Page:Poet Lore, volume 21, 1910.djvu/475

 storm—storm—storm—the element of my life. And to-day it is all over, it is victoriously and freezingly clear.

Petr (crushed).—So you refuse me.

Maya (hardly able to overcome herself).—Yes. Entirely! Those are the remains of that undivided composite element of human nature—that I am discarding wholly. For that to me is also a victory, and I am always victorious. Bow your head, Petr, and look down, as you ever did, on the ground. As for me—I am going high up after the shining glory—into the airy clouds.

Petr (sinks down on the bench near the house. His head in his palms).

Maya (stands alongside of him, erect, feelingless, majestic, victorious).

Petr (after a pause).—And do you know what you have done?

Maya.—I do. You will return to your faith and to your calling.

Petr (half straightened).—And what if I do not? What if I perish?

Maya.—How?

Petr.—Perhaps with my own hand.

Maya (smiles scornfully).—You will not kill yourself. You are too weak to do that, just as I would be too strong. Life, my friend, is not a romance or a melodrama where people shoot themselves so easily. Life has a healing power even for those who know but little of its tremendous scope. And you, Petr, you are a tender, flexible little tree—life will bend you, but not break you. There is no need for it. (Stops a while and then says commandingly) Rise, Petr!

Petr (unintentionally rises).

Maya.—And give me your hand. (She takes his hand).—From this last pressure of your hand I want to extract some pleasure. I want to leave here victorious. I want to know that I have convinced you.

Petr.—Convinced me of what?

Maya.—That I do not deserve that you should love me. That I am not worthy of your sacrifice.

Petr.—It would be all in vain.

Maya.—Yes, it would be all in vain. But your mother is