The Indian Woman (L'Indienne)

I was born in Persia, and of the religion of the Guebres Zoroastrians/Fire-worshippers. We adore fire, but we do not rub ourselves against it.

Ariette Short aria/song.

We adore the radiant light
Of this Sun which warms the air,
The brilliant cohort of the fires of Heaven,
Which serves as a guide in the midst of the deserts,
On our Altars, the fire which mimics them,
Has our homage, with good reason;
But we chase it away very quickly,
When it is at home.
If we burn with some flames,
It is those of beauty;
But as soon as fickleness
Takes the heart of our wives away from us,
We soon know in our souls
How to extinguish the Divinity.

AZORA.

Your wives do not burn themselves after your death?

MENDÈS.

Not the tip of their hair.

AZORA.

And they have the freedom to remarry?

MENDÈS.

They have much better than that, they have the freedom to remain widows.

AZORA.

How happy they are, and how I envy their lot!

MENDÈS.

Pardon; but my Master may have need of me: you wanted something from him? It is, no doubt, the permission to die with him; I do not think he will refuse you.

AZORA.

Stop; it is not at all a question of that; it is, on the contrary, a means of avoiding it that I am asking for.

MENDÈS.

Ah! The devil; that is more difficult!