Radúz.—Mother, mother, curse not! It is as if my heart received a wound; I straightway fancy that it is bleeding terribly.
Nyola.—Be it so: no, no, I do not curse. . . . But go hence; it is ghastly here. . . . Go into the palace; there there is song and feasting!
Radúz.—Everywhere I am sad, everywhere depressed and sorrowful; only beneath this tree do I feel relief. Go, mother, go, and leave me here.
Nyola (Seating herself beneath the poplar).—Without thee I will not go, my Radúz. Here on the ground will I seat myself. . . . My grief is like a stone; that too seeks the ground. . . . O Radovid., tell me of tears of ages past, of the suffering of men long ago. . . . Perchance I shall weep over them in compassion and forget my own sorrows.
Radúz.—My good, good mother! (Seating himself beside her) What pains thee? And why art thou sad?
Nyola.—Radovid, he asks that! Dost thou hear?
Radovid.—He is like a child, simple, gentle, quiet—
Nyola.—So, lean thy head upon my bosom, Radúz. (Radúz does so.) Art thou calmer? Thus we used often to be together in the garden, when thou wert a child; and thus I soothed thy childish troubles. . . . Thus I would tell thee my fairy tales and sing thee ancient songs. . . .
Radúz.—Those were beautiful times, mother dear! They still live here, in my memory. That has not been extinguished in my thought, like the rest. . . . Come nearer, Radovid . . . nearer, my true, friend. . . .
Radovid (Sinking down beside him) .—My Radúz, give me thy hand . . . so . . . so. . . .
Radúz.—Tell fairy tales! Ah, that is pleasant! . . . But now I will tell them to you. . . . Not fairy tales; no, no. Something else; and perchance I shall thus recall gradually, gradually, bit by bit . . . everything.
Nyola.—No, rather be silent about that, my Radúz! An hundred times thou hast begun, begun . . . and I know how it always ends in despair! Would rather that I were not alive!
Radovid.—Let him speak, my lady. . . . Opposition irritates him; perchance he will yet succeed. . . .
Nyola. —Thou still canst hope? How I envy thee!
Radúz.—Well then, mother, art thou listening?
Nyola.—Yes, child, yes.
Radúz.—And Radovid, thou, thou too? Thou knowest that
