* * * * * * The glamor of the motley towns and cities, The distant purple haze--that now is gone, Nor could be found, though I should go to seek it; But here within me, when I call, there rises A something, rules my spirit, and I feel As if it might in thee as well-- [He changes his tone.] Knowst thou the day, on which thou needst must dance Before thy father's guests? A smile unfading Dwelt on thy lips, than any string of pearls More fair, and sadder than my mother's smile, Which thou hast ne'er beheld. This is to blame: That smile and dance were interlaced, like wondrous Fingers of dreamlike possibilities. Wouldst thou they ne'er had been, since they're to blame, My wife, that thou art standing here with me? SOBEIDE (in such a tone that her voice is heard to strike her teeth). Commandest thou that I should dance? If not, Commandest thou some other thing? MERCHANT. My wife, How wild thou speakest with me, and how strangely! SOBEIDE. Wild? Hard, perhaps: my fate is none too soft. Thou speakest as a good man speaks, then be So good as not to speak with me today. I am thy chattel, take me as thy chattel, And let me, like a chattel, keep my thoughts Unspoken, only uttered to myself! [She weeps silently with compressed lips, her face turned toward the darkness.] MERCHANT. So many tears and in such silence. This Is not the shudder that relieves the anguish Of youth. Here there is deeper pain to quiet Than inborn rigidness of timid spirits.