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 had
Not 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 treated
As 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 same
Up to the end. But now 'tis easy. Thou
Art good, I'll tell thee something else: my parents—
Thou knowest how they are—I bid thee take them
To live with thee.
Merchant.
Yes, yes, but thou wilt live.
Sobeide.
No, say not so; but mark, I fain would tell thee
A many things. Oh yes, that graybeard man.
He's very poor, take him into thy house
At my request.
Merchant.
Now thou shalt bide with me.
I will thy every wish divine: breathe softly
As e'er thou wilt, yet I will be the lyre
To answer every breath with harmony,
Until thou weary and bid it be still.
Sobeide.
Say not such words, for I am dizzy and
They flicker in my eyes. Lament not much,
I beg of thee. If I remained alive,
All mangled as I am, I never could
Bring children into life for thee; my body
Would be so ugly, whereas formerly
I know I had some beauty. This would be
So 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 us
Like 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 other
Than e'er I saw till now. Art thou my husband?