Merchant.
Well?
Servant.
The guests depart. The father of thy bride
And others have been asking after thee.
Merchant.
And what of her?
Servant.
She takes leave of her parents.
[Merchant stands a moment with staring
eyes, then goes out at the door to the left
with long strides. Servant follows him.
The stage remains empty for a short time.
Then the Merchant reënters, hearing a
candelabrum which he places on the table
beside the evening drink. Sobeide enters
behind him, led by her father and mother.
All stop in the centre of the room, somewhat
to the left, the Merchant slightly removed
from the rest. Sobeide gently releases
herself. Her veil hangs down behind her.
She wears a string of pearls in her hair,
a larger one about her neck.]
Father.
From much in life I have been forced to part.
This is the hardest. My belovéd daughter,
This is the day which I began to dread
When still I saw thee smiling in thy cradle,
And which has been my nightmare o'er and o'er.
(To the Merchant. )
Forgive me. She is more to me than child.
I give thee that for which I have no name,
For every name comprises but a part—
But she was everything to me!
Sobeide.
Dear father,
My mother will be with thee.
Mother (gently).
Cross him not:
He is quite right to overlook his wife.
I have become a part of his own being,
What strikes me, strikes him too; but what I do
Affects him only as when right and left
Of his own body meet. Meanwhile, however,
The soul remains through all its days a nursling,
And reaches out for breasts more full of life,
Farewell. Be no worse helpmeet than I was,
And mayst thou be as happy too. This word
Embraces all.