Speaker 1: 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,