The German Classics, v. 20: Masterpieces of German Literature Translated into English
General
The German Classics, v. 20: Masterpieces of German Literature Translated into English
German literature -- 19th century -- Translations into English; German literature -- 20th century -- Translations into English
SOBEIDE.
What?
OLD SLAVE.
Thou art at home, I'm going back again.
SOBEIDE.
Oh yes, and I have robbed thee of thy sleep,
And give thee naught for it. And thou art old
And poor. But I have nothing, less than nothing!
As poor as I no beggar ever was.
[OLD SLAVE screws up his face to laugh, holds
out his hand again.]
SOBEIDE (looks helplessly about her, puts her hand to her
hair, feels her pearl pendants, takes them off,
and gives them to him).
Take this, and this, and go!
OLD SLAVE (shakes his head).
Oh no, not that!
SOBEIDE (in a torment of haste).
I give them gladly, only go, I beg of thee!
[Starts away.]
OLD SLAVE (holds them in his hand).
No, take them back. Give me some little coin.
I'm but a poor old fool. And they would come,
Shalnassar and the others, down upon me,
And take the pearls away. For I am old
And such a beggar. This would be my ruin.
SOBEIDE.
I have naught else. But come again tonight
And bring them to the master here, my husband.
He'll give thee money for them.
OLD SLAVE.
Thou'lt be here?
Ask but for him; go now and let me go.
[Starts away.]
OLD SLAVE (holds her back).
If he is kind, oh do thou pray for me,
That he may take me as a servant. He
Is rich and has so many. I am eager,
Need little sleep. But in Shalnassar's house
I always have such hunger in the evening.
I will--
SOBEIDE (frees herself).
Just come tonight and speak to him,
And say I wanted him to hear thy prayer.
Now go, I beg thee, for I have no time.
[The old slave goes toward the gate, but
stands still in the shrubbery. The gardener's
wife has approached SOBEIDE from the
left. SOBEIDE takes a few steps, then lets
her vacant glance wander about, strikes
her brow as if she had forgotten something.
She suddenly stands still before the gardener's
wife, looks at her absently, then inquires
hastily:]
The pond is there, I hear? The pond?
[Points to the left.]
WIFE.
No, here.
[Points to the right.]
Here down this winding path. It turns right there.
Wouldst overtake my lord? He's walking slowly:
When thou art at the crossways, thou wilt see him.
Thou canst not miss him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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