Mahulena.—How dismal is that music, how terrifying: what means it? Thou art pale!
Radúz.—Something grips me, like a dreadful foreboding. Those are the notes of gloomy trumpets. Thus they sound them when a great calamity has happened in the city—or in the royal house. That mournful trumpeting approaches nearer and nearer; I also hear the voice of the herald, although his words cannot be distinguished. Now I see them; those men are making their way hither! Now they stand still, I recognize them: O, that is Radovid, and he wears robes of mourning! Does he not see me? Now he has turned away; the people are assembling from the fields!—(A trumpet sounds close by. When the note has died away, Radovid’s voice 15 heard behind the scenes.)
Radovid.—Whosoe’er be near, let him harken to my mournful tidings, which I and many others are spreading from mountain to mountain, from village to village, even to the farthest bounds of Magura! I call my sad message to the four corners of the world: Mourn and weep, ye men of Magura! Your good king is dead! Dead is your king! Your king is dead, dead is your king! (Silence: the trumpets sound again, at a greater distance.)
Mahulena.—O speak, Radúz! My Radúz, that silent grief will stifle thee! Thou art pale as a stone, motionless as a stone, cold as a rock!
Raduz (Casting himself on the ground).—My father, my poor father! (In the distance the trumpets are heard again, much more feebly.) O terrible sounds! Mahulena, sorrow is upon us!
Mahulena.—Sorrow! My Radúz, O weep not thus to excess! . . . Arise, hasten home. For thy mother what a consolation it will be when she embraces thee!
Radúz.—Ah, Mahulena, never more to hear words from those lips! . . . Those benignant hands are cold . . . those eyes are closed for ever and ever! . . . Ah, mother, how thy heart is bleeding now!
Mahulena.—Hasten to her arms! . . . But those tears of thine I shall kiss away; thy sorrow is my sorrow, as thy joy was my joy. . . .
Radúz.—Come with me, Mahulena.
Mahulena.—No, Radúz, now I will remain here as thou didst wish. Now it is clear to me what I have to do. Now thou dost belong to her who gave thee birth. At that first moment of meeting, when sorrow at her loss and joy at thy return shall
