Ziva.—May we shine as our images now glitter from this blue water, which thy youthful beams illumine, O sun!
(Both bedew their faces and hair.)
Prija.—Give unto us dazzling beauty and loveliness, thou golden, bright, holy sun! (They arise.)
Ziva.—Mahulena, why dost thou too not pray and invoke the sun?
Mahulena.—I do invoke the sun. . . . Thou bright light of the heavens, consecrate me and give unto me thine own goodness. . . . Heed my prayer! . . .
Prija.—Thy prayer is short. And thou standest motionless, thou hangest thy head, thine arms droop by thy sides. . . . Dost thou not ask for beauty?
Mahulena.—Wherefore?
Ziva.—What a stupid question! Today the prince of Croatia will arrive here; his messengers have already come: there will be a great feast in our castle-—Now wouldst thou not care to be beautiful and to please that hero, who is young and powerful, and who is seeking a wife?
Prija.—Mahulena is proud! No doubt she thinks that she is even too beautiful, and does not see that she is as pale as the moon-mother, who sits in a dusky room spinning.
Ziva.—O Mahulena, thou art like a ghost. I assure thee, I am not envious of thy beauty, and there is no fear that the prince will choose thee!
Prija.—Come, Ziva. While the dew still sparkles let us gather flowers; they smell sweetest then. (They go out.)
Mahulena.—The hair on my head . . . how heavy it is! . . . (She loosens her braids, seats herself on the margin of the water basin, and gazes at her image in the water.) What they told me is true—I am pale—(Her hands drop in her lap.) Ah, how sad I feel! How long ago was it? Just what was there before they brought him? Was there anything before that time? Then the trees were in bloom, when they seized him, and now they are faded: so it must have been long ago. What was there before that? . . . I used to sing; at least so it seems. Whither have those old songs of mine flown away? (She is silent; in a moment she begins to sing softly)
Those twelve maidens turned into doves white and soft,
Who mournfully perched on the maple aloft
And said: “Who our piteous plight would betray,
May he be struck dumb—!”
