In the Mirror by Valery Bryusov. I have loved mirrors from my very earliest
years. As an infant, I wept and trembled as I looked into their
transparently truthful depths. My favorite game as a child was to walk up and
down the room or the garden, holding a mirror in front of me,
gazing into its abyss, walking over the edge at every step, and breathless
with giddiness and terror. Even as a girl, I began to put mirrors
all over my room, large and small, ones, true and slightly distorted
ones, some precise and others a little dull. I got into the habit
of spending whole hours, whole days in the midst of intercrossing worlds which ran
one into the other, trembled, vanished, and then reappeared again. It
became a singular passion of mine to give my body to these soundless distances,
these echoless perspectives, these separate universes cutting across our own and existing despite our
consciousness in the same place and at the same time with it. This protracted
actuality, separated from us by the smooth surface of glass, drew me towards
itself by a kind of intangible touch dragged me forward as to an abyss a
mystery. I was drawn towards the apparition which always rose up before me when
I came near a mirror, and which strangely doubled my being. I strove
to guess how this other woman was differentiated from myself, how it was possible
that my right hand should be her left, and that all the fingers of
this hand should change places, though certainly on one of them was my wedding
ring. My thoughts were confused when I attempted to probe this enigma, to
solve it. In this world where everybody could be touched, where voices were
heard, I lived actually in that reflected world which it was only possible to
contemplate. Was she phantasmally? She was almost as myself, and yet not
at all myself. She repeated all my movements, but not one of these
movements exactly coincided with those I made. She that other knew something I could
not divine. She held a secret eternally hidden from my understanding. But I
noticed that each mirror had its own separate and special world. Put two mirrors
in the very same place, one after the other, and there will arise
two different universes, and in different mirrors there rose up before me different apparitions,
all of them like me, but never exactly like one another. In
my small hand mirror lived a naive little girl with clear eyes, reminding me
of my early youth. In my circular boudoor mirror was hidden a woman who
knew all the diverse sweetness of caresses, shameless, free, beautiful, daring.
In the oblong mirrors of the wardrobe door there always appeared a stern figure,
imperious, cold, inexorable. I knew still other doubles of myself in
my dressing glass, in my folding gold framed triptych, in a hanging mirror,
in the oaken frame, in the little neck mirror, and in many
other mirrors, which I treasured to all the beings hiding themselves in these mirrors,
I gave the possibility and the pretext to develop according to the strange conditions
of their world. They must take the form of the person who stands before
the glass, But under this borrowed exterior they preserved their own personal characteristics.
There were some worlds of mirrors which I loved, others which I hated,
and some of them I loved to walk up and down for whole hours,
losing myself in their attractive expense. Others I fled from in my secret heart.
I did not love all my doubles. I knew that they were all
hostile toward me, if only for the fact that they were forced to clothe
themselves in my hated likeness. But some of these mirror women I pitied,
I forgave their hate, and felt almost friendly to them. There were some
whom I despised, and I loved to laugh at their powerless fury. There
were some whom I mocked by my own and daeans, and tortured by my
power over them. There were others, on the other hand, of whom
I was afraid, who were too strong for me, and who dared,
in their turn to mock at me, to command me. I hastened to
get rid of the mirrors where these women lived. I would not look in
them. I hid them, gave them away, even broke some in pieces.
But every time I destroyed a mirror, I wept for whole days after,
conscious of the fact that I had broken to pieces. A distinct universe
and reproachful faces stared at me from the broken fragments of the world. I
had destroyed the mirror with which my fate was to become linked. I bought
one autumn at a sale of some sort. It was a large peer glass
swinging on screws. I was struck by the unusual clarity of its reflection.
The phantasmal actuality in it was changed by the slightest inclination of the glass,
but it was independent and vital to the edges. When I examined this peer
glass at the sale, the woman who reflected me in it it looked me
in the eyes with a kind of haughty challenge. I did not wish to
give in to her, to show that she had frightened me, So I
bought the glass and ordered it to be placed in my boudoir. As soon
as I was alone in the room, I immediately went up to the new
mirror and fixed my eyes upon my rival. But she did the same to
me, and standing opposite one another, we began to transfix each other with
our glance, as if we had been snakes. In the pupils of her
eyes was my reflection in mine hers. My heart sank and my head swam
from her intent gaze. But at length. By an effort of will,
I tore my eyes away from those other eyes, tipped the mirror with my
foot so that it began to swing, rocking the image of my rival pitifully
to and fro, and went out of the room. From that hour our
strife began. In the evening of the first day of our meeting, I
did not dare to go near the new peer glass. I went to the
theater with my husband, laughed exaggeratedly, and was apparently light hearted. On
the march, in the clear light of a September day, I went boldly
into my boudoir alone and designedly sat down directly in front of the mirror.
At the same moment she, the other woman, also came in at the
door to meet me, crossed the room, and then she too sat down
opposite me. Our eyes met in hers. I read hatred towards myself.
In mine, she read hatred towards her. Our second duel began a duel
of eyes. Two unyielding glances, commanding, threatening, hypnotizing. Each of
us strove to conquer the other's will, to break down her resistance, to
force her to submit to another's desire. It would have been a painful scene
for an onlooker to witness two women sitting opposite each other without moving, joined
together by the magnetic attraction of each other's gaze, and almost losing consciousness under
the psychical stream. Suddenly someone called me. The infatuation vanished. I got
up and left the room. After this, our duels were renewed every day.
I realized that this adventuress had purposely forced herself into my home to destroy
me and take my place in this world. But I had not sufficient strength
to deny myself this struggle. In this rivalry, there was a kind of
secret intoxication. The very possibility of defeat had hidden in it a sort of
sweet seduction. Sometimes I forced myself for whole days to keep away from the
peer glass. I occupied myself with business, with amusements. But in the
depths of my soul was always hidden the memory of the rival, who,
in patience and self reliance, awaited my return. I would go back to
her, and she would step forth in front of me, more triumphantly than
ever, piercing me with her victorious gaze and fixing me in my place before
her. My heart would stop beating, and I, with a powerless fury
would feel myself under the authority of this gaze. So the days and weeks
went by, our struggle continued, but the preponderance showed itself more more definitely
to be on the side of my rival. And suddenly one day I realized
that my will was in subjection to her will, that she was already stronger
than I. I was overcome with terror. My first impulse was to flee
from my home and go to another town. But I saw at once that
this would be useless. I should, all the same be overcome by the
attractive force of this hostile will, and be obliged to return to this room,
to this mirror. Then there came a second thought. To shatter the
mirror, reduce my enemy to nothingness. But to conquer her by brutal strength
would mean that I acknowledged her superiority over myself. This would be humiliating.
I preferred to remain and continue the struggle to the end, even though I
were threatened with defeat. Soon there could be no doubt that my rival would
triumph. At every meeting, there was concentrated in her gaze still greater and
greater power over me. Little by little, I lost the possibility of letting
a day pass without once going to my mirror. She ordered me to spend
several hours daily in front of her. She directed my will as a hypnotist
directs the will of a sleep walker. She arranged my life as a mistress
arranges the life of a slave. I began to fulfill her demands. I
became an automaton to her wordless orders. I knew that, deliberately, cautiously,
she would lead me by an unavoidable path to destruction, and I already
made no resistance. I divined her secret plan to cast me into the mirror
world and to come forth herself into our world. But I had no strength
to hinder her. My husband and my relatives, seeing me spend whole hours,
whole days and nights in front of my mirror, thought me demented and
wanted to cure me. But I dared not reveal the truth to them.
I was forbidden to tell them all, the dreadful truth, all the horror
towards which I was moving. One of the December days before the holidays turned
out to be the day of my destruction. I remember everything, clearly,
precisely, circumstantially. Nothing in my remembrance is confused. As usual, I
went into my boudoir early, at the first beginnings of the winter dawn twilight.
I placed a comfortable armchair without a back in front of the mirror,
sat down, and gave myself up to her. Without any delay, she
appeared in answer to my summons. She too placed an armchair for herself.
She too sat down and began to gaze at me. A dark foreboding oppressed
my soul, but I was powerless to turn my face away, and I
was forced to take to myself the insolent gaze of my rival. The hours
went by, the shadows began to fall. Neither of us lighted a lamp.
The glass of the mirror glimmered faintly in the darkness. The reflections had
become scarcely visible, but the self reliant eyes gazed with their former strength.
I felt neither terror nor ill will as on other days, but simply an
intolerable anguish and a bitter consciousness that I was in the power of an other
time swam away, and on its tide, I also swam into infinity,
into a black expanse of powerlessness and lack of will. Suddenly, she that
other. The reflected woman got up from her chair. I trembled all over
at this insult, But something invincible, something forcing me from within, compelled
me also to stand up. The woman in the mirror took a step forward.
I did the same. The woman in the mirror stretched forth her arms.
I did so too, looking straight at me with hypnotizing and commanding eyes.
She moved forward, and I advanced to meet her. And it was
strange. With all the horror of my position, with all my hate towards
my rival, there fluttered somewhere in the depths of my soul, a painful
consolation, a secret joy to enter at last into that mysterious world into which
I had gazed from my childhood, and which up till now had remained inaccessible
to me. At moment, I hardly knew which of us was drawing the
other towards herself, she me or I her, whether she was eager to
occupy my place, or whether I had devised all this struggle in order to
displace her. But when moving forward my hands touched hers on the glass,
I turned quite pale with repugnance, and she took my hand by force and
drew me still nearer to herself. My hands were plunged into the mirror as
into burning icy water. The cold of the glass penetrated into my body with
a horrible pain, as if all the atoms of my being had changed their
mutual relationship. In another moment, my face had touched the face of my
rival. I saw her eyes right in front of my own. I was
transfused into her with a monstrous kiss. Everything vanished from me in a torment
of suffering unlike any other. And when I came to my senses after this
swoon, I still saw in front of me my own boudoir, on which
I gazed from out of the mirror. My rival stood before me and burst
into laughter, And I, oh the cruelty of it. I, who
was dying with humiliation into torture, was obliged to laugh too, to repeat
all her grimaces in a triumphant, joyful laugh. I had not yet succeeded
in considering my position when my rival suddenly turned round, walked towards the door,
vanished from my sight, and I at once fell into torpor, into
non existence. Then my life as a reflection began. It was a strange,
half conscious, but mysteriously sweet life. There were many of us in
this mirror, darkened soul and slumbering of consciousness. We could not speak to
one another, but we felt each other's proximity and loved one another. We
could see nothing, we heard nothing clearly, and our existence was like the
enfeeblement that comes from being unable to breathe. Only when a being from the
world of men approached the mirror, we, suddenly taking up his form,
could look forward into the world, could distinguish voices and breathe a full breath.
I think that the life of the dead is like that, a dim
consciousness of one's ego, a confused memory of the past, and an oppressive
desire to be incarnated in you, even if only for a moment, to
see, to hear, to speak. And each of us cherished and concealed
a secret dream to free one's self, to find for one's self a new
body, to go out into the world of constancy and steadfastness. During the
first days, I felt myself absolutely unhappy in my new position. I still
knew nothing, understood nothing. I took the form of my rival submissively and
unthinkingly when she came near the mirror and began to jeer at me, and
she did this fairly often. It afforded her great delight to flaunt her vitality
before me her reality. She would sit down and force me also to sit
down, stand up and exult as she saw me stand, wave her arms
about dance, force me to repeat her movements and burst out laughing, and
continue to laugh, so that I should have to laugh too. She would
shriek insulting words in my face, and I could make no answer to them.
She would threaten me with her fist and mock at my forced repetition of
the gesture. She would turn her back on me, and I, losing
sight, losing features, would become conscious of the shame of the half existence
left to me. And then suddenly, with one blow, she would whirl
the mirror round on its axle, and with the oscillation, throw me completely
into non entity. Little by little, however, the insults and humiliations awoke
a consciousness in me. I realized that my rival was now living my life,
wearing my dresses, being considered as my husband's wife, and occupying my
place in the world. Then there grew up in my soul a feeling of
hate and a thirst for vengeance. Like two fiery flowers. I began bitterly
to curse myself for having, by my weakness or my criminal curiosity, allowed
her to conquer me. I arrived at the conviction that this adventuress would never
have triumphed over me if I myself had not aided her in her wiles.
And so as I became more familiar with some of the conditions of my new
existence, I resolved to continue with her the same fight which she had carried
on with me. If she a shadow could occupy the place of a real
woman, was it possible that I, a human being, and only temporarily
a shadow, should not be stronger than a phantom. I began from a
very long way off. At first, I pretended that the mockery of my
rival tormented me quite unbearably. I purposely afforded her all the satisfaction of victory.
I provoked in her the secret instinct of the executioner throwing himself upon his
helpless victim. She gave herself up to this bait. She was attracted by
this game with me. She put forth the wings of her imagination and thought
out new trials for me. She invented thousands of whiles to show me over
and over again, I was only a reflection that I had no life of
my own. Sometimes she played on the piano in front of me, torturing
me by the soundlessness of my world. Sometimes, seated before the mirror,
she would drink in tiny SIPs my favorite liqueurs, compelling me only to pretend
that I also was drinking them. Sometimes, at length, she would bring
into my boudoir people whom I hated, and before my face, she would
allow them to kiss her body, letting them think that they were kissing me.
And afterwards, when we were alone, she would burst into a malicious
and triumphant laugh. But this laugh did not wound me at all. There
was sweetness in its keenness, my expectation of revenge. Unnoticeably, in the
hours of her insults to me, I would accustom my rival to look me
in the eyes, and I would gradually overpower her gaze. Soon, at
my will, I could already force her to raise and lower her eyelids and
make this and that movement of the face. I had already begun to triumph.
Though I hid my feeling under a mask of suffering, strength of soul
grew up within me. And I began to dare to lay commands upon my
enemy. Today you shall do so, and so to day you shall go
to such and such a place. Tomorrow you shall come to me at such
a time, and she would fulfill them. I entangled her soul in the
nuts of my desires, woven together with a strong thread in which I held
her soul, and I secretly rejoiced when I noticed my success. When one
day, in the hour of her laughter, she suddenly caught on my lips
a victorious smile which I was unable to hide. It was already too late.
She rushed out of the room in a fury. But as I fell
into the sleep of my nonentity, I knew that she would return. Knew
that she would submit to me, and a rapture of victory gushed out over
my involuntary lack of strength, piercing with a rainbow shaft of light the gloom
of my seeming death. She did return. She came up to me in
anger, and a terror shrieked to me, threatened me. But I was
commanding her to do it, and she was obliged to submit. Then began
the game of a cat with a mouse at any time, I could have
cast her back into the depths of the glass and come forth myself again into
sounding and hard actuality. But I delayed to do this. It was sweet
to me to indulge in non existence. Sometimes it was sweet to me to
intoxicate myself with the possibility. At last. This is strange, is it
not. There suddenly was aroused in me a pity for my rival, for
my enemy, for my executioner. Everything in her was something of my own,
and it was dreadful for me to drag her forth from the realities of
life, and to turn her into a phantom. I hesitated, and dare
not do it. I put it off. From day to day I did
not know myself what I wanted and what I dreaded. And suddenly, on
a clear spring day, men came into the boudoir with planks and axes.
There was no life in me. I lay in the voluptuousness of torpor,
but without seeing them I knew they were there. The men began to busy
themselves near the mirror, which was my universe, and one after another the
souls who lived in it with me were awakened and took transparent flesh in the
form of reflections, A dreadful uneasiness agitated my slumbering soul with a presentiment of
horror, a presentiment even of irretrievable ruin. I gathered together all the might
of my will, what efforts it caused me to struggle against the lassitude of
half existence, So living people sometimes struggle with a nightmare, tearing themselves from
its suffocating bands towards actuality. I concentrated all the force of my suggestion into
a summons directed towards her, towards my rival. Come hither. I hypnotized
her, magnetized her with all the tension of my half slumbering will. There
was little time. The mirror had already begun to swing. They were already
preparing to nail it up in a wooden coffin, to take it away.
Whither I knew not, And with an almost more effort, I called again
and again come, And I suddenly began to feel that I was coming to
life. She, my enemy, opened the door, and came to meet
me, pale, half dead, in answer to my call, with faltering
steps as men go to punishment. I fastened my eyes on hers, bound
up my gaze with hers, And when I had done this, I knew
already that I had gained the victory. I at once compelled her to send
the men out of the room. She submitted, without even making an attempt
to oppose me. We were alone together once more. To delay was no
longer possible, and I could not bring myself to forgive her craftiness in her
place. In my time, I should have acted otherwise. Now I ordered
her, without pity, to come to meet me. A moan of torture
opened her lips, her eyes widened as before a phantom, But she came,
trembling, falling. She came. I also went forward to meet her,
lips curving triumphantly, eyes wide open with joy, swaying in an intoxicating
rapture. Again, our hands touched each others. Again, our lips came
near together, and we fell each into the other, burning with the indescribable
pain of bodily exchange. In another moment, I was already in front of
the mirror. My breast filled itself with air. I cried out loudly and
victoriously, and fell just here in front of the pure glass. Prone from
exhaustion, My husband and the servants ran towards me. I could only tell
them to fulfill my previous orders and take the mirror away out of the house
at once. That was wisely thought, wasn't it. You see? She
that other might have profited by my weakness in the first minutes of my return
to life, and by a desperate assault, might have tried to wrest the
victory from my hands. Sending the mirror out of the house, I could
insure my own quietude for a long time as long as I liked. And
my rival had earned such a punishment for her cunning, I defeated her with
her own tool, with the blade which she herself had raised against me.
After having given this order, I lost consciousness. They laid me on my
bed, A doctor was called in. I was treated as suffering from a
nervous fever. For a long while, my relatives had thought me ill and
not normal. In the first outburst of exultation, I told them all that
had happened to me. My stories only increased their suspicions. They sent me
to a home for the mentally afflicted. And I am there now. All
my being, I agree, is profoundly shaken. But I do not want
to stay here. I am eager to return to the joys of life,
to all the countless pleasures which are accessible to a living human being. I
have been deprived of them too long. Besides, shall I say it,
there is one thing which I am bound to do as soon as possible.
I ought to have no doubt that I am this. I, But all
the same, whenever I begin to think of her who is imprisoned in my
mirror, I begin to be seized by a strange hesitation. What if the
real eye is there? Then I myself who think this, I who write
this. I am a shadow. I am a phantom. I am a
reflection. In me, are only the poured forth remembrances, thoughts, and
feelings of that other, the real person, And in reality I am thrown
into the depths of the mirror. In non entity, I am pining,
exhausted, dying. I know, I almost know that this is not true.
But in order to disperse the last clouds of doubt, I ought again
once more, for the last time, to see that mirror. I must
look into it once more to be convinced that there is the impostor, my
enemy, she who played my part for some months. I shall see this,
and all the confusion of my soul will pass away, and I shall
again be free from care, bright happy. Where is this mirror? Where
shall I find it? I must, I must once more look in to
its depths. End of in the mirror,