Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 4).djvu/195

 The Prophet is mild; to his mildness be praises; He opens to sinners his Paradise!

[His eyes following during the dance.]

Legs as nimble as drumsticks flitting. She's a dainty morsel indeed, that wench! It's true she has somewhat extravagant contours,— Not quite in accord with the norms of beauty. But what is beauty? A mere convention,— A coin made current by time and place. And just the extravagant seems most attractive When one of the normal has drunk one's fill. In the law-bound one misses all intoxication. Either plump to excess or excessively lean; Either parlously young or portentously old;— The medium is mawkish.— Her feet—they are not altogether clean; No more are her arms; in especial one of them. But that is at bottom no drawback at all. I should rather call it a qualification— Anitra, come listen!

[Approaching]

Thy handmaiden hears!

You are tempting, my daughter! The Prophet is touched. If you don't believe me, then hear the proof;— I'll make you a Houri in Paradise!

Impossible, Lord!