although I would know what havoc I should cause within your inner life. I would say it although I know well that you could not resist my words. But I will not say it, Petr. Because I know that you are deceiving your own self, and that it is too late—too late for everything.
Petr (feverishly).—And what if it is not too late?
Maya.—It must be.
Petr (crushed).—Must. (Broken, he sinks down on the bench.)
(It is dark now, and the sky is full of stars. From the distant village the tune of a fiddle falls hither softly, quietly, and prolonged.)
Maya (moved, goes toward Petr).—It must be Petr, it must (she puts her hand on his brow). Poor boy, it must be so.
Petr (takes both her hands).—Marenka.
Maya (longingly).—Marenka. Do you know for how many years no one called me by that name? Ach, Petr, Petr, this is no longer myself
Petr (lowly) .—And who is it, then?
Maya.—Some one who died years ago. Ach, Petr, if you but knew. But not even you would believe.
Petr (softly).—What?
Maya.—That I am just as strong as I told you, just as vicious. But, look, both of us fell victims to this moment.
Petr (feverishly).—Really?
Maya.—Don’t speak about it, I beg you, do not say even one word. It would be in vain. But just keep on looking with me at those clouds. At my clouds. Our clouds.
(Sitting beside him, she lets her head fall on his shoulder. Both stare at the starry skies. From the village the faint, soft music of a fiddle can be heard, slow, prolonged, and sad.)
Maya (after a while).—I would so like to ask you about one thing, Petr. (Stops and continues after a short pause.) I would so gladly speak to you about something dear to me and—forlorn. (Lost in thought for a long time.)
Petr.—About our childhood.
Maya.—And about something else. About something later. If you have ever loved. Petr (just like in a dream).—I, never
Maya.—And I but once. Once in all—so loyally and purely, so truly I shall never love again.
Petr.—Never?
