Delphi Complete Works of George Eliot (Illustrated) (681 page)

Swear to hate the cross ! —

Sign of all the wanderers’ foes,

Sign qf all the wanderers’ woes, —

Else its curse light on you !

Else the curse upon you light

Of its sharp red-sworded might.

May it lie a blood-red blight

On all things within your sight:

On the white haze of the morn,

On the meadows and the corn,

On the sun and on the moon,

On the clearness of the noon,

On the, darkness of the night.

May it fill your aching sight, —

Red-cross sword and sword blood-red, —

Till it press upon your head,

Till it lie within your brain,

Piercing sharp, a cross of pain,

Till it lie upon your heart,

Burning hot, a cross of fire,

Till from sense in every part

Pains have clustered like a stinging swarm

In the cross’s form,

And you see naught but the cross of blood,

And you feel naught but the cross offire :

Curst by all the cross’s throes

If you hate not all our foes,

Cling not fast to all our woes,

Turn a false Zincalo !

A fierce delight was in the Gypsies’ chant :

They thought no more of Silva, only felt

Like those broad-chested rovers of the night

Who pour exuberant strength upon the air.

To him it seemed as if the hellish rhythm,

Revolving in long curves that slackened now,

Now hurried, sweeping round again to slackness,

Would cease no more. What use to raise his voice,

Or grasp his weapon ? He was powerless now,

With these new comrades of his future, — he

Who had been wont to have his wishes feared

And guessed at as a hidden law for men.

Even the passive silence of the night.

That left these howlers mastery, even the moon,

Rising and staring with a helpless face ;

Angered him. He was ready now to fly

At some loud throat, and give the signal so

For butchery of himself.

But suddenly

The sounds that travelled towards no foreseen close

Were torn right off and fringed into the night ;

Sharp Gypsy ears had caught the onward strain

Of kindred voices joining in the chant.’

All started to their feet and mustered close,

Auguring long-waited summons. It was come :

The summons to set forth and join their chief.

Fedalma had been called already, and was gone

Under safe escort, Juan following her :

The camp — the women, children, and old men —

Were moving slowly southward on the way

To Almeria. Silva learned no more.

He marched perforce ; what other goal was his

Than where Fedalma was ? And so he marched

Through the dim passes and o’er rising hills,

Not knowing whither, till the morning came.

The Moorish hall in the castle at Bedmar. The morning twilight dimly shows

stains of blood on the white marble floor ; yet there has been a careful

restoration of order among the sparse objects offurniture. Stretched on mats

lie three corpses, the faces bare, the, bodies covered with mantles. A little

way off, with rolled matting for a pillow, lies ZARCA, sleeping. His chest

and arms are bare ; his weapons, turban, mail-shirt, and other upper

garments lie on the floor beside him. In the outer gallery Zincali are pacing,

at intervals, past the arched openings.

ZARCA (half rising and resting his elbow on the pillow while he looks

round),

The morning ! I have slept for full three hours ;

Slept without dreams, save of my daughter’s face.

Its sadness waked me. Soon she will be here,

Soon must outlive the worst of all the pains

Bred by false nurture in an alien home, —

As if a lion in fangless infancy

Learned love of creatures that with fatal growth

It scents as natural prey, and grasps and tears,

Yet with heart-hunger yearns for, missing them.

She is a lioness. And they — the race

That robbed me of her — reared her to this pain.

He will be crushed and torn. There was no help.

But she, my child, will bear it. For strong souls

Live like fire-hearted suns to spend their strength

In furthest striving action ; breathe more free

In mighty anguish than in trivial ease.

Her sad face waked me. I shall meet it soon

Waking....

(He rises and stands looking at the corpses.)

As now I look on these pale dead,

These blossoming branches crushed beneath the fall

Of that broad trunk to which I laid my axe

With fullest foresight. So will I ever face

In thought beforehand to its utmost reach

The consequences of my conscious deeds ;

So face them after, bring them to my bed,

And never drug my soul to sleep with lies.

If they are cruel, they shall- be arraigned

By that true name ; they shall be justified

By my high purpose, by the clear-seen good

That grew into my vision as I grew,

And makes my nature’s function, the full pulse

Of my Zincalo soul. The Catholics,

Arabs, and Hebrews have their god apiece

To fight and conquer for them, or be bruised

Like Allah, and yet keep avenging stores

Of patient wrath. Zincali have no god

Who speaks to them and calls them his, unless

I Zarca carry living in my frame

The power divine that chooses them and saves.

Life and more life unto the chosen, death

To all things living that would stifle them !

So speaks each god that makes a nation strong ;

Burns trees and brutes and slays all hindering men.

The Spaniards boast their god the strongest now ;

They win most towns by treachery, make most slaves,

Burn the most vines and men, and rob the most.

I fight against that strength, and in my turn

Slay these brave young who duteously strove.

Cruel ? Ay, it is cruel. But, how else ?

To save, we kill ; each blow we strive at guilt

Hurts innocence with its shock. Men might as well seek

For purifying rites ; even pious deeds

Need washing. But my cleansing waters flow

Solely from my intent.

(He turns away from the bodies to where his garments lie, but does not lift

them.)

And she must suffer !

But she has seen the unchangeable and bowed

Her head beneath the yoke. And she will walk

No more in chilling twilight, for to-day

Rises our sun. The difficult night is past ;

We keep the bridge no more, but cross it; march

Forth to a land where all our wars shall be

With greedy obstinate plants that will not yield

Fruit for their nurture. All our race shall come

From north, west, east, a kindred multitude,

And make large fellowship, and raise inspired

The shout divine, the unison of resolve.

So I, so she, will see our race redeemed.

And their keen love of family and tribe

Shall no more thrive on cunning, hide and lurk

In petty arts of abject hunted life.

But grow heroic in the sanctioning light,

And feed with ardent blood a nation’s heart.

That is my Work : and it is well begun.

On to achievement !

(He takes up the mail-shirt, and looks at it then throws it down again.)

No, I’ll none of you !

To-day there’ll be no fighting. A few hours,

And I shall doff these garments of the Moor :

Till then I will walk lightly and breathe high.

SEPHARDO (appearing at the archway leading into the outer gallery).

You bade me wake you....

ZARCA.

Welcome, Doctor ; see

With that small task I did but beckon you

To graver work. You know these corpses ?

SEPHARDO.

Yes.