Sobeide.
Embrace—that is the word;
Till now my fate was in your own embraced,
But now the life of this man standing here
Swings wide its gates, and in this single moment
I breathe for once the blessed air of freedom:
No longer yours, and still not his as yet.
I beg you, go; for this unwonted thing,
As new to me as wine, has greater power,
And makes me view my life and his and yours
With other eyes than were perhaps befitting.
(With a forced smile.)
I beg you, look not in such wonderment:
Such notions oft go flitting through my head,
Nor dream nor yet reality. Ye know,
As child I was much worse. And then the dance
Which I invented, is't not such a thing:
Wherein from torchlight and the black of night
I made myself a shifting, drifting palace,
From which I then emerged, as do the queens
Of fire and ocean in the fairy-tales.
[The Mother has meanwhile thrown the
FATHER a glance and has noiselessly gone
to the door. Noiselessly the FATHER has
followed her. Now they stand with clasped
hands in the doorway, to vanish the next
moment.]
Ye go so softly? What? And are ye gone?
[She turns and stands silent, her eyes cast
down.]
Merchant (caresses her with a long look, then goes to the
rear, but stops again irresolute).
Wilt thou not lay aside thy veil?
[Sobeide starts, looks about her absent-mindedly.]
Merchant (points to the glass).
'Tis yonder.
[Sobeide takes no step, loosens mechanically
the veil from her hair.]