“Neither do I implore your pity, Maria. There is nothing on earth more incompassionate than a woman who only loves one single being.... You cool murderesses in the name of Love.... You goddesses of Death, with your smile!... The hands of your Beloved are cold. You ask: ‘Shall I warm your hands for you, Beloved?’ You do not wait for his ‘Yes.’ You set fire to a city. You burn down a kingdom, so that you can warm the hands of your Beloved at its blaze.... You rise up and pluck from the heaven of the world its most radiant stars, without caring that you destroy the Universe and put the dance of the Eternal out of balance. ‘Do you want the stars—Beloved?’ And if he says ‘No’ then you let the stars fall.... Oh! you blessed harmdoers! You may step, fearfully inviolable, before the throne of God and say: ‘Get up, Creator of the World! I need the throne of the World for my beloved!...’ You do not see who dies by your side if only the one is living. A drop of blood on the finger of your Beloved frightens you more than the destruction of a continent.... All this I know, and have never possessed it!... No, I do not call upon your pity, Maria. But I call upon your fidelity...!” Still. Silence. Immobility. “Do you know the subterranean City of the Dead? There, used a girl called Maria, nightly to call her brothers together. Her brothers wear the blue linen uniform, the black caps, the hard shoes. Maria spoke to her brothers of a mediator, who would come to deliver them. ‘The Mediator between Brain and Hands must be the Heart....’ Wasn’t it so?—The brothers of the girl believed in the girl. They waited. They waited long. But the mediator did not come. And the girl did not come. She sent no message. She was not to be found. But the brothers believed in the girl, for they had found her as true as gold. ‘She will come!’ they said. ‘She will come again! She is faithful. She will not leave us alone! She said: “The mediator will come!” ... Now he must come.... Let us be patient and let us wait’...! But the mediator did not come. And—the girl did not come. The misery of the brothers has grown from day to day. Where once a thousand murmured—now murmur ten thousand. They will no more be fed with hope. They languish for fight, for destruction, for ruin, for downfall. And even the believers, even the patient ones ask: ‘Where is Maria? Can it be that gold is faithless?’ Will you leave them without an answer, Maria?” Stillness. Silence. Immobility.