Delphi Complete Works of George Eliot (Illustrated) (683 page)

Whose shadow-nurtured eyes, dazed by full light,

See naught, without, but give reverted sense

To the soul’s imagery, Silva came,

The wondering people parting wide to get

Continuous sight of him as he passed on, —

This high hidalgo, who through blooming years

Had shone on men with planetary calm,

Believed-in with all sacred images

And saints that must be taken as they were,

Though rendering meagre service for men’s praise

Bareheaded now, carrying an unsheathed sword,

And on his breast, where late he bore the cross,

Wearing the Gypsy badge, his form aslant,

Driven, it seemed, by some invisible chase,

Right to the front of Zarca. There he paused.]

DON SILVA.

Chief, you are treacherous, cruel, devilish, —

Relentless as a curse that once let loose

From lips of’ wrath, lives bodiless to destroy,

And darkly traps a man in nets of guilt

Which could not weave themselves in open day

Before his eyes. ‘O, it was bitter wrong

To hold this knowledge locked within your mind,

To stand with waking eyes in broadest light,

And see me, dreaming, shed my kindred’s blood.

‘T is’ horrible that men with hearts and hands

Should smile in silence like the firmament

And see a fellow-mortal draw a lot

On which themselves have written agony !

Such injury has no redress, no healing

Save what may lie in stemming further ill.

Poor balm for maiming ! Yet I come to claim it.

ZARCA.

First prove your wrongs, and I will hear your claim.

Mind, you are not commander of Bedmar,

Nor duke, nor knight, nor anything for me,

Save one Zincalo, one of my subject tribe,

Over whose deeds my will is absolute.

You chose that lot, and would have railed at me

Had I refused it you : I warned you first

What oaths you had to take...

DON SILVA.

You never warned me

That you had linked yourself with Moorish men

To take this town and fortress of Bedmar, —

Slay my near kinsman, him who held my place,

Our house’s heir and guardian, — slay my fiiend, . .

My chosen brother, — desecrate the church

Where once my mother held me in her arms, .

Making the holy chrism holier

With tears of joy that fell upon my brow !

You never warned....

ZARCA.

I warned you of your oath.

You shrank not, we’re resolved, were sure your place

Would never miss you, and you had your will.

I am no priest, and keep no consciences :

I keep my own place and my own command.

DON SILVA.

I said my place would never miss me — yes !

A thousand Spaniards died on that same day

And were not missed ; their garments clothed the backs

That else were bear
              

ZARCA.

But you were just the one

Above the thousand, had you known the die

That fate was throwing then.

DON SILVA.

You knew it, — you !

With fiendish knowledge, smiling at the end.

You knew what snares had made my flying steps

Murderous ; you let me lock my soul with oaths

Which your acts made a hellish sacrament.

I say, you knew this as a fiend would know it,

And let me damn myself.

ZARCA.

The deed was done

Before you took your oath, or reached our camp, —

Done when you slipped in secret from the post

‘T was yours to keep, and not to meditate

If others might not fill it. For your oath,

What man is he who brandishes a sword

In darkness, kills his friends, and rages then

Against the night that kept him ignorant ?

Should I, for one unstable Spaniard, quit

My steadfast ends as father and as chief ;

Renounce my daughter and my people’s hope,

Lest a deserter should be made ashamed ?

DON SILVA.

Your daughter, — O great God ! I vent but madness.

The past will never change. I come to stem

Harm that may yet be hindered. Chief — this stake —

Tell me who is to die ! Are you not bound

Yourself to him you took in fellowship ?

The town is yours ; let me but save the blood

That still is warm in men who were my....

ZARCA.

Peace !

They bring the prisoner

[ZARCA waved his arm

With head averse, in peremptory sigh

That twixt them now there should be space and silence.

Most eyes had turned to where the prisoner

Advanced among his guards ; and Silva too

Turned eagerly, all other striving quelled

By striving with the dread lest he should see

His thought outside him. And he saw it there.

The prisoner was Father Isidor :

The man whom once he fiercely had accused

As author of his misdeeds, — whose designs

Had forced him into fatal secrecy.

The imperious and inexorable Will

Was yoked, and he who had been pitiless

To Silva’s love, was led to pitiless death.

O hateful victory of blind wishes, — prayers

Which hell had overheard and swift fulfilled !

The triumph was a torture, turning all

The strength of passion into strength of pain.

Remorse was born within him, that dire birth

Which robs all else of nurture, — cancerous,

Forcing each pulse to feed its anguish, changing

All sweetest residues of a healthy life

To fibrous clutches of slow misery.

Silva had but rebelled, — he was not free ;

And all the subtle cords that bound his soul

Were tightened by the strain of one rash leap

Made in defiance. He accused no more,

But dumbly shrank before accusing throngs

Of thoughts, the impetuous recurrent rush

Of all his past-created, unchanged self.

The Father came bareheaded, frocked, a rope

Around his neck, — but clad with majesty,

The strength of resolute undivided souls

Who, owning law, obey it. In his hand

He bore a crucifix, and praying, gazed

Solely on that white image. But his guards

Parted in front, and paused as they approached

The centre, where the stake was. Isidor

Lifted his eyes to look around him, — calm,

Prepared to speak last words of willingness

To meet his death, — last words of faith unchanged,

That, working for Christ’s kingdom, he had wrought

Righteously. But his glance met Silva’s eyes

And drew him. Even images of stone

Look living with reproach on him who maims,

Profanes, defiles them. Silva penitent

Moved forward, would have knelt before the man

Who still was one with all the sacred things

That came back on him in their sacredness,

Kindred, and oaths, and awe, and mystery.

But at the sight, the Father thrust the cross

With deprecating act before him, and his face

Pale-quivering, flashed out horror like white light

Flashed from the angel’s sword that dooming drave

The sinner to the wilderness. He spoke.]

FATHER ISIDOR.

Back from me traitorous and accursed man !

Defile not me, who grasp the holiest,

With touch or breath ! Thou foulest murderer !

Fouler than Cain who struck his brother down

In jealous rage, thou for thy base delight

Hast oped the gate for wolves to come and tear

Uncounted brethren, weak and strong alike,

The helpless priest, the warrior all unarmed

Against a faithless leader : on thy head

Will rest the sacrilege, on thy soul the blood.

These blind Zincali, misbelievers, Moors,