Thou shakest thine head?
Mahulena.—I have neither father, mother, nor home. I am like this stone lying here.
Women.—Come with us . . . For a day or two we will grant thee shelter. Again thou shakest thine head. . . What can we do for thee?
Mahulena.—Leave me . . . alone . . . lying . . . on my face . . . thus . . . thus . . .
(Falls face downward.)
Women.—Well, let us leave her . . . Perchance the coolness of the earth will calm her blood and she will follow us. Let us follow the funeral train. (They slowly move on.)
Mahulena (Lifting her head after a moment).—Alone . . . Within me there is darkness, death, cold . . . Can I be myself, and has all this happened to me? . . . It is strange that some beings are bereft of all. I have neither father, mother, nor sisters . . . neither home nor roof . . . not even a grave! And methinks even the light of mine eyes is failing now, that my life is ebbing away . . . Just who has become dead to me? . . . Ah, yes, my love . . . To lie on the earth, that is the only thing that I still desire . . . Ah, mother earth, mother earth, thou art left to me; thou alone art faithful beneath the heavens, thou art the only one who does not thrust me aside . . . Thou art not like those others: we love them, and they curse us: we love them—and they do not wish to know us and they forget us in a moment . . . Upon thee we trample; and thou, thou with unfailing love dost foster us . . . And now, now thou dost lull to sleep my terrible sorrow, and whisperest to me how sweet a lot it is not to think and not to feel, even as the crags which project from thy bosom . . . What thou givest them, that dead, heavy peace, give it to me also; I too am thy child . . . O, give me that which thou givest to the grass here and to thy trees . . . They dare to remain here, here where he breathes who knows me no more! O, hearken to me—or dost thou hear naught but evil curses and fulfil them? . . . I long to cling firmly to thee, mother, as the trees cling with their roots . . . O, hear my prayer! . . . Have pity on me, unhappy girl (Kisses the earth.) But now in my mind a strange mist is arising . . . (Arises.) And my feet are becoming buried in the ground . . . What is this? . . . O, sweet sleep, which hoverest over my eyelids . . . already I see all things only
