Delphi Complete Works of George Eliot (Illustrated) (682 page)

I would they were not corpses. Storms will lay

The fairest trees and leave the withered stumps.

This Alvar and the Duke were of one age,

And very loving friends. I minded not

The sight of Don Diego’s corpse, for death

Gave him some gentleness, and had he lived

I had still hated him. But this young Alvar

Was doubly noble, as a gem that holds

Rare virtues in its lustre, and his death

Will pierce Don Silva with a poisoned dart.

This fair and curly youth was Arias,

A son of the Pachecos ; this dark face —

ZARCA.

Enough ! you know their names. I had divined

That they were near the Duke, most like had served

My daughter, were her friends. So rescued them

From being flung upon the heap of slain.

Beseech you, Doctor, if you owe me aught

As having served your people, take the pains

To see these bodied buried decently.

And let their names be writ above their graves,

As those of brave young Spaniards who died well.

I needs must bear this womanhood in my heart, —

Bearing my daughter there. For once she prayed, —

‘T was at our parting, — “ When you see fair hair

Be pitiful.” And I am forced to look

On fair heads living and be pitiless.

Your service, Doctor, will be done to her.

SEPHARDO.

A service doubly dear. For these young dead,

And one less happy Spaniard who still lives,

Are offering which I wrenched from out my heart,

Constraint by cries of Israel : while my hands

Rendered the victims at command, my eyes

Closed themselves vainly, as if vision lay

Through those poor loopholes only. I will go

And see the graves dug by some cypresses.

ZARCA.

Meanwhile the bodies shall rest here. Farewell.

(Exit SEPHARDO.)

Nay, ‘t is no mockery. She keeps me so

From hardening with the hardness of my acts.

This Spaniard shrouded in her love, — I would

He lay here too that I might pity him..

Morning. — The Pla9a Santiago in Bedmar. A crowd of townsmen forming

an outer circle: within, Zlncali and Moorish soldiers drawn up round the

central space. On the higher ground in front of the church a stake with fagots

heaped, and at a little distance a gibbet, Moorish music, ZARCA enters,

wearing his gold necklace with the Gypsy badge of the flaming torch over

the dress of a Moorish Captain, accompanied by a small band of armed

Zincali, who fall aside and range themselves with the other soldiers while he

takes his stand in front of the stake and gibbet. The music ceases, and there

is expectant silence.

ZARCA.

Men of Bedmar, well-wishers, and allies,

Whether of Moorish or of Hebrew blood,

Who, being galled by the hard Spaniard’s yoke,

Have welcomed our quick conquest as release,

I, Zarca, the Zincalo chieftain, hold

By delegation of the Moorish King

Supreme command within this town and fort.

Nor will I, with false show of modesty,

Profess myself unworthy of this post,

For so I should but tax the giver’s choice.

And, as ye know, while I was prisoner here,

Forging the bullets meant for Moorish hearts,

But likely now to reach another mark,

I learned the secrets of the town’s defence,

Caught the loud whispers of your discontent,

And so could serve the purpose of the Moor

As the edge’s keenness serves the weapon’s weight.

And my Zincali, lynx-eyed, lithe of limb,

Tracked out the high Sierra’s hidden path,

Guided the hard ascent, and were the first

To scale the walls and brave the showering stones.

In brief, I reached this rank through service done

By thought of mine and valor of my tribe,

Yet hold it but in trust, with readiness

To lay it down ; for I and my Zincali

Will never pitch our tents again on land

The Spaniard grudges us : we seek a home

Where we may spread and ripen like the corn

By blessing of the sun and spacious earth.

Ye wish us well, I think, and are our friends ?

CROWD .

Long life to Zarca and his Zincali !

ZARCA.

Now, for the cause of our assembling here.

‘T was my command that rescued from your hands

That Spanish Prior and Inquisitor

Whom in fierce retribution you had bound

And meant to burn, tied to a planted cross.

I rescued him with promise that his death

Should be more signal in in its justice, — made

Public in fullest sense, and orderly.

Here, then, you see the stake, — slow death by fire ;

And there a gibbet, — swift death by the cord.

Now hear me, Moors and Hebrews of Bedmar,

Our kindred by the warmth of Eastern blood !

Punishing cruel wrong by cruelty

We copy Christian crime. Vengeance is just :

Justly we rid the earth of human fiends

Who carry hell for pattern in their souls.

But in high vengeance there is noble scorn :

It tortures not the torturer, nor gives

Iniquitous payment for iniquity.

The great avenging angel does not crawl

To kill the serpent with a mimic fang ;

He stands erect, with sword of keenest edge

That slays like lightning. So too we will slay

The cruel man ; slay him because he works

Woe to mankind. And I have given command

To pile these fagots, not to burn quick flesh,

But for a sign of that dire wrong to men

Which arms our wrath with justice. While, to show

This Christian worshipper that we obey

A better law than his, he shall be led

Straight to the gibbet and to swiftest death.

For I, the chieftain of me Zincali, will,

My people shed no blood but what is shed

In heat of battle or in judgment strict

With calm deliberation on the right.

Such is my will, and if it please you, — well.

CROWD.

It pleases us. Long life to Zarca !

ZARCA.

Hark !

The bell is striking, and bring even now

The prisoner from the fort. What, Nadar ?

NADAR (has appeared, cutting the crowd, and advancing toward ZARCA

till he is near enough to speak in an undertone).

I have obeyed your word, have followed it

As water does the furrow in the rock.

ZARCA.

Your band is here ?

NADAR.

Yes, and the Spaniard too.

ZARCA.

‘T was so I ordered.

NADAR.

Ay, but this sleek hound,

Who slipped his collar off to join the wolves,

Has still a heart for none but kennelled brutes.

He rages at the taking of the town,

Says all his friends are butchered ; and one corpse

He stumbled on, — well, I would sooner be

A dead Zincala’s dog, and howl for him,

Than be this Spaniard. Rage has made him whiter.

One townsman taunted him with his escape,

And thanked him for so favoring us....

ZARCA.

Enough !

You gave him my command that he should wait

Within the castle, till I saw him ?

NADAR.

Yes.

But he defied me, broke away, ran loose

I know not whither ; he may soon be here.

I came to warn you, lest he work us harm.

ZARCA.

Fear not, I know the road I travel by :

Its turns are no surprises. He who rules

Must humor full as much as he commands ;

Must let men vow impossibilities ;

Grant folly’s prayers that hinder folly’s wish

And serve the ends of wisdom. Ah, he comes !

[Sweeping like some pale herald from the dead,