SOBEIDE. How I connect my being forced to smile And finally becoming wife to thee? Wilt thou know this? And must I tell thee all? Then knowst thou, since thou art rich, so little Of life, and hast no eyes for aught but stars, And flowers in thy heated greenhouse? Listen: This is the cause: a poor man is my father, Not always poor, much worse: once rich, now poor, And many people's debtor, most of all Thy debtor. And his starving spirit lived Upon my smile, as other people's hearts On other lies. These last years, since thou camest, I knew my task; till then had been my schooling. MERCHANT. And so became my wife! As quick she would have grasped her pointed shears And opened up a vein and with her blood Have let her life run out into a bath, If that had been the price with which to purchase Her father's freedom from his creditor! ... Thus is a wish fulfilled! SOBEIDE. Be not distressed. This is the way of life. I am myself as in a waking dream. As one who, taken sick, no more aright Compares his thoughts, nor any more remembers How on the day before he viewed a matter, Nor what he then had feared or had expected: He cannot look with eyes of yesterday ... So also when we reach the worser stages Of that great illness: Life. I scarcely know Myself how great my fear of many things, How much I longed for others, and I feel, When some things cross my mind, as if it were Another woman's fate, and not my own, Just some one that I know about, not I. I tell thee, I am bitter, but not evil: And if at first I was too wild for thee, There will be no deception in me later, When I shall sit at ease and watch thy gardeners. My head is tired out. I grow so dizzy, When I must keep two things within myself That fight against each other. Much too long Have I been forced to do this. Give me peace! Thou giv'st me this, and for that I am grateful. Call not this little: terrible in weakness Is everything that grows on shifting sands Of doubt. But here is perfect certainty. MERCHANT. And how of him? SOBEIDE. That too must not distress thee. 'Twere hard to judge, had I concealed it from thee; I have revealed it now, so let it rest. MERCHANT. Thou art not free of him! SOBEIDE. So thinkest thou? When is one "free?" Things have no hold on us, Except we have in us the will to hold them. All that is past. [Gesture.]