Masterly! Masterly! Here she is! What an auctioneer he would make!
Rafael.
What an auctioneer I should make! Ah! [He runs and stands on the synagogue steps.] My father bids me sell my soul! Shall I sell it cheap—my soul and my heart's blood? Shall it be knocked down to the solitary thirsty first who bids? I, to whom the stench of avarice is the breath of morning and night—I, who have seen a man sell his soul on the scales——
Sachel.
What does he mean by that?
Rafael.
I—to be knocked down for two pink lips and a banknote! See—my red heart's blood! See—see—see! And you would have me sell it for ten thousand pieces of silver! And I say no! no! no!
He wants more! Oh! I will not give it, do you hear? It is an insult to ask more—an insult to my daughter!
Rebecca.