah, will he say so ?

FEDALMA (almost fierce in her earnestness).

Nay, child, answer me.

Could you leave Ismael ? get into a boat

And see the waters widen ‘twixt you two

Till all was water and you saw him not,

And knew that you would never see him more ?

If ‘t was your chiefs command, and if he said

Your tribe would all be slaughtered, die of plague.

Of famine, — madly drink each other’s blood....

HINDA (trembling).

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Queen, if it is so, tell Ismael.

FEDALMA.

You would obey, then? part from him for ever?

HINDA.

How could we live else ? With our brethren lost ? —

No marriage feast ? The day would turn to dark.

Zincala cannot live without their tribe.

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must obey ! Poor Ismael — poor Hinda !

But will it ever be so cold and dark ?

O, I would sit upon the rocks and cry,

And cry so long that I could cry no more :

Then I should go to sleep.

FEDALMA.

No, Hinda. no !

Thou never shalt be called to part from him.

I will have berries for thee, red and black,

And I will be so glad to see thee glad,

That earth will seem to hold enough of joy

To outweigh all the pangs of those who part.

Be comforted, bright eyes. See, I will tie

These roses in a crown, for thee to wear.

HINDA (clapping her hands, while FEDALMA puts the roses on her head).

O, I’m as glad as many little foxes, —

I will find Ismael, and tell him all.

(she runs off.)

FEDALMA (alone).

She has the strength I lack. Within her world

The dial has not stirred since first she woke :

No changing light has made the shadows die,

And taught her trusting soul sad difference.

For her, good, right, and law are all summed up

In what is possible ; life is one web

Where love, joy, kindred, and obedience

Lie fast and even, in one warp and woof

With thirst and drinking, hunger, food, and sleep.

She knows no struggles, sees no double path :

Her fate is freedom, for her will is one

With the Zincalo’s law, the only law

She ever knew. For me — O, I have fire within,

But on my will there falls the chilling snow

Of thoughts that come as subtly as soft flakes,

Yet press at last with hard and icy weight.

I could be firm, could give myself the wrench

And walk erect, hiding my life-long wound,

If I but saw the fruit of all my pain

With that strong vision which commands the soul,

And makes great awe the monarch of desire.

But now I totter, seeing no far goal :

I tread the rocky pass, and pause and grasp,

Guided by flashes. When my father comes,

And breathes into my soul his generous hope, —

By his own greatness making life seem great,

As the clear heavens bring sublimity.

And show earth larger, spanned by that blue vast, —

Resolve is strong : I can embrace my sorrow,

Nor nicely weigh the fruit ; possessed with need

Solely to do the noblest, though it failed, —

Though lava streamed upon my breathing deed

And buried it in night and barrenness.

But soon the glow dies out, the warriors music

That vibrated as strength through all my limbs

Is heard no longer ; over the wide scene

There’s naught but chill grey silence, or the hum

And fitful discord of a vulgar world.

Then I sink helpless, — sink into the arms

Of all sweet memories, and dream of bliss :

See looks that penetrate like tones ; hear tones

That flash looks with them. Even now I feel

Soft airs enwrap me, as if yearning rays

Of some far presence touched me with their warmth

And brought a tender murmuring
       

[While she mused,

A figure came from out the olive trees

That bent close-whispering ‘twixt the parted hills

Beyond the crescent of thick cactus : paused

At sight of her ; then slowly forward moved

With careful footsteps, saying in softest tones, “ FEDALMA ! “

Fearing lest fancy had enslaved her sense,

She quivered, rose, but turned not. Soon again :

“ FEDALMA, it is SILVA ! “ Then she turned.

He, with bared head and arms entreating, beamed

Like morning on her. Vision held her still

One moment, then with gliding motion swift,

Inevitable as the melting stream’s,

She found her rest within his circling arms.]

FEDALMA.

O love, you are living, and believe in me !

DON SILVA.

Once more we are together. Wishing dies, —

Stifled with bliss.

FEDALMA.

You did not hate me, then, —

Think me an ingrate, — think my love was small

That I forsook you ?

DON SILVA.

Dear, I trusted you

As holy men trust God. You could do naught

That was not pure and loving, — though the deed

Might pierce me unto death. You had less trust,

Since you suspected mine. ‘T was wicked doubt.

FEDALMA.

Nay, when I saw you hating me the blame

Seemed in my lot alone, — the poor Zincala’s, — her

On whom you lavished all your wealth of love

As price of naught but sorrow. Then I said,

“ ‘T is better so. He will be Happier ! “

But soon that thought, struggling to be a hope,

Would end in tears.

DON SILVA.

It was a cruel thought.

Happier ! True misery is not begun

Until I cease to love thee.

FEDALMA.

Silva !

DON SILVA.

Mine !

(They stand a moment or two in silence.)