Shalnass. (angrily grasps his beard).Accursed deception! Speak, what devil let thee in?Sobeide.Dear sir, I am the only child of Bachtjar,The jeweler.Shalnass.(claps his hands, the slave comes).Call Ganem.Sobeide(involuntarily).Call him hither.Shalnass. (to the slave).Bring up the dinner. Is the dwarf prepared?Slave.They're feeding him; for till his hunger's gone,He is too vicious.Shalnass.Good, I'll go and see it.[Exit with the slave to the left.]Sobeide(alone).Now I am here. Does fortune thus begin?Yes, this has had to come, and all these colorsI know because I dreamed them, mingled thus.We drink from goblets which a little child,With eyes that sparkle as through garlands gay,Holds out—but from the branches of a tree-topBlack drops drip down into the goblet's bowlAnd mingle death and night with what we drink.[She sits down on the bench.]With whatsoe'er we do some night is mingled,And e'en our eye has something of its blackness.The glitter in the fabrics of our loomsIs but the woof, the pattern, its true warpIs night.Aye, death is everywhere; and with our glancesAnd with our words we cover him from sight,And like the children, when in merry playingThey hide some toy, so we forget forthwithThat we are hiding death from our own glances.Oh, ifwee'er have children, they must keepFrom knowing this for many, many years.Too soon I learned it. And the cruel picturesAre evermore in me: they perch within meLike turtle-doves in copses and come swarmingUpon the least alarm.[She looks up.]But now Ganem will come. Oh, if my heartWould cease from holding all my blood compressed.I'm wearied unto death. Oh, I could sleep.[With forced liveliness.]Ganem will come, and then all will be well![She breathes the scent of oil of roses andbecomes aware of the precious objects.]How all this is perfumed, and how it sparkles![With alarmed astonishment.]And there! Woe's me, this is the house of wealth,Deluded, foolish eyes, look here and here![She rouses her memory feverishly.]And that old man was fain with strings of pearlsTo bind my arms and hands—why, they are rich!And "poor" was every second word he uttered.He lied then, lied not once but many times!I saw him smiling when he lied, I feel it,It chokes me here![She tries to calm herself.]Oh, if he lied—but there are certain thingsThat can constrain a spirit. And his fatherI have done much for my old father's sake—His father this? That chokes me more than ever.Inglorious heart, he comes, and something, somethingWill be revealed, all this I then shall grasp,I then shall grasp—[She hears steps, looks about her wildly, thencries in fear.]Come, leave me not alone![Gülistaneand an old serving-woman comedown the stairs and go to the presents bythe table.]Sobeide(starting).Ganem, is it not thou?Gülistane(in an undertone).Why, she is mad.[She lays one present after another on theservant's arms.]Sobeide(standing at some distance from her).No, no, I am not mad. Oh, be not angry.The dogs are after me! But first a man.I'm almost dead with fear. He is my friend,Will tell you who I am. Ye do not knowHow terror can transform a human being.I ask you, are not all of us in terrorOf even drunken men? This was a murd'rer.I am not brave, but with a lie that spedInto my wretched head I held him offAwhile—then he came on, and I could feelHis hands. Take pity on me, be not angry!Ye sit there at the table fair with candles,And I disturb. But if ye are his friends,Ask him to tell you all. And later on,When we shall meet and ye shall know me better,We both will laugh about it. But as yet(Shuddering.)I could not laugh at it.Gülistane(turning to her).Who is thy friend, and who will tell us all?Sobeide(with innocent friendliness).Why, Ganem.Gülistane.Oh, what business hast thou here?Sobeide(steps closer, looks fixedly at her).What, art thou not the widowOf Kamkar, the ship-captain?Gülistane.And thou the daughterOf Bachtjar, the gem-dealer?[They regard each other attentively.]Sobeide.It is long sinceWe saw each other.Gülistane.What com'st thou hereTo do?Sobeide.Then thou liv'st here?—I come to question Ganem(Faltering.)About a matter—on which much depends—Both for my father—Gülistane.Hast not seen him lately?Ganem, I mean.Sobeide.Nay, 'tis almost a year.Since Kamkar died, thy husband, 'tis four years.I know the day he died. How long hast thouLived here?Gülistane.They are my kin. What is't to thee,How long? But then, what odds? Why then, three years.[Sobeideis silent.]Gülistane(to the slave).Look to't that nothing fall. Hast thou the mats?(ToSobeide. )For it may be, if one were left to lieAnd Ganem found it, he would take the notionTo bed his cheek on it, because my footHad trodden it, and then whate'er thou spokest,He would be deaf to thine affair. Or ifHe found the pin that's fallen from my hairAnd breathing still its perfume: then his sensesWould fasten on that trinket, and he neverWould know thy presence.(To the slave.)Pick it up for me.Come, bend thy back.[She pushes the slave.Sobeidebends quicklyand holds out the pin to the slave.Gülistanetakes it out of her hand and thrustswith it atSobeide. ]Sobeide.Alas, why prickst thou me?Gülistane.That I may circumvent thee, little serpent.Go, for thy face is such a silly voidThat one can see what thou wouldst hide in it.Go home again, I counsel thee.—Come thouAnd carry all thou canst.(ToSobeide. )Mark thou my words:What's mine I will preserve and keep from thieves![She goes up the stairs with the slave.]Sobeide(alone).What's left for me? How can this turn to good,That so begins? No, no, my destinyWould try me. What should mean to him this woman?This is not love, it is but lust, a thingThat men find needful to their lives. He comes,(In feverish haste.)And he will cast this from him with a wordAnd laugh at me. Arise, my recollections,For now I need you or shall never need you!Woe, woe, that I must call you in this hour!Will not one loving glance return to me?One unambiguous word? Ah, words and glances,Deceitful woof of air. A heavy heartWould cling to you, and ye are rent like cobwebs.Away, fond recollection! My old lifeToday is cast behind me, and I standUpon a sphere that rolls I know not whither.(With increasing agitation.)Ganem will come to me, and his first wordWill rend the noose that tightens on my throat.He comes, will take me in his arms—all drippingWith fear and horror, stead of oils and perfumes,—I'll say no word, I'll hang upon his neckAnd drink the words he speaks. For his first word,The very first will lull all fears to sleep ...He'll smile all doubt away ... and put to flight ...But if he fail?... I will not think it, will not![Ganemcomes up the stairs.]Sobeide(cries out).Ganem![She runs to him, feels his hair, his face,falls before him, presses her head againsthim, at once laughing and weeping convulsively.]I'm here, Oh take me, take me, hold me fast!Be good to me, thou knowst not all as yet.I cannot yet ... How lookest thou upon me?[She stands up again, steps back, and looksat him in fearful suspense.]Ganem(stands motionless before her.)Thou!Sobeide(in breathless haste).I belong to thee, am thine, my Ganem!Ask me not now how this has come to pass:This is the centre of a labyrinth,But now we stand here. Wilt thou not behold me!He gave me freedom, he himself, my husband ...Why does thy countenance show such a change?Ganem.No cause. Come hither, they may overhear us ...Sobeide.I feel that there is something in me nowDispleases thee. Why dost thou keep it from me?Ganem.What wouldst thou?Sobeide.Nothing, if I may but please thee.Ah, be indulgent. Tell me my shortcomings.I will be so obedient. Was I bold?Look thou, 'tis not my nature so; I feelAs if this night had gripped me with its fistsAnd flung me hither, aye, my spirit shuddersAt all that I had power there to say,And that I then had strength to walk this road.Art sorry that I had it?Ganem.Why this weeping?Sobeide.Thou hast the power to change me so. I cannotBut laugh or weep, or blush or pale againAs thou wouldst have it.[Ganemkisses her.]Sobeide.When thou kissest me,O look not thus! But no, I am thy slave.Do as thou wilt. Here let me rest. I willBe clay unto thy hands, and think no more.And now thy brow is wrinkled?Ganem.Aye, for soonThou must return. Thou smilest?Sobeide.Should I not?I know thou wouldst but try me.Ganem.No, in earnest,Thou art in error. Thinkest thou perhapsThat I can keep thee here? Say, has thy husbandGone over land, that thou art not afraid?Sobeide.I beg thee cease, I cannot laugh just now.Ganem.No, seriously, when shall I come to thee?Sobeide.To me, what for? Thou seest, I am here:Look, here before thy feet I sit me down;I have no other home except the strawBeside thy hound, if thou wilt not provideA bed for me; and none will come to fetch me.[He raises her, then claps his hands delightedly.]Ganem.O splendid! How thou playst a seeming partWhen opportunity demands. And it becomes thee,Oh, most superbly! We'll draw profit from it.There'll be no lack of further free occasion,To yield ourselves to pleasure undismayed—When shall I come to thee?Sobeide(stepping back).Oh, I am raving!My head's to blame, for that I hear thee speakingQuite other words than those thou really utter'st.O Ganem, help me! Have thou patience with me,What day is this today?Ganem.Why ask that now?Sobeide.'Twill not be always so, 'tis but from fear,And then because I've had to feel too muchIn this one fleeting night; that has confused me.Thiswas my wedding-day: then when aloneWith him, my husband, I did weep and saidIt was because of thee. He oped the doorAnd let me out.—Ganem.He has the epilepsy,I'll wager, sought fresh air. Thou art too foolish!Let me undo thy hair and kiss thy neck.But then go quickly home: what happens laterShall be much better than this first beginning.[He tries to draw her to him.]Sobeide(frees herself, steps back).Ganem, he oped the door for me, and saidI was no more his wife, and I might goWhere'er I would ... My father free of debt... And he would let me go where'er I would ...To thee, to thee! [She bursts into sobs.]I ran, there was the man who took awayMy pearls and would have slain me—And then the dogs—(With the pitiable expression of one forsaken.)And now I'm here with thee!Ganem(inattentively, listening intently up stage).I think I hear some music, hear'st it thou?—'Tis from below.Sobeide.Thy face and something else,O Ganem, fill me with a mighty fear—Hark not to that, hear me! hear me, I beg thee!Hear me, that here beneath thy glance am lyingWith open soul, whose ebb and flow of bloodProceeds but from the changes of thy mien.Thou once didst love me—that, I think, is past—For what came then, I only am to blame:Thy brightness waxed within my gloomy soulLike moons in fog—[Ganemlistens as before.Sobeidewithgrowing wildness.]Suppose thou loved me not:Why didst thou lie? If I was aught to thee,Why hast thou lied to me? O speak to me—Am I not worth an answer?[Weird music and voices are heard outside.]Ganem.Yes, by heaven,It is the old man's voice and Gülistane's![Down the stairs come a fluting dwarf and aneffeminate-looking slave playing a lute,preceded by others with lights; thenShalnassar, leaning onGülistane; finally aeunuch with a whip stuck in his belt.Gülistanefrees herself and comes forward,seeming to search the floor for something;the others come forward also. The musicceases.]Gülistane(over her shoulder, toShalnassar).I miss a tiny jar, of swarthy onyxAnd filled with ointment. Art thou ling'ring still,Thou Bachtjar's daughter? Bend thy lazy backAnd try to find it.[Sobeideis silent, looking atGanem. ]Shalnass.Let it be and come!I'll give thee hundreds more.Gülistane.It was a secret,The ointment in it.Ganem(close toGülistane).What means this procession?Shalnass.Come on, why not? The aged cannot wait.And ye, advance! Bear lights and make an uproar!Be drunken: what has night to do with sleep!Advance up to the door, then stay behind![The slaves form in order again.]Ganem(furious).Door, door? What door?Shalnass. (toGülistane, who leans against him).Say, shall I give an answer?If so, I'll do 't to flatter thee. If not,'Twill be to show thee that my happinessRequireth not old envy's flattery.Ganem(toGülistane).Say no, say he is lying!Gülistane.Go, good Ganem,And let us pass. Thy father is recovered,And we are glad of it. Why stand so gloomy?One must be merry with the living, eh,While yet they live? [She looks into his eyes.]Ganem(snatches the whip from the eunuch).Old woman, for what purpose is this whip?Now flee and scatter, crippled, halting folly![He strikes at the musicians and the lights,then casts down the whip.]Out, shameful lights, and thou, to bed with thee,Puffed, swollen body; and ye bursting veins,Ye reddened eyes, and thou putrescent mouth,Off to a solitary bed, and night,Dark, noiseless night instead of brazen torchesAnd blaring horns![He motions the old man out.]Shalnass.(bends with an effort to take the whip).Mine is the whip, not thine!Sobeide(cries out).His father! Son and father for one woman!Gülistane(wrests the whip out ofShalnassar'S hand).Go thou to bed thyself, hot-headed Ganem,And leave together them that would be joined.Rebuke thy father not. An older manCan pass a sounder judgment, is more faithfulThan wanton youth. Hast thou not company?Old Bachtjar's daughter stands there in the darkness,And often I've been told that she is fair.I know right well, thou wast in love with her.So then good night. [They all turn to go.]Ganem(wildly).Go not with him!Gülistane(speaking backward over her shoulder).I goWhere'er my heart commands.Ganem(beseechingly).Go not with him!Gülistane.Oh, let us through: there will be other days.Ganem(lying before her on the stairs).Go not with him!Gülistane(turning around).Thou daughter of old Bachtjar,Keep him, I say, I want him not, I trampleUpon his fingers with my feet! Seest thou?Sobeide(as if demented).Aye, aye, now let us dance a merry round!Take thou my hand and Ganem's; I Shalnassar's.Our hair we'll loosen, and that one of usThat has the longer hair shall have the young oneTonight—tomorrow just the other way!King Baseness sits enthroned! And from our facesLies drip like poison from the salamander!I claim my share in your high revelry.(ToGanem, who angrily watches them mountthe stairs.)Go up and steal her from thy father's bedAnd choke him sleeping: drunken men are helpless!I see how fain thou art to lie with her.When thou are sated or wouldst have a change,Then come to me, but softly we will tread,For heavy sleep comes not to my old husband,Such as they have, who can give ear to this,And then sleep through it![She casts herself on the floor.]But with grievous howlingI will arouse this house to shame and wrathAnd lamentation ...(She lies groaning.)... I have loved thee so,And so thou tramplest on me![An old slave appears in the background,putting out the lights; he picks up a fallenfruit and eats it.]Ganem(claps his hands in sudden anger).Come, take her out! Here is a shrieking woman,I scarcely know her, says she weeps for me.Her father fain would wed her to the merchant,The wealthy one, but she perverts the whole,And says her husband is a similar pander,But he's no more than fool, for aught I see.(He steps close to her, mockingly sympathetic.)O ye, too credulous by far. But then,Your nature's more to blame than skill of ours.No, get thee up. I will no more torment thee.Sobeide(raises herself up. Her voice is hard).Then naught was true, and back of all is naught.From this I cannot cleanse myself again:What came into my soul today, remaineth.Another might dispel it: I'm too weary.(Stands up.)Away! I know my course, but now awayFrom here![The old slave has gone slowly down thestairs.]Ganem.I will not hold thee. Yet the road—How wilt thou find it? Still, thou foundst it once.Sobeide.The road, the self-same road!(She shudders.) Yon aged manShall go with me. I have no fear, but stillI would not be alone: until the dawn—[Ganemgoes up stage to fetch the slave.]Sobeide.Meseems I wear a robe to which the pestAnd horrid traces of wild drunkennessAnd wilder nights are clinging, and I cannotPut off the robe, but all my flesh goes too.Now I must die, and all will then be well.But speedily, before this shadow-thinkingAbout my father gathers blood again:Else 'twill grow stronger, drag me back to life,And I must travel onward in this body.Ganem(slowly leads the old slave forward).Give heed. This is rich Chorab's wife, the merchant.Hast understood?Old Slave(nods).The rich one.Ganem.Aye, thou shaltEscort her.Old Slave.What?Ganem.I say, thou art to lead herBack to her house.(Old Slavenods.)Sobeide.Just to the garden wall.From there I only know how I must go.Will he do that? I thank thee. That is good,Most good. Come, aged man, I go with thee.Ganem.Go out this door, the old man knows the path.Sobeide.He knows it, that is good, most good. We go.[They go out through the door at the right.Ganemturns to mount the stairs.]SCENE IIIThe garden of the rich merchant. The high wall runs from the right foreground backward toward the left. Steps lead to a small latticed gate in the wall. To the left a winding path is lost among the trees. It is early morning. The shrubs are laden with blossoms, and the meadows are full of flowers. In the foreground the gardener and his wife are engaged in taking delicate blooming shrubs from an open barrow and setting them in prepared holes.Gardener.The rest are coming now. But no, that isA single man ... The master!Wife.What? He's upEre dawn, and yesterday his wedding-day?Alone he walks the garden—that's no manLike other men.Gardener.Be still, he's coming hither.Merchant(walks up slowly from the left).The hour of morn, before the sun is up,When all the branches in the lifeless lightHang dead and dull, is terrible. I feelAs if I saw the whole world in a frightfulAnd vacant glass, as dreary as my mind's eye.O would all flowers might wither! Would my gardenWere poisonous morass, filled to the fullWith rotted corpses of these blooming trees,And my corpse in their midst.[He is pulling to pieces a blossoming twig,stops short and drops it.]Ah, what a fool!A gray-haired fool, as old as melancholy,Ridiculous as old! I'll sit me downAnd bind up wreaths and weep into the water.[He walks on a few paces, lifts his hand asif involuntarily to his heart.]O how like glass this is, and how the fingerWith which fate raps upon it, like to iron!Years form no rings on men as on the trees,Nor fashion breast-plates to protect the heart.[Again he walks a few paces, and so comesupon the gardener, who takes off his strawhat; he starts up out of his revery, andlooks inquiringly at the gardener.]A_Brandenburg_LakeA BRANDENBURG LAKEFrom the Painting by Walter LeistikowGardener.Thy servant Sheriar, lord; third gardener I.Merchant.What? Sheriar, Oh yes. And this thy wife?Gardener.Aye, lord.Merchant.But she is younger far than thou,And once thou cam'st to me to make complaintThat she and some young lad,—I can't recall ...Gardener.It was the donkey-driver.Merchant.So I chasedHim from my service, and she ran away.Gardener(bowing low).Thou know'st the sacred courses of the stars,Yet thou rememberest the worm as well,That in the dust once crawled beside thy feet.'Tis so, my lord. But she returned to me,And lives with me thenceforth.MerchantAnd lives with thee?The fellow beat her, doubtless! Thou dost not.[He turns away, his tone becomes bitter.]Why, let us seat ourselves here in the grass,And each will tell his story to the other.He lives with her thenceforth. Why yes, he has her!Possession is the end of all! And follyIt were to scorn the common, when our lifeIs made up of the common through and through.[Exit to the right with vigorous strides.]Wife(to the gardener).What did he say to thee?Gardener.Oh, nothing, nothing.[Sobeideand the camel-driver appear at thelatticed gate.]Wife.I'll tell thee something.[Draws near him.]Look, look there!The bride! That is our master's bride!And see how pale and overwrought.Gardener.Pay heedTo thine affairs.Wife.Look there, she has no veil,And see who's with her. Look. Why, that is noneOf master's servants, is it?Gardener.I don't know.[Sobeideputs her arm, through the lattice,seeking the lock.]Wife.She wants to enter. Hast thou not the key!Gardener(looking up).Aye, that I have, and since she is the mistress,She must be served before she opes her lips.[He goes to the gate and unlocks it.Sobeideenters, the old slave behind her. Thegardener locks the gate.Sobeidewalksforward with absent look, the old slavefollowing. The gardener walks past her,takes off his straw hat, and is about toreturn to his work. The wife stands a fewpaces to the rear, parts the bushes curiously.]Sobeide.Pray tell me, is the pond not here at hand,The big one, with the willows on its banks?Gardener(pointing to the right).Down there it lies, my mistress, thou canst see it.But shall I guide thee?Sobeide(with a vehement gesture).No, no, leave me, go![She is about to go off toward the right; theold slave catches her dress and holds herback. She turns.Old Slaveholds out hishand like a beggar, but withdraws it atonce in embarrassment.]Sobeide.What?Old Slave.Thou art at home, I'm going back again.Sobeide.Oh yes, and I have robbed thee of thy sleep,And give thee naught for it. And thou art oldAnd poor. But I have nothing, less than nothing!As poor as I no beggar ever was.[Old Slavescrews up his face to laugh, holds out his hand again.]Sobeide(looks helplessly about her, puts her hand to herhair, feels her pearl pendants, takes them off,and gives them to him).Take this, and this, and go!Old Slave(shakes his head).Oh no, not that!Sobeide(in a torment of haste).I give them gladly, only go, I beg of thee![Starts away.]Old Slave(holds them in his hand).No, take them back. Give me some little coin.I'm but a poor old fool. And they would come,Shalnassar and the others, down upon me,And take the pearls away. For I am oldAnd such a beggar. This would be my ruin.Sobeide.I have naught else. But come again tonightAnd bring them to the master here, my husband.He'll give thee money for them.Old Slave.Thou'lt be here?Ask but for him; go now and let me go.[Starts away.]Old Slave(holds her back).If he is kind, oh do thou pray for me,That he may take me as a servant. HeIs rich and has so many. I am eager,Need little sleep. But in Shalnassar's houseI always have such hunger in the evening.I will—Sobeide(frees herself).Just come tonight and speak to him,And say I wanted him to hear thy prayer.Now go, I beg thee, for I have no time.[The old slave goes toward the gate, butstands still in the shrubbery. The gardener'swife has approachedSobeidefrom theleft.Sobeidetakes a few steps, then letsher vacant glance wander about, strikesher brow as if she had forgotten something.She suddenly stands still before the gardener'swife, looks at her absently, theninquires hastily:]The pond is there, I hear? The pond?[Points to the left.]Wife.No, here.[Points to the right.]Here down this winding path. It turns right there.Wouldst overtake my lord? He's walking slowly:When thou art at the crossways, thou wilt see him.Thou canst not miss him.Sobeide(more agitated).I, the master?Wife.Why yes, dost thou not seek him?Sobeide.Him?—Yes, yes,Then—I'll—go—there.[Her glance roves anxiously, suddenly isfixed upon an invisible object at the leftrear.]The tower, is it locked?Wife.The tower?Sobeide.Yes, the steps to mount it.Wife.No,The tower's never locked, by day or night.Dost thou not know?Sobeide.Oh yes.Wife.Wilt thou go up it?Sobeide(smiling painfully).No, no, not now. Perhaps another time.(Smiling with a friendly gesture.)Go, then. Go, go.(Alone.)The tower, the tower!And quick. He comes from there. Soon 'tis too late.[She looks searchingly about her, walksslowly at first to the left, then runs throughthe shrubbery. The old slave, who haswatched her attentively, slowly followsher.]Gardener(through with his work).Come here and help me, wife.Wife.Yes, right away.[They take up the barrow and carry it alongtoward the right.]Merchant(enters from the right.)I loved her so! Ah, how this life of oursResembles dreams illusory. TodayI might have had her, here and always, I!Possession is the whole: slow-growing powerThat sifts down through the soul's unseen and hiddenInterstices, feeds thus the wondrous lampWithin the spirit, and soon from such eyesThere bursts a mightier, sweeter gleam than moonlight.Oh, I have loved her so! I fain would see her,See her once more. My eye sees naught but death:The flowers wilt before my eyes like candles,When they begin to run: all, all is dying,And all dies to no purpose, for she isNot here—[The old camel-driver comes running fromthe left across the stage to the gardenerand shows him something that seems to behappening rather high in the air to the left;the gardener calls his wife's attention to it,and all look.]Merchant(becomes aware of this, follows the direction oftheir glances, grows deathly pale).God, God! Give answer! There, there, there!The woman on the tower, bending forward,Why does she so bend forward? Look, lookthere! [Wifeshrieks and covers her face.]Gardener(runs to the left, looks, calls back).She lives and moves! Come, master, come this way.[The merchant runs out, the gardener's wifefollowing. Immediately thereafter themerchant, the gardener, and his wife comecarryingSobeide, and lay her down in thegrass. The gardener takes off his outergarment and lays it under her head. Theold camel-driver stands at some distance.]Merchant(kneeling).Thou breathest, thou wilt live for me, thou must!Thou art too fair to die!Sobeide(opens her eyes).Forbear, I'm dying; hush, I know it well.Dear husband, hush, I beg thee. Thee I hadNot thought to see again—I need to crave thy pardon.Merchant(tenderly).Thou!Sobeide.Not this.This had to be.—No, what took place last night:I did to thee what should become no woman,And all my destiny I grasped and treatedAs I in dancing used to treat my veils.With fingers vain I tampered with my Self.Speak not, but understand.Merchant.What happened—then?Sobeide.Ask not what happened; ask me not, I beg thee.I had before been weary: 'twas the sameUp to the end. But now 'tis easy. ThouArt good, I'll tell thee something else: my parents—Thou knowest how they are—I bid thee take themTo live with thee.Merchant.Yes, yes, but thou wilt live.Sobeide.No, say not so; but mark, I fain would tell theeA many things. Oh yes, that graybeard man.He's very poor, take him into thy houseAt my request.Merchant.Now thou shalt bide with me.I will thy every wish divine: breathe softlyAs e'er thou wilt, yet I will be the lyreTo answer every breath with harmony,Until thou weary and bid it be still.Sobeide.Say not such words, for I am dizzy andThey flicker in my eyes. Lament not much,I beg of thee. If I remained alive,All mangled as I am, I never couldBring children into life for thee; my bodyWould be so ugly, whereas formerlyI know I had some beauty. This would beSo hard for thee to bear and hide from me.But I shall die at once, I know, my dear.This is so strange: our spirits dwell in usLike captive birds. And when the cage is shattered,It flies away. No, no, thou must not smile:I feel it is so. Look, the flowers know it,And shine the brighter since I know it too.Canst thou not understand? Mark well my words. [Pause.]Art thou still there, and I too, all this while?Oh, now I see thy face, and it is otherThan e'er I saw till now. Art thou my husband?Merchant.My child!Sobeide.Thy spirit seems to bend and leanOut of thine eyes, and oh, the words thou speakest!They quiver in the air, because the heartSo quivers, whence they come. Weep not, I canNot bear it, for I love thee so. O letMe see as last of all thine eyes. We shouldHave lived together long and had our children.But now 'tis fearful—for my parents.[Dies.]Merchant(half bowed).Thus noiseless falls a star. Meseems, her heartWas never close united with the world.And what have I of her, except this glance,Whose closing was involved in rigid Lethe,And in such words as by false breath of lifeWere made to sound so strong, e'en while they faded,Just as the wind, ere he lies down to sleep,Deceitful swells the sails as ne'er before.[He rises.]Aye, lift her up. So bitter is this life:A wish was granted her, and that one doorAt which she lay with longing and desireWas oped—and back she came in such distress,Death-stricken, that but issued forth the evening prior—As fishers, cheeks with sun and moon afire,Prepare their nets—in hopes of great success.[They lift up the body to carry it in.]
Shalnass. (angrily grasps his beard).Accursed deception! Speak, what devil let thee in?
Sobeide.Dear sir, I am the only child of Bachtjar,The jeweler.
Shalnass.(claps his hands, the slave comes).Call Ganem.
Sobeide(involuntarily).Call him hither.
Shalnass. (to the slave).Bring up the dinner. Is the dwarf prepared?
Slave.They're feeding him; for till his hunger's gone,He is too vicious.
Shalnass.Good, I'll go and see it.
[Exit with the slave to the left.]
Sobeide(alone).Now I am here. Does fortune thus begin?Yes, this has had to come, and all these colorsI know because I dreamed them, mingled thus.We drink from goblets which a little child,With eyes that sparkle as through garlands gay,Holds out—but from the branches of a tree-topBlack drops drip down into the goblet's bowlAnd mingle death and night with what we drink.
[She sits down on the bench.]
With whatsoe'er we do some night is mingled,And e'en our eye has something of its blackness.The glitter in the fabrics of our loomsIs but the woof, the pattern, its true warpIs night.Aye, death is everywhere; and with our glancesAnd with our words we cover him from sight,And like the children, when in merry playingThey hide some toy, so we forget forthwithThat we are hiding death from our own glances.Oh, ifwee'er have children, they must keepFrom knowing this for many, many years.Too soon I learned it. And the cruel picturesAre evermore in me: they perch within meLike turtle-doves in copses and come swarmingUpon the least alarm.
[She looks up.]
But now Ganem will come. Oh, if my heartWould cease from holding all my blood compressed.I'm wearied unto death. Oh, I could sleep.
[With forced liveliness.]
Ganem will come, and then all will be well!
[She breathes the scent of oil of roses andbecomes aware of the precious objects.]
How all this is perfumed, and how it sparkles!
[With alarmed astonishment.]
And there! Woe's me, this is the house of wealth,Deluded, foolish eyes, look here and here!
[She rouses her memory feverishly.]
And that old man was fain with strings of pearlsTo bind my arms and hands—why, they are rich!And "poor" was every second word he uttered.He lied then, lied not once but many times!I saw him smiling when he lied, I feel it,It chokes me here!
[She tries to calm herself.]
Oh, if he lied—but there are certain thingsThat can constrain a spirit. And his fatherI have done much for my old father's sake—His father this? That chokes me more than ever.Inglorious heart, he comes, and something, somethingWill be revealed, all this I then shall grasp,I then shall grasp—
[She hears steps, looks about her wildly, thencries in fear.]
Come, leave me not alone!
[Gülistaneand an old serving-woman comedown the stairs and go to the presents bythe table.]
Sobeide(starting).Ganem, is it not thou?
Gülistane(in an undertone).Why, she is mad.
[She lays one present after another on theservant's arms.]
Sobeide(standing at some distance from her).No, no, I am not mad. Oh, be not angry.The dogs are after me! But first a man.I'm almost dead with fear. He is my friend,Will tell you who I am. Ye do not knowHow terror can transform a human being.I ask you, are not all of us in terrorOf even drunken men? This was a murd'rer.I am not brave, but with a lie that spedInto my wretched head I held him offAwhile—then he came on, and I could feelHis hands. Take pity on me, be not angry!Ye sit there at the table fair with candles,And I disturb. But if ye are his friends,Ask him to tell you all. And later on,When we shall meet and ye shall know me better,We both will laugh about it. But as yet
(Shuddering.)
I could not laugh at it.
Gülistane(turning to her).Who is thy friend, and who will tell us all?
Sobeide(with innocent friendliness).Why, Ganem.
Gülistane.Oh, what business hast thou here?
Sobeide(steps closer, looks fixedly at her).What, art thou not the widowOf Kamkar, the ship-captain?
Gülistane.And thou the daughterOf Bachtjar, the gem-dealer?
[They regard each other attentively.]
Sobeide.It is long sinceWe saw each other.
Gülistane.What com'st thou hereTo do?
Sobeide.Then thou liv'st here?—I come to question Ganem
(Faltering.)
About a matter—on which much depends—Both for my father—
Gülistane.Hast not seen him lately?Ganem, I mean.
Sobeide.Nay, 'tis almost a year.Since Kamkar died, thy husband, 'tis four years.I know the day he died. How long hast thouLived here?
Gülistane.They are my kin. What is't to thee,How long? But then, what odds? Why then, three years.
[Sobeideis silent.]
Gülistane(to the slave).Look to't that nothing fall. Hast thou the mats?
(ToSobeide. )
For it may be, if one were left to lieAnd Ganem found it, he would take the notionTo bed his cheek on it, because my footHad trodden it, and then whate'er thou spokest,He would be deaf to thine affair. Or ifHe found the pin that's fallen from my hairAnd breathing still its perfume: then his sensesWould fasten on that trinket, and he neverWould know thy presence.
(To the slave.)
Pick it up for me.Come, bend thy back.
[She pushes the slave.Sobeidebends quicklyand holds out the pin to the slave.Gülistanetakes it out of her hand and thrustswith it atSobeide. ]
Sobeide.Alas, why prickst thou me?
Gülistane.That I may circumvent thee, little serpent.Go, for thy face is such a silly voidThat one can see what thou wouldst hide in it.Go home again, I counsel thee.—Come thouAnd carry all thou canst.
(ToSobeide. )
Mark thou my words:What's mine I will preserve and keep from thieves!
[She goes up the stairs with the slave.]
Sobeide(alone).What's left for me? How can this turn to good,That so begins? No, no, my destinyWould try me. What should mean to him this woman?This is not love, it is but lust, a thingThat men find needful to their lives. He comes,
(In feverish haste.)
And he will cast this from him with a wordAnd laugh at me. Arise, my recollections,For now I need you or shall never need you!Woe, woe, that I must call you in this hour!Will not one loving glance return to me?One unambiguous word? Ah, words and glances,Deceitful woof of air. A heavy heartWould cling to you, and ye are rent like cobwebs.Away, fond recollection! My old lifeToday is cast behind me, and I standUpon a sphere that rolls I know not whither.
(With increasing agitation.)
Ganem will come to me, and his first wordWill rend the noose that tightens on my throat.He comes, will take me in his arms—all drippingWith fear and horror, stead of oils and perfumes,—I'll say no word, I'll hang upon his neckAnd drink the words he speaks. For his first word,The very first will lull all fears to sleep ...He'll smile all doubt away ... and put to flight ...But if he fail?... I will not think it, will not!
[Ganemcomes up the stairs.]
Sobeide(cries out).Ganem!
[She runs to him, feels his hair, his face,falls before him, presses her head againsthim, at once laughing and weeping convulsively.]
I'm here, Oh take me, take me, hold me fast!Be good to me, thou knowst not all as yet.I cannot yet ... How lookest thou upon me?
[She stands up again, steps back, and looksat him in fearful suspense.]
Ganem(stands motionless before her.)Thou!
Sobeide(in breathless haste).I belong to thee, am thine, my Ganem!Ask me not now how this has come to pass:This is the centre of a labyrinth,But now we stand here. Wilt thou not behold me!He gave me freedom, he himself, my husband ...Why does thy countenance show such a change?
Ganem.No cause. Come hither, they may overhear us ...
Sobeide.I feel that there is something in me nowDispleases thee. Why dost thou keep it from me?
Ganem.What wouldst thou?
Sobeide.Nothing, if I may but please thee.Ah, be indulgent. Tell me my shortcomings.I will be so obedient. Was I bold?Look thou, 'tis not my nature so; I feelAs if this night had gripped me with its fistsAnd flung me hither, aye, my spirit shuddersAt all that I had power there to say,And that I then had strength to walk this road.Art sorry that I had it?
Ganem.Why this weeping?
Sobeide.Thou hast the power to change me so. I cannotBut laugh or weep, or blush or pale againAs thou wouldst have it.
[Ganemkisses her.]
Sobeide.When thou kissest me,O look not thus! But no, I am thy slave.Do as thou wilt. Here let me rest. I willBe clay unto thy hands, and think no more.And now thy brow is wrinkled?
Ganem.Aye, for soonThou must return. Thou smilest?
Sobeide.Should I not?I know thou wouldst but try me.
Ganem.No, in earnest,Thou art in error. Thinkest thou perhapsThat I can keep thee here? Say, has thy husbandGone over land, that thou art not afraid?
Sobeide.I beg thee cease, I cannot laugh just now.
Ganem.No, seriously, when shall I come to thee?
Sobeide.To me, what for? Thou seest, I am here:Look, here before thy feet I sit me down;I have no other home except the strawBeside thy hound, if thou wilt not provideA bed for me; and none will come to fetch me.
[He raises her, then claps his hands delightedly.]
Ganem.O splendid! How thou playst a seeming partWhen opportunity demands. And it becomes thee,Oh, most superbly! We'll draw profit from it.There'll be no lack of further free occasion,To yield ourselves to pleasure undismayed—When shall I come to thee?
Sobeide(stepping back).Oh, I am raving!My head's to blame, for that I hear thee speakingQuite other words than those thou really utter'st.O Ganem, help me! Have thou patience with me,What day is this today?
Ganem.Why ask that now?
Sobeide.'Twill not be always so, 'tis but from fear,And then because I've had to feel too muchIn this one fleeting night; that has confused me.Thiswas my wedding-day: then when aloneWith him, my husband, I did weep and saidIt was because of thee. He oped the doorAnd let me out.—
Ganem.He has the epilepsy,I'll wager, sought fresh air. Thou art too foolish!Let me undo thy hair and kiss thy neck.But then go quickly home: what happens laterShall be much better than this first beginning.
[He tries to draw her to him.]
Sobeide(frees herself, steps back).Ganem, he oped the door for me, and saidI was no more his wife, and I might goWhere'er I would ... My father free of debt... And he would let me go where'er I would ...To thee, to thee! [She bursts into sobs.]I ran, there was the man who took awayMy pearls and would have slain me—And then the dogs—
(With the pitiable expression of one forsaken.)
And now I'm here with thee!
Ganem(inattentively, listening intently up stage).I think I hear some music, hear'st it thou?—'Tis from below.
Sobeide.Thy face and something else,O Ganem, fill me with a mighty fear—Hark not to that, hear me! hear me, I beg thee!Hear me, that here beneath thy glance am lyingWith open soul, whose ebb and flow of bloodProceeds but from the changes of thy mien.Thou once didst love me—that, I think, is past—For what came then, I only am to blame:Thy brightness waxed within my gloomy soulLike moons in fog—
[Ganemlistens as before.Sobeidewithgrowing wildness.]
Suppose thou loved me not:Why didst thou lie? If I was aught to thee,Why hast thou lied to me? O speak to me—Am I not worth an answer?
[Weird music and voices are heard outside.]
Ganem.Yes, by heaven,It is the old man's voice and Gülistane's!
[Down the stairs come a fluting dwarf and aneffeminate-looking slave playing a lute,preceded by others with lights; thenShalnassar, leaning onGülistane; finally aeunuch with a whip stuck in his belt.Gülistanefrees herself and comes forward,seeming to search the floor for something;the others come forward also. The musicceases.]
Gülistane(over her shoulder, toShalnassar).I miss a tiny jar, of swarthy onyxAnd filled with ointment. Art thou ling'ring still,Thou Bachtjar's daughter? Bend thy lazy backAnd try to find it.
[Sobeideis silent, looking atGanem. ]
Shalnass.Let it be and come!I'll give thee hundreds more.
Gülistane.It was a secret,The ointment in it.
Ganem(close toGülistane).What means this procession?
Shalnass.Come on, why not? The aged cannot wait.And ye, advance! Bear lights and make an uproar!Be drunken: what has night to do with sleep!Advance up to the door, then stay behind!
[The slaves form in order again.]
Ganem(furious).Door, door? What door?
Shalnass. (toGülistane, who leans against him).Say, shall I give an answer?If so, I'll do 't to flatter thee. If not,'Twill be to show thee that my happinessRequireth not old envy's flattery.
Ganem(toGülistane).Say no, say he is lying!
Gülistane.Go, good Ganem,And let us pass. Thy father is recovered,And we are glad of it. Why stand so gloomy?One must be merry with the living, eh,While yet they live? [She looks into his eyes.]
Ganem(snatches the whip from the eunuch).Old woman, for what purpose is this whip?Now flee and scatter, crippled, halting folly![He strikes at the musicians and the lights,then casts down the whip.]Out, shameful lights, and thou, to bed with thee,Puffed, swollen body; and ye bursting veins,Ye reddened eyes, and thou putrescent mouth,Off to a solitary bed, and night,Dark, noiseless night instead of brazen torchesAnd blaring horns!
[He motions the old man out.]
Shalnass.(bends with an effort to take the whip).Mine is the whip, not thine!
Sobeide(cries out).His father! Son and father for one woman!
Gülistane(wrests the whip out ofShalnassar'S hand).Go thou to bed thyself, hot-headed Ganem,And leave together them that would be joined.Rebuke thy father not. An older manCan pass a sounder judgment, is more faithfulThan wanton youth. Hast thou not company?Old Bachtjar's daughter stands there in the darkness,And often I've been told that she is fair.I know right well, thou wast in love with her.So then good night. [They all turn to go.]
Ganem(wildly).Go not with him!
Gülistane(speaking backward over her shoulder).I goWhere'er my heart commands.
Ganem(beseechingly).Go not with him!
Gülistane.Oh, let us through: there will be other days.
Ganem(lying before her on the stairs).Go not with him!
Gülistane(turning around).Thou daughter of old Bachtjar,Keep him, I say, I want him not, I trampleUpon his fingers with my feet! Seest thou?
Sobeide(as if demented).Aye, aye, now let us dance a merry round!Take thou my hand and Ganem's; I Shalnassar's.Our hair we'll loosen, and that one of usThat has the longer hair shall have the young oneTonight—tomorrow just the other way!King Baseness sits enthroned! And from our facesLies drip like poison from the salamander!I claim my share in your high revelry.
(ToGanem, who angrily watches them mountthe stairs.)
Go up and steal her from thy father's bedAnd choke him sleeping: drunken men are helpless!I see how fain thou art to lie with her.When thou are sated or wouldst have a change,Then come to me, but softly we will tread,For heavy sleep comes not to my old husband,Such as they have, who can give ear to this,And then sleep through it!
[She casts herself on the floor.]
But with grievous howlingI will arouse this house to shame and wrathAnd lamentation ...
(She lies groaning.)
... I have loved thee so,And so thou tramplest on me!
[An old slave appears in the background,putting out the lights; he picks up a fallenfruit and eats it.]
Ganem(claps his hands in sudden anger).Come, take her out! Here is a shrieking woman,I scarcely know her, says she weeps for me.Her father fain would wed her to the merchant,The wealthy one, but she perverts the whole,And says her husband is a similar pander,But he's no more than fool, for aught I see.
(He steps close to her, mockingly sympathetic.)
O ye, too credulous by far. But then,Your nature's more to blame than skill of ours.No, get thee up. I will no more torment thee.
Sobeide(raises herself up. Her voice is hard).Then naught was true, and back of all is naught.From this I cannot cleanse myself again:What came into my soul today, remaineth.Another might dispel it: I'm too weary.
(Stands up.)
Away! I know my course, but now awayFrom here!
[The old slave has gone slowly down thestairs.]
Ganem.I will not hold thee. Yet the road—How wilt thou find it? Still, thou foundst it once.
Sobeide.The road, the self-same road!(She shudders.) Yon aged manShall go with me. I have no fear, but stillI would not be alone: until the dawn—
[Ganemgoes up stage to fetch the slave.]
Sobeide.Meseems I wear a robe to which the pestAnd horrid traces of wild drunkennessAnd wilder nights are clinging, and I cannotPut off the robe, but all my flesh goes too.Now I must die, and all will then be well.But speedily, before this shadow-thinkingAbout my father gathers blood again:Else 'twill grow stronger, drag me back to life,And I must travel onward in this body.
Ganem(slowly leads the old slave forward).Give heed. This is rich Chorab's wife, the merchant.Hast understood?
Old Slave(nods).The rich one.
Ganem.Aye, thou shaltEscort her.
Old Slave.What?
Ganem.I say, thou art to lead herBack to her house.
(Old Slavenods.)
Sobeide.Just to the garden wall.From there I only know how I must go.Will he do that? I thank thee. That is good,Most good. Come, aged man, I go with thee.
Ganem.Go out this door, the old man knows the path.
Sobeide.He knows it, that is good, most good. We go.
[They go out through the door at the right.Ganemturns to mount the stairs.]
The garden of the rich merchant. The high wall runs from the right foreground backward toward the left. Steps lead to a small latticed gate in the wall. To the left a winding path is lost among the trees. It is early morning. The shrubs are laden with blossoms, and the meadows are full of flowers. In the foreground the gardener and his wife are engaged in taking delicate blooming shrubs from an open barrow and setting them in prepared holes.
Gardener.The rest are coming now. But no, that isA single man ... The master!
Wife.What? He's upEre dawn, and yesterday his wedding-day?Alone he walks the garden—that's no manLike other men.
Gardener.Be still, he's coming hither.
Merchant(walks up slowly from the left).The hour of morn, before the sun is up,When all the branches in the lifeless lightHang dead and dull, is terrible. I feelAs if I saw the whole world in a frightfulAnd vacant glass, as dreary as my mind's eye.O would all flowers might wither! Would my gardenWere poisonous morass, filled to the fullWith rotted corpses of these blooming trees,And my corpse in their midst.
[He is pulling to pieces a blossoming twig,stops short and drops it.]
Ah, what a fool!A gray-haired fool, as old as melancholy,Ridiculous as old! I'll sit me downAnd bind up wreaths and weep into the water.
[He walks on a few paces, lifts his hand asif involuntarily to his heart.]
O how like glass this is, and how the fingerWith which fate raps upon it, like to iron!Years form no rings on men as on the trees,Nor fashion breast-plates to protect the heart.
[Again he walks a few paces, and so comesupon the gardener, who takes off his strawhat; he starts up out of his revery, andlooks inquiringly at the gardener.]
A_Brandenburg_Lake
A BRANDENBURG LAKE
From the Painting by Walter Leistikow
Gardener.Thy servant Sheriar, lord; third gardener I.
Merchant.What? Sheriar, Oh yes. And this thy wife?
Gardener.Aye, lord.
Merchant.But she is younger far than thou,And once thou cam'st to me to make complaintThat she and some young lad,—I can't recall ...
Gardener.It was the donkey-driver.
Merchant.So I chasedHim from my service, and she ran away.
Gardener(bowing low).Thou know'st the sacred courses of the stars,Yet thou rememberest the worm as well,That in the dust once crawled beside thy feet.'Tis so, my lord. But she returned to me,And lives with me thenceforth.
MerchantAnd lives with thee?The fellow beat her, doubtless! Thou dost not.
[He turns away, his tone becomes bitter.]
Why, let us seat ourselves here in the grass,And each will tell his story to the other.He lives with her thenceforth. Why yes, he has her!Possession is the end of all! And follyIt were to scorn the common, when our lifeIs made up of the common through and through.
[Exit to the right with vigorous strides.]
Wife(to the gardener).What did he say to thee?
Gardener.Oh, nothing, nothing.
[Sobeideand the camel-driver appear at thelatticed gate.]
Wife.I'll tell thee something.
[Draws near him.]
Look, look there!The bride! That is our master's bride!And see how pale and overwrought.
Gardener.Pay heedTo thine affairs.
Wife.Look there, she has no veil,And see who's with her. Look. Why, that is noneOf master's servants, is it?
Gardener.I don't know.
[Sobeideputs her arm, through the lattice,seeking the lock.]
Wife.She wants to enter. Hast thou not the key!
Gardener(looking up).Aye, that I have, and since she is the mistress,She must be served before she opes her lips.
[He goes to the gate and unlocks it.Sobeideenters, the old slave behind her. Thegardener locks the gate.Sobeidewalksforward with absent look, the old slavefollowing. The gardener walks past her,takes off his straw hat, and is about toreturn to his work. The wife stands a fewpaces to the rear, parts the bushes curiously.]
Sobeide.Pray tell me, is the pond not here at hand,The big one, with the willows on its banks?
Gardener(pointing to the right).Down there it lies, my mistress, thou canst see it.But shall I guide thee?
Sobeide(with a vehement gesture).No, no, leave me, go!
[She is about to go off toward the right; theold slave catches her dress and holds herback. She turns.Old Slaveholds out hishand like a beggar, but withdraws it atonce in embarrassment.]
Sobeide.What?
Old Slave.Thou art at home, I'm going back again.
Sobeide.Oh yes, and I have robbed thee of thy sleep,And give thee naught for it. And thou art oldAnd poor. But I have nothing, less than nothing!As poor as I no beggar ever was.
[Old Slavescrews up his face to laugh, holds out his hand again.]
Sobeide(looks helplessly about her, puts her hand to herhair, feels her pearl pendants, takes them off,and gives them to him).Take this, and this, and go!
Old Slave(shakes his head).Oh no, not that!
Sobeide(in a torment of haste).I give them gladly, only go, I beg of thee!
[Starts away.]
Old Slave(holds them in his hand).No, take them back. Give me some little coin.I'm but a poor old fool. And they would come,Shalnassar and the others, down upon me,And take the pearls away. For I am oldAnd such a beggar. This would be my ruin.
Sobeide.I have naught else. But come again tonightAnd bring them to the master here, my husband.He'll give thee money for them.
Old Slave.Thou'lt be here?Ask but for him; go now and let me go.
[Starts away.]
Old Slave(holds her back).If he is kind, oh do thou pray for me,That he may take me as a servant. HeIs rich and has so many. I am eager,Need little sleep. But in Shalnassar's houseI always have such hunger in the evening.I will—
Sobeide(frees herself).Just come tonight and speak to him,And say I wanted him to hear thy prayer.Now go, I beg thee, for I have no time.
[The old slave goes toward the gate, butstands still in the shrubbery. The gardener'swife has approachedSobeidefrom theleft.Sobeidetakes a few steps, then letsher vacant glance wander about, strikesher brow as if she had forgotten something.She suddenly stands still before the gardener'swife, looks at her absently, theninquires hastily:]
The pond is there, I hear? The pond?
[Points to the left.]
Wife.No, here.
[Points to the right.]
Here down this winding path. It turns right there.Wouldst overtake my lord? He's walking slowly:When thou art at the crossways, thou wilt see him.Thou canst not miss him.
Sobeide(more agitated).I, the master?
Wife.Why yes, dost thou not seek him?
Sobeide.Him?—Yes, yes,Then—I'll—go—there.
[Her glance roves anxiously, suddenly isfixed upon an invisible object at the leftrear.]
The tower, is it locked?
Wife.The tower?
Sobeide.Yes, the steps to mount it.
Wife.No,The tower's never locked, by day or night.Dost thou not know?
Sobeide.Oh yes.
Wife.Wilt thou go up it?
Sobeide(smiling painfully).No, no, not now. Perhaps another time.
(Smiling with a friendly gesture.)
Go, then. Go, go.
(Alone.)
The tower, the tower!And quick. He comes from there. Soon 'tis too late.
[She looks searchingly about her, walksslowly at first to the left, then runs throughthe shrubbery. The old slave, who haswatched her attentively, slowly followsher.]
Gardener(through with his work).Come here and help me, wife.
Wife.Yes, right away.[They take up the barrow and carry it alongtoward the right.]
Merchant(enters from the right.)I loved her so! Ah, how this life of oursResembles dreams illusory. TodayI might have had her, here and always, I!Possession is the whole: slow-growing powerThat sifts down through the soul's unseen and hiddenInterstices, feeds thus the wondrous lampWithin the spirit, and soon from such eyesThere bursts a mightier, sweeter gleam than moonlight.Oh, I have loved her so! I fain would see her,See her once more. My eye sees naught but death:The flowers wilt before my eyes like candles,When they begin to run: all, all is dying,And all dies to no purpose, for she isNot here—
[The old camel-driver comes running fromthe left across the stage to the gardenerand shows him something that seems to behappening rather high in the air to the left;the gardener calls his wife's attention to it,and all look.]
Merchant(becomes aware of this, follows the direction oftheir glances, grows deathly pale).God, God! Give answer! There, there, there!The woman on the tower, bending forward,Why does she so bend forward? Look, lookthere! [Wifeshrieks and covers her face.]
Gardener(runs to the left, looks, calls back).She lives and moves! Come, master, come this way.
[The merchant runs out, the gardener's wifefollowing. Immediately thereafter themerchant, the gardener, and his wife comecarryingSobeide, and lay her down in thegrass. The gardener takes off his outergarment and lays it under her head. Theold camel-driver stands at some distance.]
Merchant(kneeling).Thou breathest, thou wilt live for me, thou must!Thou art too fair to die!
Sobeide(opens her eyes).Forbear, I'm dying; hush, I know it well.Dear husband, hush, I beg thee. Thee I hadNot thought to see again—I need to crave thy pardon.
Merchant(tenderly).Thou!
Sobeide.Not this.This had to be.—No, what took place last night:I did to thee what should become no woman,And all my destiny I grasped and treatedAs I in dancing used to treat my veils.With fingers vain I tampered with my Self.Speak not, but understand.
Merchant.What happened—then?
Sobeide.Ask not what happened; ask me not, I beg thee.I had before been weary: 'twas the sameUp to the end. But now 'tis easy. ThouArt good, I'll tell thee something else: my parents—Thou knowest how they are—I bid thee take themTo live with thee.
Merchant.Yes, yes, but thou wilt live.
Sobeide.No, say not so; but mark, I fain would tell theeA many things. Oh yes, that graybeard man.He's very poor, take him into thy houseAt my request.
Merchant.Now thou shalt bide with me.I will thy every wish divine: breathe softlyAs e'er thou wilt, yet I will be the lyreTo answer every breath with harmony,Until thou weary and bid it be still.
Sobeide.Say not such words, for I am dizzy andThey flicker in my eyes. Lament not much,I beg of thee. If I remained alive,All mangled as I am, I never couldBring children into life for thee; my bodyWould be so ugly, whereas formerlyI know I had some beauty. This would beSo hard for thee to bear and hide from me.But I shall die at once, I know, my dear.This is so strange: our spirits dwell in usLike captive birds. And when the cage is shattered,It flies away. No, no, thou must not smile:I feel it is so. Look, the flowers know it,And shine the brighter since I know it too.Canst thou not understand? Mark well my words. [Pause.]Art thou still there, and I too, all this while?Oh, now I see thy face, and it is otherThan e'er I saw till now. Art thou my husband?
Merchant.My child!
Sobeide.Thy spirit seems to bend and leanOut of thine eyes, and oh, the words thou speakest!They quiver in the air, because the heartSo quivers, whence they come. Weep not, I canNot bear it, for I love thee so. O letMe see as last of all thine eyes. We shouldHave lived together long and had our children.But now 'tis fearful—for my parents.
[Dies.]
Merchant(half bowed).Thus noiseless falls a star. Meseems, her heartWas never close united with the world.And what have I of her, except this glance,Whose closing was involved in rigid Lethe,And in such words as by false breath of lifeWere made to sound so strong, e'en while they faded,Just as the wind, ere he lies down to sleep,Deceitful swells the sails as ne'er before.
[He rises.]
Aye, lift her up. So bitter is this life:A wish was granted her, and that one doorAt which she lay with longing and desireWas oped—and back she came in such distress,Death-stricken, that but issued forth the evening prior—As fishers, cheeks with sun and moon afire,Prepare their nets—in hopes of great success.
[They lift up the body to carry it in.]