Tuesday, 7 November 1876 (26 October)

crossed out[One line crossed out]
I have broken my mirror! Death or great misfortune.
This superstition chills me, and when one looks out of the window one is chilled still more. Everything is white under a pearl-grey sky. It is a long time since I have seen such a picture.
Paul, with that eagerness natural to youth to show newcomers something new, had a little sledge harnessed and took me out for a drive, quite triumphant.
It is very impertinent of this sledge to call itself one; it is quite simply a few wretched logs nailed together, filled with hay and covered with a rug. The horse, being very close, threw the snow in our faces, up our sleeves, into my slippers, into our eyes.
I had three white woollen shawls on my head. This icy powder covered the triple lace on my head and, gathering in the folds, froze. I came back to wrap myself up more warmly and took Pacha, and as Paul had had enough, I went off alone with the green man.
— Quite right, I said to my brother, leave us; alone together we shall make our peace, for Pacha is cross with me.
— Tell me, I went on, are you cross with me?
— Not at all... you gave me advice, you scolded me, and... if I deserve it...
— Partly, but you look unhappy, and I want to make it up with you. Well?
— Ah! Mousse, how can we make it up!
— Mousse, you told me yesterday that for a certain thing I deserved to have my face slapped.
— I did say so.
— Why is that?
— You never tell me anything, and I do not want to tell you anything.
— I know!
— Bah!
— It is for the thing that...
— That what?
— Because I told you that I loved you.
— So you know!
— You think I am lying?
— Yes!
— No, Mousse, I am not lying, I swear it to you.
And his tone was so touching that I looked at him sideways and said:
— What! It has not passed?
— No.
— But it will pass soon?
— Never.
— Ah! so much the better... you see, you cannot possibly... So I am your first passion?...
— Yes.
— That is flattering to me.
There was a silence.
— You told me to go abroad at the same time as you, the green man said suddenly.
— Yes, and not on a whim; you would be doing me a kindness by coming, and you will not! You do nothing for me; for whom will you do anything, then!
— Oh! you know very well why I cannot come.
— No.
— Oh! you know very well.
— Quite simply, I esteem you, and I am sorry to have made you lose the respect you had for me... for... you no longer respect me?
— I do.
— No, tell me... there, now you are going to make me beg again.
— No, I am mad to begin what I cannot finish; I begin to speak and I cannot!
— It annoys me.
— But you know it... it is because, if I left with you, I should go on seeing you, and that hurts me dreadfully!
— And why?
— Because... I love you.
— Still?
— Oh!
— Well then, come; it is the way to be cured. Seeing more of me, you will discover a host of faults, vices perhaps; you will see my dreadful temper, and you will have had enough of me.
— Oh! There is a phrase straight out of a book, learnt by heart!
crossed out— The little one is thinking of playing.
— That is what I say.
— Indeed, you are right; I talked nonsense, and only for form’s sake. I am convinced that the more people see of me, the more they love me. But by coming you would be doing me a service!
— I, of use to you!
— Yes.
— No, I cannot come... [One line crossed out] I shall watch you from afar.
— And if you knew, he went on in a soft, heart-rending voice, if you knew what I suffer at times. It takes a moral strength like mine to seem always the same, always calm. No longer seeing you...
— You will forget me.
— Never.
— But then?
My tone had lost every trace of mockery; I was touched...
— I do not know, he said, only this state of things hurts me too much.
— Poor...
I checked myself at once; such pity is an insult.
Why is it so delicious to hear the confessions of the sufferings one causes? The more unhappy someone is in love with you, the happier you are.
I hate it when Pacha seems cheerful... it strikes me as a usurpation.
But from that moment I had an idea, and I worked out in my head a whole little scene, very solemn, and I relished it in advance, for it would do no one any harm.
— Give me something to remember you by, he said.
I prepared a keepsake worthy of me and of the green man.
My father is altogether charming; he laughs, he chats, he enjoys himself.
When I went to him in his bed, he asked me to bring the boys and to stay in his room. He fired his revolver, and we drank champagne in honour of a fine shot. Pacha, unwell, slipped away, Paul followed close behind him; I wanted to do the same, but my father kept me a long while yet. No doubt I am wrong, but he frightens me, and the journey alone with him alarms me.
At last I was able to go up to my room. I was impatient, and first I made sure that the window of the red house was still lit; then I told Victor to bring M. Paul Apollonovitch to me at once.
I was reading when he came in...
— Why have you come?
— You sent for me.
— And yesterday?
— Yesterday I thought Amalia was lying, she made so many faces.
— You were a long time coming.
— I was in bed... will you allow me to sit down?
— Certainly. I sent for you to beg you to come with us. My father will not take Paul. Come.
— I...
— You cannot. We know. I will not beg you any more. Enough!
My whole scene was upset; it was not going right at all.
I put on an inquisitorial air, or the air of someone getting ready to enjoy a piece of mischief.
— So I have the honour of being your first passion?
— That is admirable! You are a liar.
— Because my voice does not change its tone and because I do not weep! I have an iron will, that is all.
— And to think I wanted to give you... something.
— What?
— This.
And I showed him a little image of the Virgin hanging round my neck on a white ribbon.
— Give me that image.
— Well, well!
— Give it to me.
— You do not deserve it.
— Ah, Mousse, he said with a sigh, I assure you I deserve it.
— Hm.
— I understand what you mean. But I do not understand mad love, as they call it. What I feel is a dog’s attachment, a boundless devotion...
— Come closer, young man!
He thought I meant to pull his hair and drew back. My effect was “ruined”.
— Well... young man, you are afraid! Am I so formidable, then? See, I look like a nun, and this chair is like a confessional. Come, will you make your confession, my son? And then I shall give you my blessing.
— Your blessing?
— My real one. If I make you talk like this, it is to find out a little what those who love feel, for suppose I were to fall in love one day... I should have to recognise the symptoms.
This is not at all what I had prepared, but what can one do!
— Give me that image, said the green man, who never took his eyes off it.
— Come closer, then.
He knelt on the chair whose back served me as an armrest and tried to take the image, but I stopped him:
— No, no, round your neck.
And I put it round his neck, still quite warm from me.
— Oh! he said, for that, thank you, thank you indeed!
And he kissed my hand of his own accord for the first time.
And when he had closed the door behind him, I followed him and called to him to give me back the image, which made him run away as fast as his legs would carry him.
So now I am playing at Love and the Nun more than ever.
Amen.