tear her heart asunder, at that moment thou dost belong entirely to her who suffers so bitterly. I will remain, or will follow thee slowly. . . . Go, thine image lies in my soul; it shall be here with me.
Radúz.—I go, Mahulena, as thou hast decreed. And yet in the most bitter grief thou shalt not leave my thoughts for even an instant. Thou art in my soul, and that is more than to have thee before mine eyes, blinded by my tears. (Embraces her.) Now I go.
Mahulena.—But remember the curse!
Radúz (Turning back to her).—I will remember; fear not! How hard it is to part from thee! Even for a moment!
Mahulena.—Thy mother calls; bring her consolation!
Radúz.—I go; thou dost desire it! (Goes out.)
Mahulena.—How gladly would I call: “Stand!” My heart is breaking. He has already disappeared amongthetrees . . . Alone! Without him! (Seats herself beneath the tree.) How gloomy is this forest! How strangely the wind moans and complains here! . . . (From the distance faint trumpet blasts are heard.) Death! O, my heart aches. I was foolish—he will come quickly for me; if he should not come, then I should go after him to the city . . . But still why did I not rather go with him at once? . . . Perchancehe will return quickly . . . If he should not come . . . as in the old song:—
(Is silent; after a moment she sings softly:)
Beneath an oak tree’s shadow her vigil long she kept;
He came not and he came not—she waited and she wept.
When all her tears had flowed away she breathed a parting sigh:
“O sorrow’s me and sorrow; now surely I shall die!”
That is a sad song. Who can have made it? Perhaps such a thing.did happen at some time . . . But that must have been long ago. Why think of it? . . . Perhaps because—my heart is sick unto death . . . (Drops her head on her breast.)
Change of Scene
A large meadow in the park of the royal palace; on one side a group of birch trees rising from shrubbery. In the rear, a part of the palace with a colonnade and closed doors, to which several broad steps lead from the meadow. People of both sexes approach from all sides, making gestures that show grief and agitation.
Men.—The king is dead! He is dead! It came like a bolt of thunder out of a clear sky! He was not even ill.
