Assistant Professor of German, University of Wisconsin
SCENE I
Sleeping chamber in the house of the wealthy Merchant. To the rear an alcove with dark curtains. To the left a door, to the right a small door leading into the garden, and a window. Candles.
Enter the Merchant and his old Servant, BAHRAM.
Merchant.
Speak, Bahram, gav'st thou heed unto my bride?
Servant.
Heed, in what sense!
Merchant.
She is not cheerful, Bahram.
Servant.
She is a serious girl. And 'tis a moment
That sobers e'en the flightiest, remember.
Merchant.
Not she alone: the more I bade them kindle
Lights upon lights, the heavier hung a cloud
About this wedding-feast. They smiled like masks,
And I could catch the dark or pitying glances
They flung to one another; and her father
Would oft subside into a dark reflection,
From which he roused himself with laughter forced,
Unnatural.
Servant.
My Lord, our common clay
Endureth none too well the quiet splendor
Of hours like these. We are but little used
To aught but dragging through our daily round
Of littleness. And on such high occasions
We feel the quiet opening of a portal
From which an unfamiliar, icy breath
Our spirit chills, and warns us of the grave.
As in a glass we then behold our own
Forgotten likeness come into our vision,
And easier 'twere to weep than to be merry.