Sunset. Patio surrounded by several buildings. Children play. A choir of eight women from the Magdalena River’s shores enters. They are dressed in long black mourning gowns. The swing of their steps is funeral. Children exit. The choir stops by the right wing of the scene.

 
 

CHOIR


STROPHE I

What clamour brings us from the rivers?

Another woman, perchance, is going through the test?

Sorrows haven't dried up entirely our eyes;
 
Now, unhappiness, in whom fells down?

Something erodes peace in the mountain,

It’s hard to go on with even-tempered

On a field woven by obnoxious weeds

Where brothers undertake mutual harm.

Our very sons are the cause of our grief!

 

ANTISTROPHE I

Long time ago our parents started the fight            10

An insane fight, profaner of the fields

The finch went silent and rain forsook us

Earth and all its fruits dried up

Who will control the wrath

That inebriates, kills men and alienates?

Who will heal our impotence, swollen sore

Of us, fragile women from the Magdalena River?

 

STROPHE 2

Our men disregarded our plea;

Their blood irrigated tasteless fruits

We are but mothers who suffer in blind pain         20

Death gives us peace. It nests here!

The brave ones are consumed by sin,

Their offspring’s future is dim

Pride’s destiny has marked them

And possessed by rage murder they commit

 

ANTISTROPHE 2

 These withered women’s heavy tears

Have vainly roll in callous bosoms;

There is no purpose in confessing our torments

To stony souls, to indolent minds

Only those willing to recognise their own foibles     30

Are able to pity and to speak wisely

For in this life all enjoyments are but cinders

And plenty breeds only on the dead fields

 
(Hermione, a middle-aged woman, enters. She is dressed in black.)

 

CHOIR

What ominous event has come to our life?

What is the cause of that woman’s distress?

Her pale face, so coveted long time ago

Sets sadly down in the dusk of life.

Nails have scratched her tender cheeks

Sepulchral are her careless garments
 

HERMIONE

I'll never coin my name again. Over heaps        40

Of hatred Hermione I was called. Daughter

Of hell translates of my name.

 

CHORUS’ DIRECTOR

Brought

Hermione, by your solitary cry

We have come to you. We are wondering spirits.

Talk to us. Silence will never assuage your pain

We, daughters of the Magdalena River,

Were also tested by the Eternal Will

Long time ago.

 

HERMIONE

Anguish drives me away!
 


CHORUS’ DIRECTOR

Your transgression might be lessened by confession

There is a morrow. Live!  There is a hope.             50