Act 3 — Scene III.
Ernest Bell translation
Recha, Daja.
RECHA.
What is the matter, Daja?
So quick! what ails him--makes him fly from hence?
DAJA.
Let him alone. I think it no bad sign.
RECHA.
Sign! and of what?
DAJA.
That something vexes him.
It boils, but it must not boil over. Go,
'Tis your turn now.
RECHA.
My turn. You have become
Incomprehensible to me--like him.
DAJA.
Now you may pay him back with interest
All the unrest he once occasioned you.
But be not too vindictive--too severe.
RECHA.
Well, Daja, you must know your meaning best.
DAJA.
And are you then already calm once more?
RECHA.
In truth I am.
DAJA.
Confess at least, dear Recha,
That all this restlessness has brought you pleasure,
And that you have to thank his want of ease
For all the ease that you yourself enjoy.
RECHA.
I know not that, but I must still confess
That to myself it seems a mystery
How in this bosom, such a pleasing calm
Can suddenly succeed so rude a storm.
His countenance, his speech, his manner have----
DAJA.
By this time satisfied you.
RECHA.
No, not that.
DAJA.
Well, satisfied your more impatient want.
RECHA.
Well, well, if you must have it so.
DAJA.
Not I!
RECHA.
To me he must be ever dear. To me
He must remain more dear than life, although
My pulse no longer flutters at his name,
My heart no longer, when I think of him,
Beats with a fuller throb. What have I said?
Come, Daja, to the window once again
Which overlooks the palms.
DAJA.
I see 'tis not
Yet satisfied, that more impatient want.
RECHA.
Now, I shall see the palm--trees once again;
Not him alone amidst them.
DAJA.
Such a fit
Of coldness speaks of fevers yet to come.
RECHA.
Nay, I'm not cold, in truth I do not see
Less gladly that which I do calmly see.