Pitu Salla, beloved friend, How long wilt thou conceal from me The secret that I long to know?
Think, dearest, of my anxious heart, How I shall be in constant grief Until you tell the truth to me.
Within these hard and cruel bounds Does some one suffer for my sins?
My sweet companion, do not hide From me, who "tis that mourns and weeps Somewhere within the garden walls.
How is it she is so concealed That I can never find the place?
Pitu Salla.
My Sumac, now I"ll tell thee all-- Only concerning what you hear, And still more surely what you see, You must be dumb as any stone; And you too must be well prepared For a most sad heart-rending sight-- "Twill make thee weep for many days.
Yma Sumac.
I will not tell a living soul What you divulge. But tell me all, I"ll shut it closely in my heart.
SCENE 5
A secluded part of the gardens of the Virgins, (L.) flowers, (R.) a thicket of mulli[66] and chilca,[67] concealing a stone door.
(PITU SALLA and YMA SUMAC.)
Pitu Salla.
In this garden is a door of stone, But wait until the Mothers sleep, The night comes on. Wait here for me.
(Exit.)
(Yma Sumac reclines on a bank and sleeps. Night comes on, Yma Sumac awakes.)
Yma Sumac.
A thousand strange presentiments Crowd on me now, I scarce know what-- Perhaps I shall see that mournful one Whose fate already breaks my heart.
(Pitu Salla returns with a cup of water, a small covered vase containing food, and a torch which she gives to Yma Sumac. She leads Yma Sumac through bushes to the stone door, fixes the torch, presses something, and the door swings round.)
(CUSI COYLLUR is discovered senseless, extended on the ground, a snake twining itself round her waist.)
Pitu Salla.
Behold the princess for whom you seek.
Well! is thy heart now satisfied?
Yma Sumac.
Oh, my friend, what do I behold?
Is it a corpse that I must see?
Oh, horror! A dungeon for the dead!
(She faints.)
Pitu Salla.
What misfortune has now arrived?
O my Sumac, my dearest love, O come to thyself without delay!
Arouse thee. Arise, my lovely flower.
(Yma Sumac revives.)
Fear not, my dove, my lovely friend, "Tis not a corpse. The princess lives, Unhappy, forlorn, she lingers here.
Yma Sumac.
Is she, then, still a living being?